Chat
05-15-2015, 02:50 PM
[5-15-15 am.
Dream
I am walking along the outskirts of UCLA ( I went to Grad school at UCLA and it only sorta looked like UCLA but I knew that is where I was walking) on a dirt pathway, late morning, with other people maybe 30 around me altogether. We are headed to an outdoor event, a festival of some sort. It is ahead of us 1,000 yards behind large trees in a large outdoor area. On the left next to me as I stroll, is a concrete structure with ivy growing on it and tall bushes at the base and tall trees. It is a parking structure perhaps or a small stadium, maybe a tennis stadium, with outdoor (concrete) first and second story ramps that people are walking on, again headed to this "festival event". On the right side of me is a grassy open park area.
While walking ,I glanced up at the structure and see a very confident, tall Caucasian, balding man in his thirties dressed in a black shirt and grey-kaki paints carrying a backpack. He is on the second floor ramp. At the same moment I am looking at the tall balding man, a different man comes from behind me on my right, running /walking fast (secret service like and totally visible). He is starring at the man on the ramp while running ahead of me quickly, crouching. He appears to be holding a gun angled down. It is apparent to me by his commanding body language that he is police/FBI/secret service. I look back at the tall balding man on the ramp and realize his backpack is actually carrying visible weaponry and what might be a small nuclear bomb. Tall bald guy and I are headed in the same direction and I realize instantly that I don't want to be headed where he is headed. I am concerned that no matter where I am, he will detonate his bomb and I will be toast, but know I need to put as much space as possible between me and his mission.
I see a path perpendicular to the structure and head toward it when from the right a sniper begins firing bullets at those of us on the grass and pathway. I run to an archway of a building. It is getting hot outside and the arch is providing some shade and sniper protection. There or 2 others there and they welcome me to their hiding spot. We are scared. It isn't really safe there and after a several minutes I continue to run trying to get out of the area and taking cover to hide along the way. I am looking for shade so I don't fry in the sun while hiding.
Soon I am in a middle class neighborhood, old Santa Monica/West LA style, with the smaller homes built after WW2. There is some dust here and the land is more dry. There are some small shops as well. I find others are hiding in outdoor alcoves and I join them. I take out my phone and call my mom. Not a great connection but I am trying to let her know what is happening and tell her I love her. I don't know what she is able to hear. Soon the people I am with and I find ourselves in a home/building someone has waved us into. It is more of an older storeroom/house.
We have now stayed at this "house" a month or so. We can't leave because when we try, someone gets taken or killed. Eventually, though I don't know how, our complex is sorta surrounded by other homes that now have "others" (bad others), inside them. We discover we can't speak English because if we do, they instantly find us and take us away or kill us. If we speak Spanish, "the others" feel we are one of them OR we are no threat and they leave us alone. They act a bit like human robots, cyborgs.
One cloudy night, a few of us decide to make a break for a safer home, kitty corner from where we are located. We are waved to hurry by the occupant of the home who is now in the street . We begin to move but halfway there, a tornado with clear, not dirt filled air, approaches and the person in the street is slow-motion lifted up in the air. Their legs slowly move back and forth as they are raised 30 feet in the air. Everything else is moving ahead in real time. I am thinking, this is totally odd and something is not right with this tornado. Then the person is dropped dead as the tornado looses strength, We go back to our "house" sad and in shock. We are hostages of sorts.
Time goes by. The next time English is spoken , the roof pops off the house, 4 giant, round, wooden (maybe) dolls poke there heads down and pick up the people they think have spoken and lift them like bugs out of the house.
Eventually, I too am taken by "others" who are wearing kaki. We are traveling in a jeep. I don't know where we are going but it is dusty and dry. I keep trying to remember to speak in Spanish but my vocabulary is like that of a preschooler. Somehow, I don't remember how, I escape. I am trying to make it to my "normal" world I know is still there somewhere. I make it to a outdoor carnival. It is clean here, for a carnival, not dusty. I am back somewhere close to where all this began. It is evening and I approach an arcade booth. The workers are wearing costumes and have face paint make-up. I ask if they can show me where a police offer is. It is difficult to find one. With people dressed up, police can't stand out in a crowd like they should. I am not really getting anywhere until I tell a young women that I am one of THE hostages. I knew we must have been on the news at some point with our pictures on tv. She takes a good look at me and a light bulb goes off. She then directs me on where to go and I walk in the night past the bright and noisy arcade booths. As I make my way to the officer, I understand I am safe from the "others" but am not sure if he will believe I am one of the missing hostages and I am not looking forward to sharing my story to prove I am who I am.
