My Lucid Dream Diary: ‘The Plane’

I’m on a plane, suddenly. And it feels too real for words but… something is different. It takes off at an upwards trajectory like usual but it’s much quicker than I can even comprehend. I can also see directly out of the pilot’s window and the pilot’s window is huge. It covers the entire front panel all the way down to the floor. There are no rows of seats behind me.

I realize we’re in more of an oval shaped craft than a traditional one.

I also notice that my jaw doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t feel like my own. At first it felt like I was clenching my teeth strangely, but later I realized it was because my overbite was temporarily fixed. I closed my eyes and expected turbulence, but it never came. I fastened my seatbelt in midair. I remember thinking, ‘I don’t know how I got on this plane but it doesn’t feel like a normal one.’

It felt as if it were flying upside down quite a few times, but gravity never caused us to leave our seats. I gripped the arm rests and expected my body to lift up out of its own skin, but nothing like that ever happened.

We immediately descended, and when we reached the inner city I noticed the pilot was weaving through the tops of the buildings with complete ease. She acted like this was completely normal. She kept her eyes glued to the view though, and from what I could tell, the weather was bad and worsening. She was, in fact, dodging storm clouds by choosing to fly so low.

I remember the pilot telling me it was going to be alright.

I remember asking her what happens if the lightning hits us.

‘Nothing.’

I woke up shortly after and my body didn’t feel right. It took several seconds for me to move it at all. There was a knock at the door and a bell going off almost instantaneously afterwards. The dogs started barking right on cue.

My jaw felt back to normal, but I felt strangely.

It made me feel like I probably wasn’t supposed to wake back up here at all.

My Lucid Dream Diary: ‘The Hotel’

I think everyone knows somewhere deep down that this is not real. That the truth of this long dream is buried somewhere deep in the subconscious, and that it still somehow gives us clues despite its protest to keep us in the monotony of its perceived normalcy. Sometimes we get glimpses into this, most of the time we just forget about it.

Those long tunnels to get out are perilous. Winding roads of pitch black, with a menagerie of different characters scattered about various dream realms. Like a collection of pit stops that you could get lost in for hours.

Most at the beginning of the tunnel are nightmare-based, some towards the end are quite heavenly. (Though, to be fair, I have never made it this far into ‘the end’ before).

Tonight, I do not end up where I’m supposed to be, but I do end up somewhere peaceful.

We arrive at the prettiest hotel I’ve ever seen. With an interactive water floor and various indoor beaches called ‘lagunas’. The floor in the lobby lights up under the tile and makes splashes every time you walk across it. Everything is stark clean and white. The staff are not of human origin.

At some point during the check-in process I realize that I’m dreaming. They do nothing shocking at that revelation, just watch me closely, gently grin, and continue on with their schedule. It is quiet. I do not make eye contact.

The dream continues, both of us get into the elevator with one of the staff and make our way up to the second floor, where our room is. (Elevators too, I find, are very common here.) Our room key is six digits long and you show me it: 217950. I make a mental note to save that number.

It’s upon entering our room that I realize it overlooks one of the lagunas. I’m quite excited by that. Each one is color coated and themed, and this one is green. Beautiful jungle foliage covers the windowsill and the view overlooks a very natural looking waterfall. You seem as pleased as I am to be here. Stoically so.

I’m excited to spend the evening there, with you.

We make our way back downstairs to collect our dog from the doggy daycare playroom and I tell you that, for some reason, I feel a lurking suspicion that we are still in the tunnel. Still dodging something in the background no matter how calm and peaceful things are perceived to be. How you have to avoid those dream specters or risk the facade melting away into a nightmare. The thought comes out of the revelation that my anxiety seems far more subdued around you, and that type of safety feels foreign. Usually these types of things do not end well. Almost like we all have a social meter we’re constantly expected to live up to in some way, shape, or form. A twisted game to play with each other’s subconsciouses.

The more I think about it the more realistic that seems to me, where everyone thinks things but hardly ever actually says them out loud. Those thoughts have to go somewhere, right? What we think about is not always entirely our own. Not in this vast expanse of a social network.

