Date of dream: Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Level of Lucidity:
N/A
Level of Cohesiveness: 
Rating:
Lucid Intent?
No
This dream has been viewed 144 times.
…I am biking from Ottawa to Montreal. Maybe this is M. G.’s, an ex. Did he lend it to me or did I steal it? I see the Catholic-Satanic hotel-motel as I am biking in front of it, then a shopping mall, and blocks and blocks of beautiful buildings. For some reason, I stop by a beauty salon, a spa, where I am being questioned about the bike… I am biking up a trail on a mountain that leads to a hotel complex at the top. That’s where S. D. lives, a French literature teacher I used to have a crush on. M. V., an old roommate, is maybe here with me. There’s a fire in the complex. Now there is a zombie wearing a Jewish headdress. It’s smashing its head and ants flow out of it… I am biking at 11 PM, but it is still sunny. I am secretly biking to a car dealer. Maybe I am hiding in a Jeep. Now I am biking in the country. I am in a country house maybe with my family. There is a girl next door who wants to kill us… I am at the Catholic-Satanic hotel-motel in Ottawa. There is an ugly heterosexual couple working at the counter. Maybe the woman is dead. Or she killed her husband. Or they killed a young girl…
Date of dream: Saturday, May 01, 2010
Level of Lucidity:
N/A
Level of Cohesiveness:
Rating:
Lucid Intent?
No
This dream has been viewed 187 times.
...A bus just crashed in a car. CRASH... Outside the bus, I see a building, probably in Montréal. Maybe on the fifth or the sixth floor, there is a party, and I'm invited. There is a lot of people I used to know: from my hometown (Gatineau), from elemetary and high school, from general and vocational college, from university: old friends and colleagues whom I can't even remember the name. And I recognize one of them - I think her name was M.-E. - a girl, a nerd who needed friends... we went to university together, and she knew I liked to rave... she has invited herself this one time, but she didn't want to take drugs... she did dance, but she fell asleep at like 4 AM... she took the first metro back home... well, she is here. She is running towards the open balcony yelling something like: "I can't take it anymore!" or "I'm fed up!", or anything. She jumps down head first from the balcony, clinging on to a guy's arm, whom she brings down with her to smash on the pavement. Everybody's like "Oh my God!" We look down to the pavement from the balcony, and we can see their bodies on the street. Surprisingly, there is no blood, but they are obviously dead. I tell my friends that we have to get out of here. I want to leave this place right now. But one of them is necking with this guy. There are also videos of me necking with this guy (obviously another one) playing on a dozen of TV sets in the room. I am so embarrassed: I never agreed to... There is a tornado outside... A girl jumping from the 7th floor, carrying an anonymous boy with her... He never agreed to... I escape the high school through a slide that leads to the landing stage... Then, there is a Justin Timberlake show in the high school's agora. I don't enjoy his music. I sulk... Someone is pushing me home in a wheelbarow. We see a nice, full rainbow. I want to take a picture. I am taking out my camera. As I am being pushed next to the rainbow, I hit the end of the it with my shoulder, and an attitude. I can't take a goddamn picture: it's too shaky, and we are passing the site too quickly. My parents are pushing the wheelbarrow... Someone tells me somebody else is calling me a big ham... I am being told that there is another representation of J. T.'s concert in two hours. Oh no...
Date of dream: Friday, September 04, 2009
Level of Lucidity:
N/A
Level of Cohesiveness:
Rating:
Lucid Intent?
No
This dream has been viewed 2511 times.
…There is an absurd sketch, maybe on TV, where a guy who wants to win a yellow car improvises. “Grenade… Renegade… Lemonade…” A laugh track is heard. I am attending a Christmas Eve, or New Year’s Eve, party on my father’s side of the family. We are in a small country house even though no one in the family owns one. It must be where I. G., one of my first girlfriends, lived with her parents in Perkins, back in 1997. At the party, I am standing in the kitchen, or maybe sitting on some high stool, with a little white dog in my arms. The dog jumps back on the floor, hitting its mouth on the ground and breaking its left rear leg at the same time. It walks with a limp. I feel so bad. I. G. reassures me; it’s not my fault, it was an accident. Still the mood of the party is awkward now. Whose dog is it? I don’t know. At least it didn’t fall on the head! The guy on TV goes on. “1, 2, 3, 4…” Laugh track. I am leaving the party in a car with my parents, my sister, and I. G. It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon. No. I am with I. G. and her parents in their bed, on Christmas Day, or New Year’s Day, in the morning. Their bedroom is on the second floor, just upstairs, and since it doesn’t have walls, we always have to walk past their bed to go in I. G.’s room. The left side of their bed is the open staircase. I find it very dangerous: the father who sleeps on this side could fall on the first floor in his sleep. Or the little white dog on the bed could fall again. It doesn’t look hurt anymore. Nothing happened. The mother reassures me that even if the dog falls, it won’t get hurt, because the thick, white angora carpet is very soft. I pick up the dog. It is looking at me sadly. It has little yellow spots in the white hair around the eyes, like tears. “…361, 362, 363…” He really wants that yellow car. I don’t get this dumb show… I am with I. G. at “her place”, but it looks just like a house where I used to live with my parents. I am leaving the house at night on a bike with I. G. We are at the top of the montée Paiement, a steep hill that leads from Perkins to Gatineau, my hometown. There’s a beautiful view of Gatineau and Ottawa lit up at night at the top of the rise, with the moon, the stars, and the clouds. I. G. and me are French kissing. Maybe she forgives me leaving her for a boy twelve years ago. Then we both have to go on our own way. I go down the montée Paiement and I bike in streets in the Hull area. The streets are in water, like in Venise. I am going at N. R.’s place, an old friend I didn’t talk to in a long time. It’s her place, but it looks just like my real apartment in Montréal. It must be a Christmas Eve, or a New Year’s Eve, party with friends and colleagues. G. G., my roommate, is there. I put a bird on the table. Maybe it’s hurt and it’s slowly recovering in a box. I somehow put it too hard on the table that it breaks its legs and hits its head. It’s dead. I feel so bad. It’s a baby bird with no feather. I see the two legs separated from the body. G. G. and me escape from the apartment that looks like ours and we run to the Bonaventure metro station in Montréal. But, aren’t we supposed to be in Gatineau? Apparently not. I am going up the montée Paiement with N. R., that fat Gatineau friend who used to have a crush on me. She is having a hard time. “…998, 999, 1000!” And the guy just starts walking like he’s on a catwalk, in a fashion show. Cheers, standing ovation…
