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The Eidolonica Papers Issue 02
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PAPERS
Vol. 1 Issue 2 November, 1995 Edited by and contributed to by Greg Webster
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Nightmare Symbolisms
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I've always had intense dreams, usually not nightmares, mostly the very
strangest of the dreams most people have. I never had to train my lucid
dreaming, I've done it right from birth. As I fall asleep or wake up I
slip into that half-dream/half-awake phase where the dream becomes
controllable. Even things that in real life I would have no control over
become moldable, I can control the speech of others, their actions, and
all the strangeness in my dream-worlds.
But occasionally I lose that control. Things warp in and out, and the
beings my mind creates get nasty. Losing control in my dreams is what I
define as having nightmares.
The first nightmares I remember followed childhood experiences with movies.
The first of these I remember followed the release of "It's Alive", a cheap
horror about a deadly, destructive and deformed baby (this was followed by
"It's Alive II", which was even worse). I didn't actually see the movie
until I was in my teens, but it came out when I was about 8. What set off
my nightmares were the commercials on TV. They were always played late at
night, but I managed to sneak out of my room and watch the TV from around
corners while my parents and older brother were still up. Even though the
commercial set off near-panic attacks and days of nightmares I continued
to sneak out to watch the commercial. Fear became a sick sort of
obsession with me. I began to love to be afraid, and searched out other
TV experiences that I expected would scare me.
Then the movie "Sasquatch" came out.
My parents allowed me to see it on TV, I think a neighbour brought over
his VCR since I remember their kid watching it there as well. He and my
older brother were the same age (about 4 years older than me) and
attempted to scare me as much as possible while we watched this movie.
I still remember scenes from it, rock-throwing sasquatches, half-blind
men stumbling through thick woods, and an overall dark feeling.
This started a full year of night terrors and nightmares, all about
sasquatches. I woke up at least once a night for the first month, and
then about once a week for a long time after. My parents swore they would
never allow me to see another horror film. I broke that rule as often as
possible until my parents relented.
Nowadays horror films never set off nightmares, but other things surely
do. During my last relationship, at the bad parts and towards the end of
the relationship, I experienced all sorts of nightmares, even eventually
coming to the point where I had to sleep with a light on in my room to sleep.
That lasted a couple weeks. A month later I could sleep fine most of the
time, but I still had an occasional nightmare - mostly involving random
meetings with my ex.
Recently I've had a spate of dreams involving the people in my class.
Fair enough, since I spend a lot of time with them each week. A bit ago,
I had a nightmare about one of the people in my class, a very decent and
beautiful woman named Anick (pronounced Aneek). It involved my class
travelling to Mexico for class and sitting down. Anick said something
about her cat, which I didn't pay any attention to, and I sat down to
class. We talked for a while, and the conversation turned to the subject
of disgusting food. I few people made some small suggestions on what
would be gross to eat, and I blurted out "cat guts".
Anick turned to me and said, "That was really cruel". I couldn't figure
out what was wrong with what I said, until I thought back to what she
said about her cat. The facilitator of my class broke in to the
conversation and told me that Anick's cat was dead after a mysterious
problem, and an incompetent veterinarian.
I walked out of the small mexican-looking building very upset. I felt
like I was being blamed for something that I had no way of knowing about,
and was fairly upset. In the the dream I left thinking of suicide,
knowing I could never gain back the respect of Anick and others in my
class. Then I woke up...I was upset, but not severely, certainly not
suicidal. Mainly I just wanted to get back to class and see Anick,
make sure everything was ok. Unfortunately, she was gone for two full
days after that with a sick child, and that definitely worried me.
Nightmares can affect our real world strongly in this way.
Was the dead cat in the dream some sort of premonition of her sick child?
I have no idea, but I doubt it. It felt like it was some sort of
premonition, or a dream connected with reality in some way, but the
child-cat connection doesn't seem to fit. I hope the dream has not
foretold something nastier, I don't want to have that sort of connection
from my dreams to reality. I know I wouldn't be to blame, but somehow I
would feel guilty for it.
I could do without more dreams of that nature. I am, by nature, a
worrier, although a mellow sort of one. These kind of dreams make me
worry in a way that hurts. They make me afraid, the same sort of fright
that I felt as an 8 year old, scared that the horrific baby in the
"It's Alive" movie was lurking around hunting for me. Pure dread and
terror.