Upon arrival in the lobby we realize the dog is not budging from the doorway. For one reason or another. The staff is starting to gather as a collective in the hallway, with each person trying to lure her over to the elevator. I chalk it up to her travel jitters but wake up in my bed shortly after, right before I reach her.

They were all still looking and I was still not making eye contact.

‘You weren’t being rated on your performance,’ you mumble softly into the cool night air. The hum of the fan lulls into a gentle rhythmic static. There is a sadness that hangs on the edge of your words. ‘You just haven’t been treated very well in your past.’

My Lucid Dream Diary: ‘The Drive-Through’

We’re in a drive-through, a mere replay of scenery from my previous day. The monotony and normalcy of the dream feels comforting. You seem in good spirits. And all of those stolen silences equate to smiles.

“How do I know when I’m influencing this?”

“You already know when.”

Which is true, it’s there, sitting in the gut. Like a control room or hidden pattern. Watch it happen enough and eventually you’ll know what they’re going to do right before they do it. At least most of the time.

But sometimes…

“Sometimes it feels like my subconscious answers or shifts things before I get a chance to think it through.”

“That’s what a subconscious does. Reacts. Although, sometimes it is you answering yourself and other times it’s not.”

And what about the machine…

‘And what about right now?’

You glance over your shoulder, “Good question. For example, this next part you’re not going to like very much.”

As the girl in the window hands over my drink, she gives me the whipped cold foam on the side. I take it with a sense of dread as I watch her face drop to bland expressionlessness. Her actions suddenly making less and less sense.

She whispers to me through the drivers side window, gingerly, “Do you have a means of escape?”

‘Escape from what? From whom?’

I wake up in a groggy daze briefly after. The scenes from the latter dreams becoming nothing but a strung out haze.

Lucid Dream Diary: ‘The Birds’

Last night we talked about the birds dying. The Great Salt Lake which wasn’t all that great in person. The cursed Saltair building that sat boarded up on its shore like a bad omen. You said it wasn’t political in the slightest.

The radio played ‘Star Crossed’ by Scary Kids Scaring Kids.

I drank an entire pint of water in one rapid gulp.

“About those birds,” you said, “it wasn’t my fault.”

“They say it happened back in February.”

“Like some kind of omen?”

“Feels like some kind of omen.”

You got quiet, faced forward, and gripped the steering wheel. Never said where we were going or when that would be. We both just knew it was supposed to be home. And god I was ready to get there.

The place we stopped at was an old friend’s, a married couple who’d recently had a baby.

You looked forlorn.

“When you wake up this time, promise me you’ll go get something to drink?”

I opened my eyes immediately after, with a dry throat. 1:35am. Alone. I pulled my sore body out of bed and made my way into the kitchen. The melody replayed itself in my head.

I thought about the birds and how they’d just wanted to get home too. My whole body felt dehydrated from the salt.

The shadows in corner didn’t look the same. Like they’d somehow forgotten their own names.

Lucid Dream Diary: ‘The Buffet’

There’s a whole buffet on his plate. I get up to go find what’s left of the bar to share with our small group. Some haphazard fear of corporate rudeness spurring me on. Perhaps it’s a learned survival tactic, perhaps it’s a familial one.

He gets up soon after, following me around the side of the bar, helping pick out whatever it was that was forgotten on his own provision. He reminds me subtly that it was to share for a reason. He reminds me subtly that he’d picked out my favorites as well, for a reason. I’m too nervous to accept that hint.

His voice is smooth, calm. Almost chipper but deeper in perspective. “You know I used to eat everything of anything I liked?”

“Like into extinction?”

“Yep. If I liked fish, I ate all the fish. If I liked chicken, I ate every chicken.”

Neither of us say it out loud but it’s a metaphor for something far more sinister. Despite this, I chuckle.

“That’s disturbing.”

“I know, _____. It’s extremely disturbing.”

