18 October 2005

Night Thirteen

Somehow ended up in a chick-flick. It started off with me being in the secret service going somewhere, then switched to me being the President and only one SS agent surviving a Vietnam-esque attack. It was a woman. Romance ensued. The dream followed the hackneyed chick-flick formula and ended with it. (There was also a location in the dream, a playhouse with kids running around - all from the same family. They were responsible for getting a machine with green and red lights to light all the way up and start an alarm telling the town it was time to vote. One of the younger kids had a souvenir medal on that said Layton, Utah. The location turned out to be a conservative poor-man's-casino town in Texas.)

Then it switched up to being at the old house. The front part of the house was missing and covered over with plastic sheets. Inside that part of the house, there were three corpses on rolling tables. They looked like burn victims, maybe. The corpse on the end kept trying to sit up and watch the kissy end of the chick-flick, and it pissed me off, so I kept making thought forms to nail it back down, or I tried fireballing the corpse. It didn't work well. I decided to escape by flying off.

Taking off and trying to stay aloft in this dream location is a very common theme. I always get over the street running in front of the house, usually over the trees of the house across the street, but from there I start to lose altitude. This time, instead of allowing that to happen, I decided to rocket. The dream didn't want that, so I found myself engaging visualization of the sky and a rocket sound. I was probably pretty close to waking at that point. Don't know what happened next.

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