Raquel's Dream Journal


My dream from  Tuesday
November  30th 2004



mood: calm
music: Foetus-Mutapump
I walk around to the back of a building. There is a tunnel, strutted up and supported by wooden beams, like a mineshaft, only it does not traverse, only expanding horizontally.

I am walking in the tunnel. I notice my feet do not touch the ground. My hands barely graze the wooden support beams overhead. I float, or slide along, deeper into the tunnel.

The tunnel ends in the broken wall of an apartment bathroom. Light blue paint over rotting wainscoting. I stand in the bathroom, noticing that the resident can see me. She sits in the livingroom on a dusty blue couch surrounded by white lace curtains, and the glow of afternoon through the window.

She is waiting for someone to arrive. I decide it is best to leave. I vanish.

::tell me something::

November  27th 2004

::Wake up::


I am in a classroom. A professor is giving a lecture on something psychology related. I sit down realizing I am in the wrong seat. I need a pen and paper to take notes. I see that someone else is sitting in my proper space. I walk over to the woman, and grab my books, paper, and pens.

I sit back down in my improper seat, in the back of the room. A man is sitting next to me, he is bothering me. He leans towards me and I scribble symbols on his face in red.

This dream is boring, I'm thinking.

More people enter the classroom, standing at the back. I recognize someone, it's an old man, he has something to do with music, but I can't fully place him.

I walk over and shake the old man's hand.

Music? Yeah.

I morph the classroom into an iceskating rink, people are placing reflective tape around the perimeter of the rink. Bands and dj's are loading in. But I don't like any of the music/bands.

Time to go, Viva Las Vegas! I'm in a casino in Vegas, and it looks like a showgirl convention.

Jump off, somewhere else. I fly through the building and into the night sky looking over the lights of Vegas.

But then, I am back at the ice rink. I am lying on the ice. But I am hot, so hot.

Wake up, your body is hot. Wake up.

I can feel myself back in my bed. I wake up, the electric blanket is on. I turn it off and get up for awhile. It's still early in the morning.

I try to go back to sleep, but the phone and knocking at the door keep me from doing so.

::tell me something::

November  26th 2004

::Bus Candy::


mood: peaceful
music: TOOL-Parabola
Bus Candy
I am on an old 1940's style Greyhound bus. Besides myself, there is the driver, and a woman. The woman sits a few rows behind me. It feels as though we have been riding on the bus for many hours. I can feel the heat of the sun beaming through the front window of the bus. Outside the bus lies miles of desolate desert, small smooth desert hills and wind raked sand.

We are coming to a checkpoint on the road. A number of armed men are along the right side of the road. The bus driver is speeding up. Automatic weapons are fired. The front window of the bus peppered with bullet holes.

Why hasn't the glass broken?

I crouch down on the floor. Glass flying.

The bus is now filled with people, with their backs to the bullet fire.
Blood hits my uncovered arms and the side of my face. The smell of blood is heavy in the cabin.

Bodies lie in disarray on the bus floor, draped across empty seats.

The bus stops at a house made of adobe and white washed earth.
I get off the bus, and walk into the house.

In the background I can hear people in the house, but I remain unseen, an invisible stranger in a foreign land.

I am walking down endless halls, passed endless doors, I enter a corridor which opens into a large room. Wooden floors. Beige walls. In the center of the room is a fish tank.

In my head I am chanting: this is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream...

I walk to a wall on the left of the room. A slap my hand against the wall and yell:

This is a dream!

I can feel the coldness of the wall on my palm. The slap stings my hand.

I turn to my left, where a large fishtank stands.

This is a dream!

There is a little goldfish in the giant tank. I place my hand in front of the tank. I turn the goldfish into a morphing array of swimming creatures.

I smile.

The endless halls dissipate. I imagine a kitchen, the kitchen appears before me.

Candy! Buckets of candy on a kitchen counter. No, Halloween candy! The buckets become smiling jack-o-lanterns. I put my hand into a bucket, and pull out a handfull of different oddly packaged sweets.

For a few minutes, I am reading the packages, admiring the graphics on the candy.

I tear open a pack of candy. The candy is sweet and vibrant, buzzing on my tongue.

