Title: Electric Dreams Volume 1 Number 3 File: Electric Dreams 1(3) ========================================================== Electric Dreams back issues are available to the public and listed individually. For an index of Articles and dreams on Electric Dreams, See the IIDCC Research Tools area. ================================================================ ------------------------------------------------------------------ | Electric Dreams | | Volume 1 Issue 3 | | 15 May 1994 | ------------------------------------------------------------------ | Please send suggestions, contributions, mailing list and back | | issue requests to cbeattie@uwspmail.uwsp.edu | ------------------------------------------------------------------ Dedicated to sharing and exploring dreams. ____________________________________________________________________________ Notes from the editors As you can see, the popular vote for this newsletter's name was "electric dreams". This title got over half the popular vote, with the rest of the votes being fairly evenly spread among the other names. Just a few quick notes this issue. 1. Problems uploading the newsletter. I have gotten word from a few people that they have been having problems downloading the newsletter. I need to know if this is a common problem, or if it is fairly isolated. If it is common, I may break the newsletter into smaller pieces on a regular basis. If it is rare, I will split the mailing list into two groups, the alternate group getting the newsletter in smaller installments, and the main group getting (if I can get the server to work right) one large issue. It'll still be the same issue for everyone, don't worry. 2. Whoops! Seems I forgot to name some of the untitled dreams last week. I'll see that doesn't happen again. Remember, if you don't title the dreams you submit, someone else will. What you title your dream (try going with your first impulse) could provide valuable clues to your dreams meaning. 3. Commentary vs. Interpretation On the advice of Pamela Ryan, I have changed the name of the dream interpretation section of the newsletter to the dream commentary section. The reasoning is that someone can provide a valid interpretation only if they know the individual personally. Interpretation implies a flat out "this is what your dream means" attitude, which should only be taken if the interpreter is familiar with the dreamer's own way of perceiving and interpreting reality. Commentary is more of a friendly opinion: "In my view, your dream could mean something like..." This term also better represents our idea of a recreational use for the section. Don't offend and don't be offended. 4. Submission guidelines ==submitted by kmccall@netcom.com====================================== Making your dream as easy to read as possible will increase the number people who read, and thus, interpret your dream. Although many dreams may sometimes be a series of non-sequitors, taking a few minutes to turn starry-eyed notes into something more intelligible prior to posting is well worth the effort. The moderator cannot perform the task of an editor, both for the time involved, as well as for fear of changing the meaning of a dream. The following are a few guidelines that will ensure your dream gets posted: 1) Use upper and lower case letters where appropriate. 2) Be generous with paragraphs. Even If it's difficult to find a spot to break a paragraph, find one. Almost everyone likes a mental break at least once in an entire screen of text. 3) Paragraph breaks with both a space and an indent, seem particularly pleasing in this medium. 4) Try to use a spell checker, or at least try proofing your work as best as you can. -- kmccall@netcom.com [Also, if you have the time, our format is 80 characters per line. We don't edit dreams, but we reserve the right to edit articles for space and clarity. For more information, holler at BJ (hi205436@spstmail.uwsp.edu). It's his idea.] ____________________________________________________________________________ Dream Commentary ======Comments: Falling Horse-Issue One===================================== I saw the horse as an image of perfection shattered and related it not so much to a standard for self but perhaps a standard for the parent relationship. (Related to the comment about Mother leaving.) The image is so powerful and suggests so many things that one is reluctant to limit it. Among the possibilities I see: fall from grace/ original sin: whose? Mother's? fall from innocence into knowledge of reality idealism, rather than perfectionism, shattered inspiration abruptly destroyed, seemingly forever but only seemingly --mdbrown@artsci.wustl.edu (Marilyn) ======Comments: The Waitress and her Bodily Fluids========================== Okay, I'll tell you up front -- I'm quite the feminist. And so this dream brings up a lot of issues for me: women as servants, trying to make