I think those first frights swallowed a lot of my innocence, some of
which I still wish I had.
Well, that's my story on this topic, enjoy the rest of this month's issue.
I hope it reminds you of your nightmares...not so that you feel the same
dread and fright, but so that each of us might delve a little into
ourselves.
See you next month. The topic will be (after mucho deliberations):
"Encounters with the other side - Ghostly phenomenon". As usual,
submissions are not only accepted, but NEEDED and welcomed! Just as long
as I get them before the 20th of the month that the issue is due out for.
Many thanks.
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I received this submission after a request
or two posted on a newsgroup. I don't know
Mr. Burns, and other than this submission
and another one for use in another issue,
I haven't had much contact with him.
But, Mr. Burns interests me. His recollections
of dreams seem as vivid as my own, and as you
will see in his other submission in a later issue,
he has a lot of the soul-searching values I
am looking for in myself.
I've edited the format from doublespace
for brevity, but have altered none of the
text other than to add a few underlines of
his own titles. This works stands alone,
as it has a very broad base, and is stable.
Dear Editor:
I would like to submit the following story for possible inclusion
in your magazine. This is the actual diary of a day in Feburary.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
William C. Burns, Jr.
burnswcb@gvltec.gvltec.edu
Amber Moments
by: William C. Burns, Jr.
Day 4, Thursday, February 24, 1994
Daybreak
=-=-=-=-
I am standing in an orchard in the middle of a very deep winter's
night. The trees are naked and ebon black. The jet velvet sky is
teeming with billions of stars. I'm falling into that sky. I'm
falling! I hate this! There is something I'm trying to remember.
There's something I do.
What is it? Oh yeah, relax. What!? Relax . . . It's what I do
when this kind of thing happens. I relax.
I am standing on a rock in the middle of a turbulent river and down
stream I see my dad walking toward me against the current. There is
something following him in the river. There is this huge shark, with a
broken tail coming up behind dad fast. I shout at him, but he doesn't
hear. I'm saying in my head. 'Don't panic dad. Just move slowly to
the shore.'
He sees the shark and turns into a seal. 'No! Shit dad, not a seal
they love seals! Get out of the water dad! Get out . . .'
Relax. Find the center. I relax.
This is the price I pay for not having a wall between my conscience
waking mind and my sub-conscience.
I sit up.
And there is this little voice in the back of my head saying, "I
wonder what they're doing today? How are they filling in all those
empty spaces?"
"I'm coloring outside the lines," I mumble while nuking a bowl of
grapenuts.
Initial Contact
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I am a clown by profession. I make tense situations easier for
people. Situations like learning, biomedical engineering, differential
equations applied to electronics, the usual clown stuff.
I turn my beat up 84' Buick at the intersection, and try not to look
at the white cross the police painted on the street. I look anyway.
This guy was in an accident. He was fine. Got out of his car.
Checked on the lady that hit him and was clearing some of the debris.
He was bent over, picking up wreckage, and the driver of the third car
says she didn't even see him. He was pronounced dead on the spot.
I get out my car and head for the tent. All I wanted was to get to
my office, not endure another object lesson on the transient nature of
life.
"Are you angry?" the little voice asks.
"Yes."
Dancing the Real Slow Dance
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House lights down, pin spot up, I take the stage. Tada!
I make hand shadows in the saw dust, saying things like , "The
electrical signal we measure is the result of charged bodies migrating
across the membrane barrier . . ."
Suddenly there is a light. Up there in the back row. The light has
come on over that girl's head, she understands. She is whispering to
the guy next to her. His light sputters into existence. It's
spreading, a river of candles in the darkness.
I bask. It isn't the light of a solar flare, or a Holy
Conflagration, it is the simple light of human understanding. It is
enough.
The little voice considers for a moment, then asks, "This pleases
you. Why?"
"This is the real slow dance, its the only dance that matters," I
answer. It's not enough, but its the only thing my speaking brain can
offer.
The Leach
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The leach is in my dressing room. This is no surprise. I slap it
on the head and it hisses.
"Give me your time," it commands.
