the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
Rhi and I are eating turkey and swiss cheese quesadillas. I notice a little black ant crawling on Nathaniel's chest. I flick it off. Then I see another. Then another. Then I realise that there's a steady trickle of them, marching out of his left ear and down his cheek.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last Night's Dream:
I'm racked with indecision. There are two parties on tonight and I can't choose. I feel strong obligation to go to each and they each sound like they're going to be great. I'm sitting on the couch, trying to go through pros and cons for them.
Now I'm at a party, chatting with Matthew. He gets a phone call and steps aside to take it. His expression grows suprised and he glances back at me, saying "Are you ... sure?"
He holds the phone to his chest.
"It's Rhiannon. She says she called to tell me you died?"
I take the phone and get a confused tale from Rhi: we were talking when I started thrashing and screaming in agony. After 5 minutes of that, I exploded, leaving behind only a bright flash.
I tell her I'll be home soon, as soon as I check something.
I get in the car and drive. Soon, I arrive at a hill leading down to a dock. My car is parked on the hill.
I get out, walking down to the dock, stepping onto the brightly-lit ship, navigating the well-dressed partygoers. Seated at a table, playing a boardgame, clad in a tuxedo, I find myself. I look surprised. We reach out and touch each other. Now there's one again.

Later: I am stapling egg cartons to the walls of our storage room, as soundproofing, and trying to work up as much enthusiasm for going to work as I have for staying home. It only works if I'm torn.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
We have discovered time travel. We have invented the time machine. Each of us. Each of the five of us has separately invented this particular time machine and somehow converged. Every idiosyncratic labelling and placement of every button and lever has a different story that leads to the same design. We are, we theorise, from different parallel worlds, but have arrived at the same singular vehicle, which we each are sure we personally built. And now we go on adventures through time.
One of the other four is Ssu'Ssan, a dinosaur-descendant lizard/avian person. Of the others, I recall only that two more are women. All other details are hazy.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
I'm at a big convention/playtest thing. A vast expo hall stretches out in all directions, packed with tables. At each table, a single player sits, as groups stand, looking on. At each table is a solo boardgame, different games in different states of polish; some are very professional-looking, others are hastily printed out on bits of paper. The whole convention hall is dead silent, save the gentle sounds of game pieces being moved, shuffled, inspected, played. No-one speaks.*
I'm demoing a game about trying to take a nice shower: juggling the temperature, managing water pressure, getting things clean, etc. It's being pretty well received. A middling-length queue is forming as, somehow, word of mouth spreads.
As each player finishes their play, I silently usher them past my table and up a short flight of stairs, onto a stage, into a soundproof glass booth, where they'll be debriefed, their impressions and feedback recorded. The glass is one-way; the hall can see in, but the playtester can't see out. They are on display, the name of the game they just played projected onto the glass, but, on the inside of the booth, they are alone.
I'm not sure why that's important, but it's very important.

The calm is broken as a side door slams open. A teen girl, perhaps 13, bursts in, clutching a red and white shoebox.
"Time to kick some ASSSSSS!" she yells, flinging the lid from the box. A torrent of feet come flying out, swirling around the room, viciously kicking people, startling them into sharp cries.

*Possibly inspired by Linette's tales of the silent party she attended.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
Jim Fishwick steps out from behind a fir tree in the snowy forest. He is bearing a large serving tray and a huge grin.
"I worked it out!", he cries gleefully, whisking off the tray's domed silver cover. On the tray, a plate of large, brightly coloured loose teeth, sun yellow, fire engine red, royal blue. They have the glossy, waxy texture of crayons.
"Try them! They're perfect! Our country is over!"
They seem to be clicking, but now I notice that sounds comes from above.
In the branches, an owl with a clock for a face touches down, gently displacing the snow with silent wingbeats. Above its waistcoat, owl's pendulum tie ticks back and forth.
Nathaniel, in my arms, reaches out and grasps a red tooth. He puts it in my mouth. It is surprisingly crunchy.
It tastes of urgent meetings.