people understand the feminine condition (drinking in menstrual fluids), feeling "murdered" and "stuck in the middle" (median). Are you male? Are you perhaps a bit sad about the "death" of the old-fashioned woman-in-pink who used to wait on people, for less-than-adequate wages?..... (Sorry. Don't mean to berate you.) Or perhaps there really is a murdered waitress somewhere who is trying to tell her story through your dream...... --pryan@prairienet.org ======Comments: Basement/Raw meat=========================================== If this were my dream, it might be helping me confront some old, buried issues -- perhaps from my high school days. The basement might represent my unconsciousness, and the boyfriend's comment about high school while examining the sump pump make me think that something from that time in life needs to be dredged up and pumped away. The woman with the blotted-out face makes me think that some things may still be obscured. All the raw meat and dead animals in the latter part of the dream make me wonder whether the "deeply buried" issue might have something to do with death, or sex.... (Animals in my dreams may represent sex, or other "animalistic"/basic feelings.) --pryan@prairienet.org ======Comments: Baby Kidnap Dream=========================================== Just a few random thoughts about this dream: the earthy marketplace includes a "pregnant" symbol (the doll within a doll), but for some reason, this image is associated with devouring aggression (Tasmanian devil). Some kind of ordered pattern (the checkerboard of tiles) is falling to pieces, although I'd like to own it. I have no baby -- how will society judge me for this? Well, if this were MY dream, it might be about my feelings surrounding being childless. (Which is a current issue in my life.) I'm "breaking the established pattern" by having no child, and I don't know how others will treat me for this.... --pryan@prairienet.org I find this one complex fascinating but am not ready to take on the whole of it. Instead, I'd like to draw a parallel between it and Antique Shop (same issue) and an antique shop dream I had a year ago. I am wondering if this image of entering a bazaar-type space is a commonly occurring one and if it represents going into our own minds to look for a gift or to select an item of interest for further pondering. The description of the setting of the Antique Shop dream matches my own almost exactly. The predominantly brown and beige colors of the Baby dream also correspond to my dream setting. --mdbrown@artsci.wustl.edu (Marilyn) _________________________________________________________________________ Dreams ======Dreams by ake@lighthouse.com======================================== "Ronald" I traveled to India, climbed mountains in search of a guru, and I eventually finally found one. "What is the meaning of life?" "Silly man. Why did you come out here when it was all around you? The meaning is in everything, not just the flowers and the clouds, but the way is everywhere. Take the example of the Big Mac. Its multi-layers represents the layers of consciousness, the depths of one mind, the illusion of reality is like standing on the top sesame seed bun. Consider the contrasts in color from white bread to black meat to white to black to white. It is a never ending cycle. Life and death, the inevitably of death, the role of death in providing nutrients to the living. The cycle of life. The world has secrets, like the sauce, yet the diligent find the meaning. The way is everywhere, on a billlboard, on your radios, on your broadcast television. The ignorance of the way validates its existence. The understanding of the unknowable brings enlightment. (Author's note: I have been a vegetarian for years.) "Land Cruiser" I was traveling in the back of a MPV with a woman I thought I loved, as her father drove on. Her mother was seated on the left, I on the right, and she was in the middle. At first, she curled up by her mother, but then scooted over to hug me in her warmth. She said, "I can't move in with you because you want to live on a boat." "I don't care about the water as much as I care about you. I would give up my love for the sea for your warmth." "I couldn't ask you to abandon your first love." (Author's note: I never wanted to live on a boat.) ======Dream by gaustin@falcon.cc.ukans.edu========================== "Death, Rebirth" (This dream occurred about 5 years ago during emotional difficulties after a bad break up from a long term relationship) The dreams begins with me watching myself choke to death. At the moment of death, or at least loss of conciousness, the dream suddenly shifted and I was back in my normal life, doing normal things. Of course, the setting was mostly fabricated. I was in the second semester of my Freshman year at the University of Kansas, only instead of taking place in Lawrence, KU resided in Australia. Most of the