Then the phone rang.
Dream
I am walking along the outskirts of UCLA ( I went to Grad school at UCLA and it only sorta looked like UCLA but I knew that is where I was walking) on a dirt pathway, late morning, with other people maybe 30 around me altogether. We are headed to an outdoor event, a festival of some sort. It is ahead of us 1,000 yards behind large trees in a large outdoor area. On the left next to me as I stroll, is a concrete structure with ivy growing on it and tall bushes at the base and tall trees. It is a parking structure perhaps or a small stadium, maybe a tennis stadium, with outdoor (concrete) first and second story ramps that people are walking on, again headed to this "festival event". On the right side of me is a grassy open park area.
While walking ,I glanced up at the structure and see a very confident, tall Caucasian, balding man in his thirties dressed in a black shirt and grey-kaki paints carrying a backpack. He is on the second floor ramp. At the same moment I am looking at the tall balding man, a different man comes from behind me on my right, running /walking fast (secret service like and totally visible). He is starring at the man on the ramp while running ahead of me quickly, crouching. He appears to be holding a gun angled down. It is apparent to me by his commanding body language that he is police/FBI/secret service. I look back at the tall balding man on the ramp and realize his backpack is actually carrying visible weaponry and what might be a small nuclear bomb. Tall bald guy and I are headed in the same direction and I realize instantly that I don't want to be headed where he is headed. I am concerned that no matter where I am, he will detonate his bomb and I will be toast, but know I need to put as much space as possible between me and his mission.
I see a path perpendicular to the structure and head toward it when from the right a sniper begins firing bullets at those of us on the grass and pathway. I run to an archway of a building. It is getting hot outside and the arch is providing some shade and sniper protection. There or 2 others there and they welcome me to their hiding spot. We are scared. It isn't really safe there and after a several minutes I continue to run trying to get out of the area and taking cover to hide along the way. I am looking for shade so I don't fry in the sun while hiding.
Soon I am in a middle class neighborhood, old Santa Monica/West LA style, with the smaller homes built after WW2. There is some dust here and the land is more dry. There are some small shops as well. I find others are hiding in outdoor alcoves and I join them. I take out my phone and call my mom. Not a great connection but I am trying to let her know what is happening and tell her I love her. I don't know what she is able to hear. Soon the people I am with and I find ourselves in a home/building someone has waved us into. It is more of an older storeroom/house.
We have now stayed at this "house" a month or so. We can't leave because when we try, someone gets taken or killed. Eventually, though I don't know how, our complex is sorta surrounded by other homes that now have "others" (bad others), inside them. We discover we can't speak English because if we do, they instantly find us and take us away or kill us. If we speak Spanish, "the others" feel we are one of them OR we are no threat and they leave us alone. They act a bit like human robots, cyborgs.
One cloudy night, a few of us decide to make a break for a safer home, kitty corner from where we are located. We are waved to hurry by the occupant of the home who is now in the street . We begin to move but halfway there, a tornado with clear, not dirt filled air, approaches and the person in the street is slow-motion lifted up in the air. Their legs slowly move back and forth as they are raised 30 feet in the air. Everything else is moving ahead in real time. I am thinking, this is totally odd and something is not right with this tornado. Then the person is dropped dead as the tornado looses strength, We go back to our "house" sad and in shock. We are hostages of sorts.
Time goes by. The next time English is spoken , the roof pops off the house, 4 giant, round, wooden (maybe) dolls poke there heads down and pick up the people they think have spoken and lift them like bugs out of the house.
Eventually, I too am taken by "others" who are wearing kaki. We are traveling in a jeep. I don't know where we are going but it is dusty and dry. I keep trying to remember to speak in Spanish but my vocabulary is like that of a preschooler. Somehow, I don't remember how, I escape. I am trying to make it to my "normal" world I know is still there somewhere. I make it to a outdoor carnival. It is clean here, for a carnival, not dusty. I am back somewhere close to where all this began. It is evening and I approach an arcade booth. The workers are wearing costumes and have face paint make-up. I ask if they can show me where a police offer is. It is difficult to find one. With people dressed up, police can't stand out in a crowd like they should. I am not really getting anywhere until I tell a young women that I am one of THE hostages. I knew we must have been on the news at some point with our pictures on tv. She takes a good look at me and a light bulb goes off. She then directs me on where to go and I walk in the night past the bright and noisy arcade booths. As I make my way to the officer, I understand I am safe from the "others" but am not sure if he will believe I am one of the missing hostages and I am not looking forward to sharing my story to prove I am who I am.
Then the phone rang.