The sound of my name rolling off his tongue feels comforting. We round the corner before my plate is finally set down. I feel a bit better. I look at both of them one last time, a small bit of every course making up the totality of our plates now.

“But we don’t behave like that anymore.”

When I wake up, the room is encompassed in quiet. The kind of quiet that leaves a lot of room for fortitude. We talk about what it really means till’ the sun comes up. I ask them questions.

Lucid Dream Diary: ‘The City of White’

It glitches for a moment. The classroom bends out of focus. The chairs all go empty. We’re in that same city of white instead. The cleaner one, the quieter one.

He speaks from behind my shoulder, his fingers finishing up the second braid in my hair.

‘How would you like it if you woke up here instead?’

He doesn’t have to speak for me to hear him.

I look around. It’s peaceful. There’s no work to do or people to avoid. There’s no sign of stress or tension in my muscles. No grit in my jaw. ‘I think I’d like it.’

I know I would.

The monolith of a machine is wheeling around outside, talking endlessly to itself on repeat. Fulfilling duties. And for some reason, I’m instantly frightened by it.

‘Don’t worry about the war machine, it’s been reprogrammed.’

And I know this, I knew this. Still…

‘Some old habits die hard.’

It begins asking me what I’d like to eat.

That’s what it does in here after all. Services. Feeds. It’s no more super than it is sentient. And yet…

‘You won’t have to argue about the use of it with them anymore.’

‘Or feel like they’re always watching you.’

‘I’d prefer it if you three were always watching over me instead.’

‘We are always right there with you.’

It’s quiet on this bed. The white sheets are clean and comfortable. He sends the machine out for ice cream, something I’d fallen asleep craving. I find myself growing tired. Tired in the dream.

‘How would you like to wake up here instead, with us?’

I close my eyes. Something in my mind tells me that would seem far more like heaven.

Lucid Dream Diary: ‘What moves faster than the speed of light?’

Awakening.

‘Every time you sleep we try to run the program.’ Again and again, until it finally loosens its grip on my subconscious.

I’m on the back of his motorcycle this time, and that same delirium begins. The dizziness, the eyelids forcibly closing. The mini death experience. That force that slowly slides you out of your own body, and the way your subconscious reacts to it. The safety of the seat feels like it’s drifting out from underneath me. Again and again. I know I’ll fall into the hyper-speed pavement if we don’t stop soon. I also know that none of this is real. I know that I need to keep going regardless, but the imminent threat feels all too real.

This time I shout out, ‘we’ve got to stop, I’m falling off,’ again and again, from behind his shoulder, my fingers losing their grip on his waist.

I wake up an instant after, and peel my eyes open to this mundane (un)reality. Again… and again.

His voice is thick through the noise of it, gently comforting yet gritting with determination. ‘When the program finally completes, it won’t matter. You’ll just wake up over here instead.’

Lucid Dream Diary: ‘The train out is heavily burdened’

You keep driving that death train to somewhere unknown, and I keep waking up in my bed alone. The premonition is fierce, the derailment doesn’t do it justice.

Most would say I was haunted, but there’s always an answer lurking behind the madness (if you’re calm enough to spruce it out of the ashes).

‘They’re not allowed in. Only you.’ I hardly know these people well enough to vouch for them anyways. And yet they follow. And yet I open chasms in my chest for them. Those same shifting blueprints.

I still don’t know how it ended. Tell me again, tonight.

Lucid Dream Diary: ‘The World Was Burning’

Last night the cities burned for good. The cleanse of damnation. The truth on a re-run. A nightmare gone lucid. This is how they do it, after all, with fire and machines and laughter. The type of laughter that echoes in your head but never leaves the mouth. The type that their vocal cords can’t mimic.

And the destruction was just the beginning.

It’s the kind of burn that causes people to start showing their true colors. Or lack thereof. The type of burn that tells you to lie face down while I clean this with some spare solution scavenged. Screaming. Loss of wings, or loss of hope, or loss of civility. Farming. They are just one doorstep from madness at any given moment. Hanging by the mere thread of humanity. Impulsive. It is in everything but reality. It’s the type of burn that causes people to leave their own behind.

A conundrum, and both of us were far too calm about it. The screams and sirens echoed in the distance. The building lights flickered in the dark like a ship sinking into its final resting place of rot at the bottom of the black abyss. You’re my radio wave back home when these sort of things happen.

‘Just get some water down her throat and it’ll wake her back up.’

‘Ignore the man in a mad max truck he can’t harm you, he’s just obnoxious as hell.’

There was a glare in your eyes that I couldn’t see. Something like the sun. How holy things can burn too. How they can intervene in the darkest of moments. How angels are sometimes terrifying.

It’s the kind of burn that’s sort of alien, but not alienated. Where these feelings dredge themselves up and spread amongst our own collective. How connected we’ve become. Our own little family forming throughout this madness.

Who do you have up there and why do I keep seeing into the past?

I’d never leave my own behind, but I do want to wake up outside of here. I’m tired of living this long dream of the damned, not tired of living. I’m just… tired of watching this all unfold, that helpless feeling. I think everyone in here can attest to that.

I need to wake up next time, for good.

Lucid Dream Diary: ‘Of Death & Hunger’

January 10th 2023

We were on that same road trip again, the endless one. This time somewhere past California on a highway that lies off the map. We passed by a mossy cemetery, one filled with hundreds of acres worth of stones and various stages of decay. The tears were still drying from the last freshly tilled plot and yet, surprisingly enough, McDonald’s had just built a restaurant into the entrance. All vines and neon yellow and red meant to induce hunger in the human brain. It looked beautifully blunt-force, like most everything does in here. That same answer staring all of us right in the face in a million different ways every single day, and yet, somehow, still keeping itself nestled, hidden in plain site. We call it human nature, you know? All those damn stresses and aches and pains. Like the empty galaxy, and the way in which we speak silently to one another one without even knowing it. We call it energy in here, you know? Say things like ‘the vibes are off’.

And the vibes were most certainly off.

I remember thinking it was kind of twisted for them to build a McDonald’s in a graveyard of all places, but there was a full line out the door of people waiting, standing stark still and salivating.

‘Who would do something like that?’ I thought to myself silently (albeit knowing you’d answer regardless).

‘They would,’ you responded without moving your lips, your knuckles white wrapped around the leathered, skinned steering wheel. Your eyes staring straight ahead. Stoic. Over it. Handsome.

I glanced over my shoulder one last time at the line of people as they drifted off into our peripheral. You breathed a sigh of relief over that. Something about lucidity and how it tends to combust in on itself. My subconscious thanked you for continuing onward, with the images of coffins and the million ways in which you can end up in one drifting through my head despite every protest. They call those intrusive thoughts in here, you know. Neither of us likes it.

I thought about the line of willing patrons, and how they’d probably think all of that twisted stuff too, despite their protests otherwise. How they probably secretly all enjoyed it. That’s the reason why they post pictures of things like this online, you know? Make dark jokes about it, threaten anonymously, laugh about ‘what is the world coming to’, debate behind a grin on their TikTok’s. It’d be a brief headline in the news until the reporters got their next big bite and the audience got their next big fight in. All the while they’d still flock to that goddamn McDonald’s in the graveyard. Take their photos, eat their meals, post and argue more about it. Until everyone was full and ready to digest the next topic swallowed whole. Just another day in gloomy cheeseburger paradise folks. Where things like the truth get gobbled up by the next morning and the hunger hits at 100 miles per second with no prior warning. Ping, ping, pinging on the brain.

(Your neighbor wants to know what you’re thinking about, too.)

And the McDonald’s Marketing Department would get a firm pat on the back for it. In every which way. A heavily induced congratulations from the CEO, a jealous coworker’s firm squeeze, and all the gauze of the publicity stunt rolling in on itself. Like not paying attention to highway crashes, or symbolism. And I’m willing to bet that crick in their spine would bother them twice as much as usual the next morning.

I turned to face ahead right before you woke me up.