Dec. 16th, 2013 10:50 pm
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
Our neighbour, Russell, has invented a drug. He concocts it to deal with his sleep apnoea and offers it to me because of mine. It means you don't need to sleep. Rather than being a mandatory overnight shutdown, sleep becomes more like "You need to restart to install these updates. Do you want to do that now?". It comes in deep, emerald capsules, although Rhi takes her downloaded through her Kindle. Inserted through a port in the top, it turns all the words green.
I'm also giving it to Nate, who has it dissolved in his formula. He still sleeps (he can't figure out how to choose not to), but we give it to him for the side effect: all your waste is replaced by a pearlescent, pineapple-scented gas.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's (actually night before last's) dream:
I am playing a game. It's similar to Killer, but it's also Secret Santa, so rather than "killing" your target, you must surreptitiously deliver them a present. No-one knows who else is playing, apart from the identity of their target. If you can figure out who your Secret Santa is and deliver them a present, you become the target of their Secret Santa. You must deliver presents either by stealth, or in disguise as Santa.
Last player left without a present gets all their present purchases reimbursed.
I have just dispatched Shaun Tabone and am climbing back up his chimney (situated where the TV is in his real apartment), when a dark red box comes parachuting down. It unfolds itself in mid-descent, revealing a copy of the new Wild Cards book, "Deep Stack" (which doesn't exist, in case you're wondering).
High above, a mysterious figure in a pom-pom hat chuckles and dashes from the roof.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
We're playing a ... meta-game(?) called "The Power of Fluff" (this year's was subtitled "What's Fluff Got To Do With It") where you take the fluff elements of the mechanical parts of a game and make a new game.
Our team (it seemed to be some kind of contest) starts with the character generation parts of Spycraft and are making a new system that used different kinds of tiddlywinks and a thing like a combination maypole and coin (or, in this case, tiddlywink) ramp slide. But it's still a roleplaying game.
At the end, our team stands on the top of our winners' podium thing of the tiered kind of construction that one sees for medalists in the olympics, but scaled up, so that it's wide enough for a whole team of 8 and the tiers are each about two metres taller than the next.
The Silver team (who are, in addition to winning the silver medal, all wearing silver jumpsuits) decides to try storming our podium with the kung fu powers they gleaned through careful study into the secret volumes of Blue Rose.
In the control room inside my chest, Sensorialist Benj turns from the sensors desk and gives Benj Supreme the status report: The silver team will overrun the podium in 18 seconds if we do not unleash the secret weapon. Scientographer Benj rails against it, saying the world isn't ready for that and we must bide our time and it's all just a stupid game anyway, how is it worth it?
Supreme Benj decides that they can't take this away from us, dammit, and how can we make Benj look himself in the mirror if we're not willing to take this chance? Scientographer Benj slumps his shoulders, lets out a defeated sigh, then nods. He pulls the lever.
Lights glow around me, coalescing into ethereal, luminous skulls, each grinning outward toward a member of the Silver team, as they swirl around us.
"INFINITE JEST!(-est-est-est-est...)", I cry, as golden light streams forth, annihilating the Silver team.
The crowd cheers.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
It turns out the ghosts aren't real. It's the aliens, trying to convince us our planet's haunted, so we'll leave and they can take it.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream (just a snippet, can't remember anything else):
A purple and lime green Muppet cow named Omnipotent Jane sang "HAppiness! Ha, penis!"
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
In white, glowing all-caps on a black background,
over and over
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
We were playing (actually, I'm not sure I was there at all) a roleplaying game. It centred around some kind of monastery or order of knights or something like that. There was an organisational management kind of aspect to it, that fed into the character creation system, so for example, one could only play a non-human character once you (the group) had established good relations with those peoples within the story, which then unlocked them as an option for player "race". David, for instance, was now playing a little stocky satyr kind of dude called a "Throfen". A similar kind of dynamic applied to other sorts of character options.
The character design and inventory system revolved around action figures and their accessories (kind of like Shadowrun Duels), which came out of the castle playset that formed the group's HQ. Figures and items came out of the central keep, which was some kind of enclosed 3d printer, with stuff unlocked in play.
Nick Curnow was our main villain.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
Nathaniel, age ~10, is bringing back the dinosaurs to wipe out the humans.
Mummy and daddy are dead, so now the rest of the people need to die too.
He can summon anything that's extinct, so he's broken into the lab where the very last samples of terrible diseases are kept. He destroys them completely, so now they're everywhere.
The last survivors are hiding in a bunker, waiting to be hunted down.
As he storms the compound, flanked by a vanguard of velociraptors, the leader of the survivors hits him with a lucky bullet, just before he's swept off his feet by an ankylosaurus' deadly tail.
As Nathaniel lies dying in the waving grass, his eyes look up to the night sky, darting among the stars.