buildings were the same and somehow my parents lived in town and I was living at home with them. The bizarre part of it was that our house was a converted, pale cave with smooth, meandering walls with all the other regular comforts of home. As the day went on and I was attending my regular classes and it all came together. I figured out that somehow I had actually died that day from choking and was reborn into the same life (except things were quite different this time around...coincidentally, my parents nearly moved to Australia when I was 2). When I had figured this all out I returned home in between classes and confronted my mother about all this. When I told her what I thought had happened and asked her if I was going to die agian (for the fateful day where I would reach the exact same age as I was when I died the first time, was near) and she lowered her head in a very sad, knowing manner and said nothing. Then, I suddenly realized (not exactly knowing how I knew this) that today was that day and at some point my death was supposedly ineviatble. At first I began to panic, then I reassured myself that as long as I was extremely careful, I could survive the day and the curse (or whatever you want to call it) would be broken. I went back to campus and my next class, English 102. That day we watched the movie "Little Big Man" with Dustin Hoffman (a true life event). My classmates were handing out popcorn and without even thinking I had a couple of handfulls. Suddenly I stopped and thought to myself "my God, what if I choke on a kernel". The rest of the class went by quickly without any other concerns. I was on my way to my next class and was about to get on the elevator and thought "what if the elveator cable breaks" and decided to take the stairs and that's when the alarm went off. The crazy thing about this dream is that it was so intense and so real to me that it took a good 2-3 minutes for me to realize that I could stop worrying about dying. Greg ======Dream by mdbrown@artsci.wustl.edu===================================== "My Own Little Shop Dream" My own Little Shop dream turned out to be precognitive, adding to my sense of it representing the selection of a gift. I went down a dusty deserted road, noticing that the street sign (dented and rusty) said Wickland. Even in the dream I related this name to Wicca and, though not a Wiccan, assumed I was heading into magical territory. The shop was a mess, and the owner came out briefly to wash his hands in a non-functioning sink. More magic. I knew I was there to find a gift for a friend of mine named Barbara, and her name seemed more important than anything else. I found nothing but suddenly noticed across a field a craft fair set up. I wandered over and went to one booth where two women were standing. One of them said, "I am your cousin, Barbara, and this is my friend Barbara." I do have a cousin named Barbara, but I hadn't seen her in more than 30 years and would not recognize her. The dream just faded out. The following weekend, I had my work set up at a weekend art show. Many people came through, including at one point a couple of women I did not know; however, a little inner voice said, "Go ask their names." I wondered how to do that without looking a little odd, but I tend to act on my intuition. I approached them and apologized for bothering them but wondered if I might know one of them. The woman stared at me for a minute, looked startled, and said, "Yes, I think so. Are you Marilyn? I'm your cousin, Barbara. Let me introduce you to my friend here-- she's another Barbara." This dream came when I had been feeling a sense of loss of contact within, and so I think my connection got restored. Marilyn ======Dream by robojay@aol.com============================================== "Blue Jay vs. Robocop" I was a gigantic blue jay, about the size of a pteranodon, and I was standing in front of RoboCop. Suddenly I pecked out his heart, and he was lying on his back while I stood on his chest. His heart dripped blood and oil, and he bled to death while I stood there. I saw blood trickling from his mouth. I didn't want to kill him, but I knew I had to in order to redeem him. I was reassured because somehow I knew that he would get a new and better heart, designed by someone who had graduated from Georgia Tech (where I am a student of mechanical engineering). Then he would come back to life, and be his own man. ======Dream by rjr3@ukc.ac.uk=============================================== "Baby Dreams" I sent in the dream in the last issue about being caught in a market place and sentenced hard labour if I didnt steal a baby etc. These are most of my other baby-related dreams. (Im female,20 yrs old and have no children.. the dreams were from a few months to a year back) In no particular order.. 