The walls dissolve around me. I swirl like smoke into the air, flying over desert landscapes, spiraling, cities become specks, continents become specks, the earth is a tiny speck. Stars give way to spirals of light, fractals and patterns, buzzing darkness.

::tell me something::

January  21st 2004



mood: frustrated
She sits before me
bare feet upon sand
flowing white dress
black hair trailing to the ground

acoustic guitar in lap
she places her hands
on its back

light swirls from her
becomes her

the guitar plays
sweet and beautiful
plucked and tweaked by her energy


she places her hands
upon my head
upon my shoulders
upon my chest
down my arms

hand in hand
I sit before her

light pours from me
light surrounds me

tears roll down my face

I wake
tear stained

Read what others have said 1 - ::tell me something::

December  30th 2003



mood: nostalgic
music: Switchblade Symphony-Into the Sky
I kneel down at the edge of a river

My hair streams
touching the water

the water flows
touching the setting sun

the sun beams
touching the stars

the stars shine
touching perfect nothingness

I breathe in the perfect nothingness
I exhale aurora borealis
transmuting the sky
in a wash of everchanging color

my hands touch the grass
the grass becomes stars
that burn through my palms
so brilliant
the feeling is nothing more than floating

my skin melts into the river
water and flesh
become streams of energy
become perfect nothingness

Read what others have said 1 - ::tell me something::

December  29th 2003


mood: weird

I am sitting on a bench in an atrium. At my feet, sits a black rabbit, surrounded by grey cobblestones and ferns.
I reach down and pick up the rabbit. The rabbit begins to talk to me as I pet it. I place the rabbit back on the cobblestone, we begin to walk as we carry on our conversation. Our conversation is in a strange language, that I only understand in my head. The rabbit begins to communicate with me via telepathy. People take note of the rabbit walking at my side.

Read what others have said 1 - ::tell me something::

December  22nd 2003


mood: tired
music: Etta James

I am standing out front of a house...
My mom is standing next to me.

"That's the house that I wanted to get for mom and dad." she says.
"such a neat little house."

"It is, but I can't." I say, "The house will burn down, and we will all die."

I see flames superimposed over the house before me.

And now I am somewhere else, a different house.
People are crawling out the windows with giant platters of food.

And then I am talking to my mom again, talking about dreams...
dreams about:
the stars are falling and the earth has turned to liquid
wobbly staircases spiral into the sky
people are running
the sky is filled with burning falling stars
that wash and whirl
the world is falling apart

::tell me something::

December  16th 2003



mood: annoyed
music: Phantom Chords--Born to Be Wicked
I dream that I am standing in front of an art deco vanity. The vanity has an ornate oval mirror.
The top of the vanity is bare. I can see my face and torso in the mirror.
My hair is in little ringlet style curls, which i fuss with, pulling my hair up into a ponytail.
My eyes are sparkling with firey gold specks, and framed with long black lashes.
One of my pupil's is larger than the other, dialated and black.
I'm wearing jeans and a burgundy 3/4 angle sleeve shirt and heeled boots.

(just for fun I wore that exact outfit today minus the ringlet hair)

In the realm of reality....

People really nut up during the holidays. Wow.
Had to call the police at midnight on the neighbor, who decided that shooting the windows out of his car at midnight was a good idea. Stayed up til 2am or later watching police cars swarm and tackle the insane fool.
Pretty out of the ordinary for my neighborhood, which is a quiet place.

::tell me something::

December  12th 2003

::Big Gai::


mood: apathetic
I dream that I am leaving the house for work.
Under the front of the car is a dead cat.
It's Big Gai (aka Jack).
Not Big Gai!!!!
Why not Sum Gai (aka Ralph)?

I lean down to look at the dead kitty.
He doesn't look dead DEAD...but he is shrinking...
the kitty gets smaller and smaller
I pick him up.
He shrinks to the size of a lima bean.
I checked and counted all the kitties this morning.
Sasami, Simba, Big Gai/Jack, Sum Gai/Ralph, Popeye, Jasmine, two unnamed calicos, two black kitties...
How the hell did I end up with 10 cats?
Actually 5 of them "adopted" the house--neighborhood strays, and cats escaping the terror of small children (kids, trying to drown your cat a few times in a kiddie pool will result in a fugitive.)