Nathaniel, Rhiannon and Benj stand on a verdant mountain, surrounded by friends and family, eating with pleasure.

Nathaniel, Rhiannon and Benj stand in a a windswept field, tilling the dirt that is not Earth.

Nathaniel, Rhiannon and Benj stand on a sandy shore, under an apricot sky, loatwhales gliding above.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
Nathaniel was swapped at birth, which meant Rhiannon and I swapped lives with the other parents, Steeeve and Miasma Tidmore. We lived in a big suburban McMansion and were country club, golf-playing, corporate types.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
I was denounced as a fraud when it was revealed that my dreams were actually dictated to me by James O'Rance's ghost.
For some reason, this meant I lost the house.
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:

I'll preface last night's dream with a recount of a dream from last week that I neglected to post. Why will become apparent.

1. I'm a co-host on a "Pop/Nationality Idol"/"X-Factor"/"The Voice" kind of show, but for stand up comedy. Each comedian gets a maximum amount of time (a few minutes) but the judges each have a pair of headphone/earmuff kind of things that they put on to signal that they don't want to hear any more, so there's kind of a Gong Show kind of interruption dynamic if all three judges put on their headphones.
One of the judges is Nick Cage in a zebra costume. I don't remember anything about the other two.
My co-host is named Brassica Winthrop. Every time they cut to us, it looks like we're in the middle of something else: sliding out from under a car on one of those little mechanic trolley things; brushing our teeth wearing "Hee's" and "Ha's" bathrobes; diving toward the camera, away from an explosion.
There was only one bit of stand-up that I remember: the comedian was talking about how scientists predicted that we needed to reduce the population by 35% if we were going to survive and not entirely wreck the planet; he was questioning whether it would be worse if:
A> We didn't reach that goal; or
B> We reached that goal, by killing all the people who cared
It wasn't funny in dream either.

2. I am the manager/administrator/coach for a superhero team. If it had a name, I don't remember it, but it definitely had a theme: all the members had superspeed.

-“Zeitgeist” (Christina Ricci) didn't run, but could fly very fast, turn intangible and slow or stop time. She was a character in a one-shot Mutants & Masterminds game I ran a while ago.
-“Nightspeed” never did superspeed stuff "on-camera" but always while shrouded in darkness. As she also had darkness powers, that didn't seem like a hindrance. She could send out glossy black tendrils, billow darkness that rolled like smoke, teleport from shadow to shadow and glide on inky wings.
-“Double-time” was more into flippy, acrobatic movement than running. She could make copies of herself, Multiple Man-style.
-"Wildfire" was the most "standard" in terms of approach to superspeed (running at the speed of sound, sprinting up walls, zipping around people to confuse them, that kind of thing), but also had flame powers. Mostly she seemed to use them to leave a trail of fire in her wake, but whether that was intentional or a side-effect wasn't explored.

Our base was an abandoned airfield; we had our offices in the old control tower.
And our Press Officer/PR person was Brassica Winthrop.