"Get your own," I snarl back in leach-speak.
"Why do you hate me. I only want to exist. I don't want all of
your blood, just enough."
"Get a life." I wish I still smoked. They say if you stick a lit
cigarette on their heads they will fall off.
The voice is silent. "Live in a swamp, you gotta pick up a few
leaches," I say to no one in general.
Neo-Puritan Lunch
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The neo-puritan from the front row asks where I want to have lunch.
I pretend I don't know.
Later he finds me anyway, at the taco place. He knows my car. He
sits in the chair facing me and smiles.
"I don't think there are any of them space aliens." Out of the clear
blue sky, and he's serious, I mean he really believes this.
I take the bait, "How you figure that?"
"It isn't in the Bible. I mean there isn't any place where it says
that there aren't aliens, but it doesn't say there is either.
Something that big, it should be in there."
"You've read the book, the whole book?"
"Well . . . No."
"Who wrote the book?"
"Well, people I guess. What's your point?"
"People write a book, a fine book mind you, and there are only
people in the book. Coincidence?"
"Bill, sometimes I wonder if you are holy enough . . ."
I stand up and leave. My luck holds, he doesn't follow me to the
car.
"Why do they come to you?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm a rock that they need to break against, or
a tree that they sleep under."
"Do you hate them?"
"Never."
A Day's Energy Spent - Coin of the Realm
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I light a candle, pour a shot of red wine (my mother-in-law says
it's good for cholesterol), and lean back in the sofa. My wife moves
around the room to a place near to me.
"Little voices in your head?" she asks.
I nod.
"I understand," she says.
I can see them in her eyes again. These tiny little lights behind
her eyes. Soft, warm, amber-chocolate lights. She does comprehend. I
am a very lucky person.
"Want to talk about it?"
"Well . . ."
finis submission
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Here goes another submission from someone
I haven't had much contact with. I rarely
attempt to decipher dreams (my own or
others'), so I will leave it up to you
readers to delve into what is here, and
see your own faces in someone else's
reflection.
From: Michael Mahaffey <wedo@comtch.iea.com>
Subject: Nightmares
O.K. guys, I am going to give this a try. I have written to other
addresses and have only had the dissapointing experience of having my stuff
sent back to be trashed.("undeliverable mail")
(Editor's note - I don't beleive this had anything to do with me. If
anyone has experienced mailing problems at my address, let me know)
This subject is one I could probably write volumes on as I seem to
only be able to remember the "weird" or extremely "different" type
dreams/nightmares.
This particular one involves my father. We are trying desperately trying to
get back to his barber shop so that I may take care of a not so nice thing
for my dad. He actually wants me to shoot the person that is hiding in his
barber shop (bathroom). We are having a very difficult time making our way
through the alleys and backstreets of town, in the dark, in the rain.
My father is badgering me constantly to know for sure if I am going
to be able to take care of this deed for him. Though I detest the idea of
having to do something like this I asure him that he can count on me. (Of
course you know Dads can't do stuff for themselves).
Anyway we never make it back to the barber shop and I never have to
see if I am able to do the unthinkable.
An interesting sideline to this nightmare is the fact that for the
third or fourth time that I can remember I encounter a truck being loaded
with meat and being guarded by armed guards. Their weapons (pistols and
rifles), however, are being covered or hidden by newspapers draped over
them, cloth and jackets over them and just plain trying to keep them out of
site.
This same scenario has showed up in different dreams with different
people involved but all with a truck being loaded with meat and being
guarded by armed people.
Now if that aint weird nothin is!
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Subscriptions may be relayed to: Kick@freenet.vancouver.bc.ca
Submissions go to the same place.
I'll be getting back to you on possible ftp addresses where I might be
stored.
Submissions on next month's topic will be accepted until the 20th of that
month. I hold the right to edit things as I choose for any reason I feel
is appropriate, but keep in mind that I hate doing it, so your submissions
will probably be safe from my evil hands. I'm not here to censor
submissions.
Everything here is (c) 1995 unless I say otherwise. You may feel free to
copy it for any non-profit use you wish, as long as it remains unedited.
If you wish to edit something for use, or wish to charge money in any way
for what you read here, then you MUST contact me for permission, or at
least contact me in order to get permission from the original author.
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