Cats don't stick around for bullshit.

::tell me something::

December  8th 2003



mood: weird
music: Ana Popovic--Minute Till Dawn
Walking down a hallway...
dark wood
burgundy velvet

I am with a man in a wheelchair, a tall thin old man, and a young woman who wears a blind and gag.
We are walking...
I push the man in the wheelchair along.
The woman holds my arm, as I guide her down the hallway.
The tall thin man walks a few paces before us.

At the end of the hall...
Ornate double doors open
We walk into an auditorium

I sit in the front row
The man in the wheelchair sits behind me
so close that my head accidently touches his chest

We sit in front of a stage
the curtains open
the set is a weathered pirate ship deck
a woman is tied to a wooden plank table
the table rotates back and forth
up and down

the woman wears a gauzy thin pirate shirt
and nothing else
she is bound spread eagle
pirates pour water into her nose
she chokes behind a gagged mouth

the table bucks back and forth
the woman lets out a restrained scream
her pale legs peppered in red
splintered wood drawing blood

"Same play as last year." the tall old man sighs.

My head accidentally bumps the chest of the wheelchair man again.
He leans towards me, his face near my ear.

"How bouts I shed a hundred pounds of equipt, and you and me gets a room down the street." he says.

I touch the side of his head. His short sheared hair is sweaty.

"It's never ever going to happen." I tell him

"You're a fuckin' skirt, fuckin' skirt..fuckin skirt!!!!" He yells over and over.

::tell me something::

December  6th 2003



mood: blah
music: Damned--Anything
The majority of my dreams have been pure hardcore porn lately.
Lucid Dream XXX --it's better than DVD.

::tell me something::



mood: blah
music: TOOL
I dream of faces flashing past me...no true plot...just faces
I see the face of a girl I went to school with.
I haven't thought of her in years.
What was her name?


No longer dreaming.
I am at work.
I look up
Into the face of the very girl
She says my name
"I'm sorry, I know you, but I don't remember your name."

There she stood.

::tell me something::

December  2nd 2003

::File under non-dream wierd stories......::


mood: Psychiatric help--5 cents
music: TSOL--Darker My Love
No lucid dreams this time.

This is a random collection of assorted strange happenings that have occurred over the years.

To the best of my knowledge and understanding, they are all "reality", existing in my daily life, amidst witnesses, and wide open eyes.

Grey Men

We moved into a new house when I was 9 years old. That was when I began to see them. At first they appeared out of the corner of my eye. Grey fast moving flashes, little "things". Sometimes they were in the house, or in the front yard.

By age 11 I began to see them more clearly, little creatures somewhat like an elf or a gnome. They wore baggy dusty grey clothes. Everything about them seemed grey. They appeared to be about 18 inches tall, neither waiflike nor stout in stature. They were medium built with more smooth than wrinkled faces. There was a certain timeless softness to their appearance.

I see them. I do not talk about them.

Years pass, but the little folk remain, appearing on average once a week. Generally I see no more than 1 to 3 of them at a time, and more often just one.

I'm sitting in the living room with my brother. I hear little "clinks" on the front window. The little guys (I never saw a female) are throwing bits of gravel at the window, apparently to get our attention.

"It's the Grey Men!!" my brother says, as we watch them race away from the house.

"You see them too?" I ask

My brother sees them.

In the house, in the yard, in the fields, we both see the Grey Men.

My brother runs everyday, miles and miles. Sometimes he chases rabbits in the fields, runs right up beside them, and snatches them up into his hands.

When the Grey Men show up, my brother chases after them.

"I want to catch one; I want to know why they are here." My brother tells me.

One night one of the little Grey Men is in the yard, my brother bolts out the front door after him.

I wasn't there when he caught him, but he tells me:

"He was shocked, eyes wide when I caught him. He struggled to get free. I did not hurt him. I wanted to know."