1. One took place in a massive department store which sold practically anything you can imagine people selling. I was with my family (father, mother, brother and grandparents made an appearance) and we were shopping with a huge trolley. My mother nipped off somewhere and my dad said shed gone to have a baby. A little while later she came walking down some stairs holding a baby and my brother pointed out that her tights were laddered. I reprimanded him saying "well she's just had a baby hasn't she" and we were just about ready to go and started loading up the car. There wasn't much room and they said "Oh the baby can go in the boot.." so they started to stuff/throw it into the back of the car and I can remember almost screaming at them to the effect that the baby would suffocate or break or something. 2. Nother one was again about a baby of my mothers..toddler..little sister. and It was like I was seeing myself again as a toddler. .I can remember looking out onto a patio at my dad and this child in scenes like my earliest memories and photos, and my parents said that because she looked so much like me I had to look after her but I hadn't a clue how to. 3. I can't remember the rest of this dream and sorry this is a bit sick but I was on a motorbike chasing these other bikers and there was an accident. I braked, got off the bike and went to do first aid on the others. one woman had come off her bike and was screaming that she must have lost her baby and, hideously, about a couple yards away was this obviously premature foetus covered in..oh anyhow It was scary and disgusting. 4. This one was part of a long, quite complicated dream where I was kidnapped by a seven or eight ft giant of a munster man (who bore a resemblance to a man whod asked me out several times..very persistent..only that he had the same kind of face and was tall) and had to erm..sexually satisfy him only he was distinctly pregnant..five or six months I'd say kind of difficult to explain away.. (I have no sister..just a brother who is about 11 months younger than me.. I've never ridden a motorbike and I've certainly never seen a 8ft pregnant male) Know a good Shrink ????? Beck ======Dream by: hi205436@spstmail.uwsp.edu=============================== [This one's a long one.] Dream: 18 March 1992 My family decided to go vacationing on the Rib River for an afternoon. We brought a picnic lunch and our swimming suits. I don't think we actually ate, but we were all swimming and I was closest to shore. [My youngest brother] Lyle was having some difficulty, but I noticed a plastic air raft surfacing from some unknown area under the water. I grabbed it and gave it to Lyle. Soon we all had these raft things and were floating down stream, away from our picnic site. We didn't seem to be getting wet. As we passed the edge of the land (to our left), I turned to my dad and remarked on something. I don't know when, but it might have been then that another person joined our party. This man was genial enough, with dark blonde hair and more knowledge about what was happening than we had. He stood on his raft, and though his feet were in the water, they didn't get wet. Sometimes I was me and sometimes I was this new guy, which was how I figured out that we were all dead. Now we were all standing on our rafts, which kept moving along the water. I, as this new guy, coasted along side of either me, Dad or someone else, and latched on to some sort of...I don't know what it was. It was yellowish, about a foot long and two or three inches thick, around fourteen or fifteen inches tall, metal and antique. It had a large panel, I think, in the upper left hand "corner" (the edges were rounded) and a half of a tin can embedded in the lower right. I traced along the can with my own (I'm still the new guy), which I remember was a tomato paste can. When the person coasting next to me (I think it was my dad) asked, "How did you do that?" I looked down to find my can in the contraption next to the original one. I mumbled something about what I was doing there and handed the contraption back. I was me again, and we coasted toward a small cove surrounded by trees. We entered and I noticed that this place used to be someone's room. There was about a three to four foot path of water on either side of a tiny island, which was squarish and had a large box of some kind on the end closest to us. The box was nearly overgrown with vines and bushes, and more bushes collected behind it. As we stood floating at the entrance, I saw a door at the far right corner. We all made for the box. [My middle brother] Keith, Lyle and I looked in, and I noticed that it was an old, wooden school desk. There was no top, but all the contents were inside and undisturbed. We dug through and I saw old pens and pencils, some paper, rulers and such. They were all antique. The new guy told us to leave it alone and follow him through another door that had been on the left side, across from the desk. We were now standing on the vines. We dug through