There was some stuff about a threat to a nuclear reactor by Grey/Blue-clad ninja, riding camels.
At one point, their leader reached out a claw-like hand and cried "SHRRRRIIIIVELLLL!" as a heat haze kind of wobbly air effect poured forth toward the team, but that's all I remember of their showdown.

OJ = Evil

Sep. 21st, 2013 11:47 pm
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
Showing the SWAT/special ops kind of team around the sinister facility:
"Why's it bigger in here than out there? Well, think of, for instance, a bottle of orange juice. Assuming you like orange juice; for the purposes of this example, you like orange juice; your actual feelings about orange juice are irrelevant to this example. Wouldn't you rather, given the option, that you have, instead of a 1 litre bottle that contains 1 litre of orange juice, have a 1 litre bottle that still weighs only a kilogram, but contains, as an approximation, 75 litres?
Also, this orange juice doesn't go off, that's important.
Anyways, this facility, it's like that, only for evil"
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's (actually, night before last's) dream:
I was watching TV. Just after the end of "The Meaning of Things (with Ernest Liberalism)" a new show came on.
It was set in the late 60s or early 70s and was about a couple who had been together for about 400 years. She (Jelena, played by Emma Stone) was a vampire, he (Frank, played by Chris Parnell) was her thrall (or ghoul, or Renfield, the show didn't actually give it a term, just made it clear that he was forever middle-aged by way of drinking her blood). The pilot episode had him coming to the decision that their relationship was broken and he wanted a divorce.
The theme music was from The Charmaines' "Eternally" (1:57-2:10)
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
I'm in a richly carpetted, dark wood-panelled club. I'm accosted by a rotund man with a walrus-like moustache.
"hI represent certain hinterests who would hrather that you were duly going about their business, if you folly my meaning" he declared, pulling his bowler off his bald pate.
"And that's just what I was off to do, I assure you" said I, retaking my seat and smoothing my waistcoat.
"hIt seems you mistake my meaning, sir. The time for your assurances carrying hweight hwith the persons to which I refer is a time since past. They don’t give two toots of a Turk’s trumpet for your promises now." he grumbles, reaching inside his jacket
Beneath the gleaming mahogany of the tabletop, my pistol gives a polite cough and a gentle puff of sawdust breezes upward, misting his whiskers in a fine mist of tiny splinters.
"hOh dear! hI rather think you've shot me, sir" he wheezes, azure rivulets of his blood running down his cravat.
"Well, I wasn't going to wait for you too shoot me first, now was I?"
"hI wasn't going to do anything of the sort", he pants, the cigarette case clattering from his shaking fingers.
"Ah", I riposte.
His blood, tracing bright blue capillaries on the doily, clouds above the table between us. He breathes out deeply, deflating slightly as the fog swirls back past him, ruffling his drooping moustaches and forming into a translucent phantom.
“hWell that’s torn it; you’ve killed me”, says his spectre “That’s going to be quite a bother for you. Isn’t that right, Julia Kelly's Chinese ghost?”
Beside him, in the same ethereal aspect, is Julia, clad in a cheongsam and with sticky tape visible at the sides of here eyes.
Reaching forth portentously with a taloned hand, she intones “Sure. Whatevs.”
the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
I'm having cold feet. I'm not sure I want to marry him at all. He's a lovely guy, but I'm starting to wonder whether I actually want to marry a man at all. Sure, it's what society expects of me, but I'm questioning why I had to stop dating women. Or hanging out with women. Or seeing women anywhere at all.
When I was in my teens and early 20s, there were women everywhere. Even then, I knew that eventually I'd stop seeing all these ladies and settle down and get married to another man, that's just what you do. But why? And where did all those women go? Nobody knows and my fiance thinks I'm mad even to ask.
I descend into the Underworld, holding my scary lantern before me. There are many stairs and many ladders, but no dangers that I recall.
Suddenly, I'm climbing up instead of down and I emerge into the cool evening. The city is abustle and women walk everywhere hand in hand. One stops, hands me a yellow paper flower and says "Ace beard, man"

October 2015

252627 28293031


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 24th, 2017 10:22 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios