I was in a somewhat nuisance-oriented dream, where I was getting into arguments with people. At some point I noticed that they looked like they were made out of plastic, which cued me into lucidity. So I tried to leave the circumstance rather than engage them further.
Tried to leave the scene by climbing over a fence, but got stuck...a voice explained to me what I should do to get over it, and how I should move. A flying device dropped a ladder down for me and told me to hang on. As it flew me off through some various crazy looking areas, I asked questions.
me: "What are you? How do you see you and this place relating to the human society where I live my life?"
flying thing: "In your sense, I am a computer."
me: "Then what... what am I?"
There wasn't really a response, but I was dropped off in a room where there were two people and several odd devices and machines. I repeated the questions to them. One of them answered.
technician: "Well, let's just go ahead and say it. Yes, welcome to 'the future', although we prefer to call our part of it The New Alliance of Souls. Some things are better than you're expecting, and some things are going to be worse than you might think they would be considering how much other progress we've made. We have great infrastructure here in the city, but you don't have to travel very far outside to find some very serious issues that we are having trouble solving. In fact, one of our biggest problems is currently going on in Context."
My impression from what he was saying was that the word Context was the name of a city or place.
I noticed a friend of mine sitting on a table and sort of idly chatting with someone else.
me: "Hey, I remember you saying you were a lucid dreamer...this totally lines up."
friend: "Wow! How are you! Yes, it's great to see you, we need to meet and talk more about this."
Now awake, I can't actually remember if she has ever said anything indicating she lucid dreamed.
me: "Is there something you can do? Any kind of booster process, by which you can make it so that I don't wake up, at least not as quickly?"
him: "Actually, yes. Hold still."
He had a syringe, and injected me...it hurt a bit, he couldn't get it out.
him: "Oh, 'ouch?' That's not good, let me try and get this out."
me: "Don't worry about it, it's not that bad. If it works I can deal with a syringe being stuck in me during our conversation."
him "Well, maybe it's a case where I should just give this a running start."
He stepped back and pulled it with a lot of force, it came out and I was fine. I overheard some conversations and the room seemed to have a couple more people in it.
someone: (about me) "I can't believe you're thinking of taking him to Context tonight!"
There was a girl with red hair, suddenly seated cross-legged on the floor in front of me. It was like she was leaning forward at me for a kiss, and at first I was going to flow along with that. In mid-gesture I decided that was awkward and I needed to get back into work. She looked at me funny, and I couldn't tell whether the funny look had to do with that I had made a motion to kiss her...or that I had backed away. Studying her reaction I reached out and pet her hair, which seemed to totally confuse her.
someone: "Oh, Red, that's why."
I do like red hair but I'm more into length than caring about the color. The girl looked a bit like this model for bustedtees
...and I'll just say that if any non-human beings are reading this journal and wondering what form to outreach to me in...this would be an absolutely fine choice! Although of course I'm ready to try and embrace quality communication in whatever form it comes, don't get me wrong. I'm just saying.
Additional attractive girls started showing up...and I sort of felt like suddenly the room was trying to adapt to my tastes. But as it did, it also filled with idle-seeming chatter. Details about what movies they wanted to see and things like that, as if I was being inundated with search results from a personals site. I got a bit ruffled.
me: "Look, you all seem very nice, but you're not really doing a lot of sharing of critical information with me. I'm only here for a bit of time, and after that it's as if I'm zapped into a time warp. I'm sent back into a bed in what you may consider a prehistoric era, and that I certainly do consider to be primitive. I am forced to live my life day to day in a place that feels like a prison. This is all pretty pointless if you don't try and share information."
When I said "prehistoric" a man who looked like Deepak Chopra made kind of a monkey gesture, grinning and scratching under his arms and grunting. I acknowledged that.
me: "Yes, that's about what it's like, they're monkeys and it annoys me. I'm looking very hard for some kind of scientific breakthrough linking that world to this one through something other than my dreams. If there's a reason you don't allow yourself to be discovered and known, or that there's no science you can distill down to tell me to take back that will help me look like less of a nutball...I'd appreciate you at least explaining why."
The man walked over to a wall of books that was suddenly there and pulled one down. He handed it to me.
indian man: "Look at this book."
I tried to make out the words, but I couldn't. When I did read words I couldn't figure out how it was relevant to any questions I might have had. He stopped me.
indian man: "No, that wasn't looking, you immediately opened it to try and read the words. Skipping the cover entirely."
Closing it and looking back to the cover, it seemed like an old used book. I saw that it was dusty and there was a weathered price label on it. But it came into more focus that the cover was in a gold-color and seemed to have been done with a reasonably nice amount of layout...and had some photographs on the back. It looked like a book to me, still.
indian man: "It was old so you skipped the cover and went for what you thought was the content. So now what do you see when you look at it? How does your mind process?"
me: "I see that it's gold. Probably glossed over it because I don't necessarily equate gold-colored things as that fancy, I just assume the person is trying to make it look fancy. Lately, I've learned more about typography and they're using a couple fonts here I don't like...one in particular looks like it has been stretched too much. I guess it could be intentional."
indian man: "If this book is by a long-term editor of the New York Times, and this was a major important work in his view, wouldn't you believe that it was on purpose to stretch the font?!"
me: "Uh...maybe. Look, I like this philosophy debate here, but it's not the use of time I'd like. Can't we be more direct so that we can figure out how to make it so this conversation doesn't just get cut off?"
And around there, it did get cut off.
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