one last time, and I noticed a small box that was about seven inches long. Opening it, I discovered a small ruler and another ruler that seemed to have a mercury thermometer in the middle. The end of the thermometer jutted out of the base of the ruler. There was also a calendar--a small one, with the months on tiny, two inch square sheets. The year read either 192- or 182-. My guess is about 1922. Lyle had been last to enter the door, and I hurriedly followed, pocketing the rulers and calendar. Past the door were a series of long, white rooms that looked as though they had been taken from a shoebox hospital. I ran to keep up with Lyle's departing figure, but every time I entered a room, I glimpsed him rounding the corner. It was barely enough for me to tell the right door to take. Each room was only about six or seven feet wide and fifteen feet long, stuffed with tables and medical equipment so that there was a narrow walkway from the entering door to the two leaving doors. Everything was so white. The far end of each room let into a wide area where nurses and other hospital people bustled around, but Lyle always disappeared into the doorway on the right wall, just before the open area. This hospital was busy. After about eight doors and the corrosponding rooms, I ran through a room toward what I took to be Lyle's black tee-shirt. When I got there, this small man bumped past me. He had hair like Lyle's and a black tee-shirt, but he wore a small stocking cap with a pom-pon and he sported a scraggly, long beard that splayed out in a semicircle around the lower half of his face. He didn't notice me. By the time I got to the doorway, I had no idea where my family was. Walking through a few more rooms, I got to a labyrinthine part of the hospital that had darkened sections and no people. There were still some of the long, rectangular rooms, but there were also a few larger rooms to my left. It was hopeless. I turned back, happening upon some of the larger open areas. Now it looked less like a hospital and more like a huge, dark train station. The open areas were all kind of seperated by pillars and the occasional half-wall, like a basement from some sort of industrial warehouse: less light, not as many walls, larger areas, a ceiling twice as high as it shoud be and many gigantic black pillars. Large groups of people had been sectioned off and they seemed to be preoccupied. They all sat there, in chairs that had been set up, either just sitting like they were in an airport or watching television. I walked through this place, looking for anybody I recognised. There were some lights, but most of the place was in shadow. I kept fiddling with my glasses until they fit right, and when they finally did, I took them off to see what I had done. The nose pads had bent way over to the right. I turned around a pillar toward the back of a group of people that were sitting in these folding chair things and watching television. They were all clad in leather jackets with chains and studs. Some of them had interesting haircuts and tattoos. They seemed to have been sectioned off, like all the other groups, and only a few--those toward the front--showed any emotion. For the most part, they just sat there, staring at the screen. The television was playing a music video full of dark, foggy streets. There was a black car driving here and there and a few things exploding. Some slum areas. The music was Nine Inch Nails's "Head Like a Hole". The reason I entered this place--and nobody seemed to notice me when I did--was because I thought one of the women sitting in the back row was Margaret Anderson [a girl from one of my classes]. I had stopped to look at the television, and when I turned back, it wasn't Margaret. There was no way I could tell if she had been before. Walking out of that place, I trudged to the area behind it, where more people sat, facing the same direction. I didn't notice a television or anything else to keep them occupied. They just sat there. In the last row, there was a face I recognised. It was Julie [a short, blonde friend of mine]. I called her name, striding over to her and pulling a chair around. She was sitting, facing the other way than all the rest and fiddling with something--either some knitting, a keychain or a plastic purse. I sat in front of her. "Julie, what are you doing here?" She looked up at me, but her eyes were dull and her hair was matted down and kind of straggly. She was completely wasted, like she had been forced to run constantly for decades through a neverending swamp while carrying the world. I was pretty shocked, because she didn't smile; she didn't even reply. There was no "Julie" about her anymore. She just looked at me. The only clue I had that she recognised me at all was that she didn't ask who I was. It was as though someone had crushed her soul. "Julie," I said, trying to get her to respond, "I'm dead. I