"He told me telepathically I think, because I did not have hold of him for long:"

"We have been here forever (in your time), we were forced to go underground (images of digging into the earth) when the loud metal machines came (industrial age/images of trains/machinery), but we are still here."
The Angelic

Summer 1988

My hair begins to stand on end the moment I enter the small metaphysical store. There is "something" about the place that puts me on guard. The store itself is not particularly out of the ordinary, the shelves are stocked, and the inventory is well arranged. It is not so unlike any of the dozens of such stores I've been in before. Still, there is "something".

I walk outside the store to get some air. It is midday, the sun is shining, and cars are driving by.

At both ends of the storefront, as clear as cars, as clear as day, stand two massive creatures. Both are crouched over, one slightly more than the other. They appear to be approximately 10 feet tall, as in their crouched states they easily reach 8 feet. Both creatures are solid "white", both are winged. The wings are not what I would typically think of as "feathery" angelic; they are more a cross between bat, human flesh, and unknown. The creatures slowly turn and look at me. Their faces are waxy, bat like, with syphilis ooze slowly draining from nose and twisted mouth.

One of the creatures, still looking at me, begins to stand, begins to move towards me.

I leave.

The Boarding House

Summer 1994

We live in an apartment complex. The complex is an old converted boarding house from the early 1900's; a once large unit, now split into separate apartments. With the birth of a new baby, our once cozy one bedroom apartment is becoming rather cramped. Our downstairs neighbors are moving out. The apartment downstairs is large, really more room than we need.

"Feel free to take a look around." Our neighbors tell us. "We still have a day left on our lease. We'll leave the front door unlocked."

In the early evening we take a quick glance around the now vacant apartment. The apartment is shabby and in bad need of repair, but something catches our attention. Located at the end of a narrow hallway is a door. Not just any door, but an old door with a deadbolt. The door opens to a basement, a basement left locked for at least two decades by the current owners, left unopened perhaps even longer.

We go home thinking about the locked door.

Well past midnight the door gets the better of us. We take a flashlight downstairs into the apartment.

Hearts racing, the locked door stands before us.

The plate holding the deadbolt twists out of the door easily, screws and deadbolt falling to the floor.

The door swings open with a melodramatic creak. The light of the flashlight and a Zippo guide us into the basement. The air inside is surprisingly cool and fresh smelling. We walk by a tiny narrow entryway and into the heart of the basement.

Amazing. The basement is lined in beautiful antique furniture, a gilded birdcage, ornately carved chairs, so many things, all perfect. The floor of the basement is dirt, although it is quite clean and level. At the back of the basement is a green wooden door. A door? Into where? Only the sidewalk and street lie above.

The flashlight begins to dim; the Zippo is running low on fuel. We leave the basement. Tomorrow we will sign a lease for the apartment, tomorrow we will return to the basement and the mysterious door.

We return the next evening far better prepared. My brother is invited to witness the basement. We bring extra flashlights, a wheel barrel, and a small shovel.

Anticipation mounts as we stand in front of the now unlocked basement door.

The door opens with what seems to be a great deal more effort than the previous evening. Stale dusty air fills and burns our lungs. We cover our faces with our own shirts, coughing, slowly making our way into the basement.

Our flashlights uncover an unexpected sight. Where once there were beautiful antiques, now lay rotten bits and pieces of broken wood and scraps of cloth. A battered broken birdcage lies in a mountain of dirt and dry cement. The dirt and cement reach nearly to the ceiling in giant piles.

The mysterious door cannot be seen, only heaps upon heaps of trash, dirt, cement.

The night before we walked the length, depth, and breadth of the basement, now the air chokes us, we can hardly squeeze our three bodies past the entryway. With great difficulty we spend no more than a few minutes in the basement.

Black Wings


I had heard about them since I was a small child, stories of giant winged creatures. I sat silently listening to first hand accounts.

In one early account, the winged creature flew over a couple and towards the mountains. The story was interwoven with folkloric explanations: the creature is evil; the creature abducts and rapes women. Folklore aside, I had a difficult time fathoming such a creature, although the stories were disturbingly entertaining.