drowned. I think we all are--everyone here." I didn't mention my family, but Julie's eyes widened. Usually it looks great when her eyes are big, but this was subtly horrifying. They were a fraction too wide and remained dead and broken. She said about my family, "They're on level D." Two men approached behind her. The one that spoke was kind of short, with a dark complexion and short, curly black hair. They stood a couple rows behind Julie, and the one man leaned over and said, "There's been a mistake." His voice and face were emotionless, but his eyes were as wide as Julie's--no less frightening. "You two have to go back." Julie turned to look behind her at the man, showing the first human response since I saw her. His comment seemed to snap her out of her shock a little. "What about my family?" I said. His face didn't change. "They're already there." I took Julie's hand and we stood up. The dialogue in quotations is exactly quoted from the dream and any conversation I was unsure of was explained in the narrative. -- BJH September 1992 ======Dreams by ka109016@spstmail.uwsp.edu================================== VMK DREAM JOURNAL ENTRY #101 Vol.5, May 9, 1994 "Neil Gaiman, I DRIVE A CAR & marriage--ACK!" I had a vision of comic books, as if someone was holding several in front of me and daring me to try to read them as they flipped the pages. I couldn't tell what the comics were of, but I was able to stop the pages from turning. As soon as I did that, I found myself at a comic convention. I was the only woman artist there and my nerves were on edge. Someone led me to a computer screen and I recieved E-mail from Neil Gaiman, the writer of SANDMAN. He addressed me as the "Dream Shaman" and he wanted to interview me at the convention. He told me to meet him in the men's restroom. There was a men's restroom to my left. I went inside, but inside it was not a restroom, it was an office and studio space--all painted in blue. Neil was at his desk typing something on one of those old 1930s typewriters. I started to ask him questions like; "What would you like to talk about first?", "I have my portfolio with me, would you like to review it?", and "Why have you called me here?" He didn't answer any of these, he just said, "When will you be able to work on one of MY stories?" I told him I didn't know I was being hired. Then he started to ask me stupid questions like; "How often do you dye your hair?", "Have you ever considered going blond?", "When is your next appointment at the salon?", and "Shouldn't you be married by now?" I didn't care for these questions. He told me I should be prepared for them. "No one takes women seriously in comics," He said, "it's about time you started toughening yourself up. I need you for my next story..." I was frightened, so I excused myself. I don't like being noticed when I'm irrational. Next I was in the parking lot. Some guy walking by told me that there was a car waiting for me in the back. He said the car was made out of Red Jasper (a type of stone) and that I'm lucky to have it. The funny thing is, I don't know how to drive in real life (but I can drive in this dream). I get into the car and it starts raining. Suddenly I'm in Madison, WI driving this Red Jasper car through light snow. There is no steering wheel on the car, only a telephone rotary dial which I use to steer the car. In the back are two old ladies who are talking about me. "My, she is so nice," they say, "I wish I had a daughter like her... driving people places they need go. And she pretty, too...but will she stay pretty? Or is she gonna git too much like the boys and their silly picture books?" I drive the two old women to a graveyard. I stop the car and they disappear when I get out. I walk into the graveyard. Instead of burial plots, there are deep, black puddles which I step into. I'm dressed in a black chiffon mourning dress, complete with hat, umbrella (eventhough it's not raining), black roses, and viel. As I step through the puddles, there are three children playing around me. These kids are dressed all in white, one's a blond little girl, the other two are dark-haired boys. One of the boys tuggs me by the hand. I let him lead me to the edge of the graveyard where there is a big picture of Princess Di as the Virgin Mary and two white silk bridal gloves. "These can be yours, you know," the little boy tells me. I don't want these things, but I take one of the gloves (I don't put it on) and I walk away. Next thing I know, I'm brought before a mausoleum. The little boy opens it and inside there is a wedding reception going on. I step inside. I am now dressed as a bride out of 18th century France and there's this HUGE table full of food before me. Thousands of people are there. I'm put on the spot. I think I'm the guest of honor. The little boy is supposed to be my future husband. I get angry at everyone there. "I don't want to marry anyone," I plead, "I'm too young and it will take my identity away. I'm sorry, but you will all have to go home..." And the little boy starts crying. "Don't you love me?" he sobs, "I thought you wanted me! What can I do to have you?" I tell him he's too young for me. He tries to convince me otherwise. I'm starting to feel guilty, I don't want to hurt him, but I must hold my ground. Being single makes me happy. Then I wake up. VMK DREAM JOURNAL ENTRY #102 Vol.5, May 11, 1994 "Popular hands" I was staring at BJ's hands. Everyone I know wants to touch them and have them (even me) but I'm not sure it's right. He's letting everyone, even strangers, touch and hold his hands. People from all walks of life are petting his fingers. He likes the attention and brags about it. I get fed up. I'm telling him, "Stop letting people do this to you! You might lose yourself! ...You NEED your hands!" For hours it seems like I'm always trying to grasp his hands, but then after I do touch him, I feel ashamed and hold back. No one else seems self-conscious about touching BJ's hands and he isn't bothered by anyone touching him. He asks me why I don't want his hands as bad as others do. I tell him it's because I want him to do what's right for him. I don't want to control him. "If you want, these hands can be your hands," he says, "let me give them to you." I refuse to have them. In the end, he takes my hands. I feel like this is some sort of test. I don't trust him with my hands. Even though he's sincere, I have to get away. Then I wake up. ____________________________________________________________________________ Dream articles and information. ======From hi205436@spstmail.uwsp.edu======================================= How can music affect your dreams? --BJH When I go to sleep, I need to have music on to counter the effects of tinnitis (a constant ringing in the ears caused by damaged cochlea). I've found that different music has different effects on my dreams. Here are a few types of music and suggestions for experiments. Getting to sleep with music on can be a chore, unless you're used to it. Some types of music are better suited for this lullabye task, and all I can do is suggest what works for me--your brain will probably have different ideas. Strangely enough, industrial music works best for me. Industrial is music that has a heavy beat, lots of bass and electronics and whispered or rasped vocals. My favourite groups for falling to sleep are Front 242, Trauma, Ministry (only the album "Twitch"), and Frontline Assembly. "Twitch" is the best album I've found--the vocals are almost all whispered and all the stereo effects travel back and forth between your ears. Very hypnotic. Some of the relaxing music I like (Enya, Dead Can Dance; the ethereal stuff) doesn't work. I haven't figured out why. Here's what they do to my dreams. Trauma gives me really dark, surreal dreams. There is a lot of urban landscaping and metal. There really isn't a feeling of oppression, but my surroundings aren't really a place I'd like to be in real life. Front 242 blacks me right out--I usually can't remember my dreams. Ministry's "Twitch" lulls me to sleep. Sometimes I remember pasty, off-the-wall dreams involving family members and close friends in close-to-real-life experiences. The neat side-effect of "Twitch" is the fact that I always wake up as out of a deep sleep, feeling really rested. Another group (then I'll stop) I experimented with was 'Til Tuesday. They're basically folkish rock. Usually I'd put them on during a nap and have the cd repeat until I woke up. When I listened to them this way, and I'm sure it'll work with almost any music you can sleep to, I got quite a lot of lucid dreams. Try this: practise going to sleep with the same music playing over and over (better use an entire album so you don't go crazy) for a few months. Eventually, the music will bleed into your dreams. Depending on your mindset, you can use this musical cue to say, "Hey, I'm in the middle of the desert, but I hear 'Til Tuesday. I listen to 'Til Tuesday every time I take a nap, so I must be taking a nap right now!" It takes a while, but it works. If anybody's still interested in music vs. sleep, let me or Chris know and I'll try to prepare an article ahead of time instead of dashing it off the night before we send the N-letter out. --BJH-- ____________________________________________________________________________ Things for next time. Val has a series of dreams she had in March that ran about a week. Printing them would take an awful amount of space. Would you be interested in reading a serial dream? If yes, should we serialise it in about six issues (a month and a half) or should we print a special newsletter (a one-timer) for the serial dream? Do any of you have serial dreams that you'd like to share? Just for your information, Val typed up the first dream in the series, and it was about six pages long.