Summer 1989

Nearly a decade later, another account of the giant winged creature is told to me. A large group of my friends spend the night in a local park. My brother and my best friend are in the group. During their evening in the park, the group of ten people sees a "large winged creature" that flies "slowly" overhead. The creature looks like a "Pterodactyl" with "big papery wings". It has a wingspan "of at least 15 feet".

Another decade passes.

Summer 1994

My husband and I are walking home from work on a summer evening. I am pushing my daughter in her stroller. A smell overcomes us; the smell is thick in the air. It is the smell of blood.

We walk down the alley towards our apartment. A giant winged creature flies no more than ten feet above our heads. The wings of the creature flap slowly, in near slow motion. It indeed looks Pterodactyl like but also bears bat resemblance, with dark near black papery "skin", and a triangular body. The creature flies slowly over us, then past us.

Years later I get a phone call from a friend.

Winter 2002

"I want to tell you something, but I don't want you to think I'm crazy." She says.

"I was driving in a truck with a friend late last night. All I saw at first were black wings, huge black wings. It was in front of the truck. We stopped in the middle of the road…It took a giant effortless leap, almost gliding, racing away into the desert. It was like a Pterodactyl or giant bat"

I have been told that the creatures are likely "female condors during molting season" that "fly slower when they have molted."

What I witnessed looked nothing like a condor, feathers or no feathers. The head and body structure bore little resemblance to any of the condors I have seen.

Nevada Desert

We are driving down a long stretch of rural highway in the Nevada desert heading towards Las Vegas in the early morning hours. The wind is gusting, dust is blowing. (The same week gusts of up to 100 miles an hour have been reported on The Strip.) There is nothing in sight but the road ahead illuminated by the car's floodlights, the car, and ourselves.

I think I see something run across the road. Now I see something else dart in front of the car.

"Did you see that?"

"Yeah. You saw it too?"

"There's another!"

"What the hell is that?"
One of the "things" jumps onto the hood of the car, bounces, swan dives, does a tuck and roll, and races off.

Elves, Imps, Gremlins, I'm not sure what to call them, but we both clearly see them racing by, jumping on the car, little bodies seeming to "flatten" and slip under the car's hood. The car begins to chug, sputter. We pull off the road. Under the hood, car parts are loosened and damaged.

The little Gremlins race about in the fields, and on the side of the road. The wind gusts and howls.

The car is slowly limped to Las Vegas, a newly rebuilt transmission amongst other parts, destroyed.
A Trip Too Short

Arizona, Mohave Desert
1979 & 2000

This has happened to me twice now, once when I was 7 and once at 30, on the same stretch of road. Both times I am in a car with my mom, in the late afternoon. This is a road we have traveled hundreds of times. The trip takes approximately 45 minutes.

We are talking, my mother is driving. I look at the clock to see what time it is. We have at least 30 minutes of the trip left. The road ahead appears to "tunnel", everything is hazy, all sound is drowned out, there is near silence. At the end of the "tunnel" we are 3 minutes from home, the clock reads a minute or two later. We are both fully aware of the time, distance discrepancy at the moment we leave the "tunnel" effect. We slowly "shake off" the "tunnel" effect.

"Did we just…?"
"We can't be almost home yet."
"Everything disappeared for a minute."

Visitors-15 Minutes


We are at home one night, my husband, brother, roommate, daughter and I. We are watching a movie that we have literally seen hundreds of times and making coffee. The movie is starting; I can hear the milk steaming on the espresso machine. I am holding a piping hot cup of coffee in my hands, sitting on the couch, watching the movie begin.

There is a bright flash of light.

Everyone is disoriented. I'm holding an ice cold cup of coffee. In what seems to be a blink of the eye, the movie is now 15 to 17 minutes further along. My toddler daughter is babbling about lights and "the Taubird".

All of us have just experienced the same event. My husband is standing in front of the espresso machine with an ice cold cup of what was just steamed milk.
My roommate and brother are asking, "What just happened?" "Did you see the light?" "The movie just started, why is it so far along?"


Summer 1994

We have moved into the downstairs apartment of what was once an old boarding house. The apartment has six bedrooms, more than enough for a family of three, or so we believe at first.

On the west side of the apartment is a small bedroom which faces a covered patio. The bedroom door stands against a wall, off of the hinges. Strangely there is no power ran into the room. We have repainted and renovated the majority of the apartment, and make plans to do so with the small room.

That evening, I am walking past the small room towards the porch. The sunset can be seen through the room's window. Sitting in the room is an elderly woman in a rocking chair. She is knitting and humming, slowly rocking in her chair. She is a ghost.

From that point on, regardless of time of day, the old woman could be seen rocking and knitting, the view of the setting sun never changing. We never renovated the room, leaving it unchanged for our old woman ghost.

Less pleasant ghosts also appeared in the house. The ghost of a naked half rotten woman was often seen in our bathtub, turning late night trips to the bathroom into unnerving experiences. The apparition's body was large, filling the tub; her skin was marbled and deteriorating. She had curlers in her hair.

The ghosts of Chinese people often walked through the apartment, making their way through the basement door. The traffic was nonstop.

Our baby daughter kept her pet cats close to her. She had no fear of most of the ghosts. She chased after the apparitions telling them to "Get out" of her house. Eggs and Otis, her cats, seemed less enthused about the ghost hunts.

I see them more than anything else; shadowy creatures whisking past me. Sometimes I catch them out of the corner of my eye, but more often I see them before me. They are common, as common as the wind and the rain, as common as clear starry nights.

Most common to me are the dark shadowy figures. Figures that walk past me in broad daylight, figures caught by my webcam and witnessed by unwitting viewers.

On some nights the dark figures fill my kitchen and living room, lights flicker, electronics die. The figures swirl and dance about, dozens of them sometimes. We only have one rule: stay out of the bedrooms. Otherwise, they are welcome guests.

Both believers and disbelievers have seen them.

"Aren't you scared?" I get asked.

"No. They cause no true harm. They are as much a part of my home as the walls. They belong here." I answer truthfully.

The figures frighten guests, but they do so merely by appearing. At times mischievous events coincide with the shadows. Guests are grabbed, shoulders tapped on, lights flicker, showers turn cold.

On my birthday, I was sitting at the computer in my kitchen listening to music. The music kept stopping, restarting, crackling. I switched the cd to my home stereo. Music stopped, restarted, crackled, and stopped playing. I sat back down at the computer. I felt two large hands on my shoulders. The kitchen and living room lights turned off. The computer turned off. I sat in the darkness, seeing only the faint light from the bathroom on the far side of the house.

Every light in the front of the house came on. The stereo blared music. Dark figures swirled about, danced about.

"Amateurs. Really scary. If you want to impress me, bake me a damn cake." I said out loud.

I laughed.

I see white shadowy figures far less commonly, perhaps a few times a year.

I sat on the couch in the living room just a few nights ago. The figure walked down the hallway slowly, white and wispy, wide and windy. I watched it walk from the bedroom door and down the hallway.

I had a guest stay the night once. She described the white creatures as "thin and light and gauzy, like a lady's negligee." She saw one in my yard outside the window.

"Did you see that? Did you…" She was jumping up and down in utter amazement.

"Well yeah, there are things in the yard, things in the house. There's always something wandering around." I told her.

She made me escort her to the bathroom.

Outside the window, my horde of stray cats was forming a circle around the perimeter of the property.
Visitors-It's the Cat

Nashville, Tennessee
Summer 1996

Its early morning, around 5 or 6, something has woken us.

In my mind I am thinking "It's the cat."

My husband says aloud, "We don't have a cat."

There is no cat. We do not have a cat. Although our baby daughter has talked about a cat for months, she believes we have a cat.

Slowly we sit up; looking for what is not a cat.

Across from our bedroom is the bathroom, which we can clearly see through the open bedroom door. The bathroom door is open as well.

Inside the bathroom are three figures. They appear blue and "half phased in" like static. One is short, around 4 feet tall, the other two well over 5 feet. One of the figures peers out the bathroom door, looking directly at us.

You are not cats. You are not cats. We cannot be fooled.

My husband is getting up out of bed.

They have large curious eyes. Their motion is slow, yet fluid like, methodic.

We exchange looks of awe. Time is frozen.

You are not cats. We cannot be fooled. Not any longer.

::tell me something::