<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116</id><updated>2011-08-21T07:23:22.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'>RockAss.net; Dreams</title><subtitle type='html'>Just your basic dream journal. I will attempt to record all of my dreams here, no matter how mundane or humiliating they may be.&lt;br&gt;Keep in mind, I wake up and crawl to the computer and write these before coffee, tea or anything so yeah, they're a mess. Enjoy.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>180</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1617391226509486315</id><published>2011-06-29T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-29T09:53:09.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>She's My Max</title><content type='html'>Dreamt that we had Max only in some sort of fostering capacity. It wasn't clear if she was our biological child or not but we'd raised her and now two couples were coming to meet her to potentially adopt her. One couple was everything I'm not, they were wealthy and neatly dressed and seemed very clear headed and alert, focused. I thought they'd be good parents to Max and they clearly wanted to adopt her but then I broke down and crying I said, "No! She's My Max! I want to keep her with us." They told me that was okay. I could see they were disappointed. Bryna came and hugged me and I kept crying saying "She's my Max, she's my Max."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1617391226509486315?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1617391226509486315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1617391226509486315&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1617391226509486315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1617391226509486315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2011/06/shes-my-max.html' title='She&apos;s My Max'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-3051120941329759759</id><published>2011-06-29T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-29T09:40:17.813-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was at Burning Man or something like it sitting in a circle. Somebody pulled my head backwards and tried to shove white power into my nose. I shook them off but it was made clear to me that this is acceptable etiquette among friends where peyote is concerned. I thought it strange that peyote would be in the form of a white powder but my friends all started doing it messily which again was apparently the etiquette. The guy who had pulled my head back had long black hair and long eyebrows, so long they were combed to each side and merged with his hair. He was full of himself and obscene in the way of really shallow people who dedicate themselves to completely embracing a certain hip culture at the expense of any personality they may have once had. I disliked him strongly.&lt;br /&gt;He got up and approached a little person who looked like a child in dress and size but she had a worn face of someone whose led a hard life. I heard he say something to him about about a good tip and then she started to give him oral sex. There were kids around they were watching and I became almost panicky in rage and concern. I didn't know what to do, how to respond, weather to protect them or assail him. I woke up disturbed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-3051120941329759759?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/3051120941329759759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=3051120941329759759&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3051120941329759759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3051120941329759759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-was-at-burning-man-or-something-like.html' title=''/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-3740254225182587800</id><published>2011-06-14T10:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-14T10:19:03.810-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Almost sex and more almost sex</title><content type='html'>In the first dream I'm working for Spike and Mike still, I think. I say something about "Oh right, because I'm gay" in reference to someone implying that I'm gay and a stranger in front of me misunderstands and thinks I'm being homophobic I try to explain and somehow end up at a mean girls apartment where I feel older and clumsier and less hip than everyone else but I stay there for a couple of nights anyway. I end up lying on the ground making out with a thin girl and we're getting really hot and heavy, grinding away. She tells me not to drink anymore whine that the rest of the clique in the apartment have been messing with me after I pass out the past few nights. I wake up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day I read a review of a friend's film where the reviewer goes on an on about how amazing another friend of mine is in the film. That night I dream that I'm at filmmaker friend's party and the friend who got the great review is there and we're slow dancing, she in a long, sleek silver dress. I whisper in her ear that I'd love to take her out and "wine and dine" her. I'm so turned on that I go to filmmaker friend's bathroom to masturbate. I observer her really cool toilet seat&amp;nbsp; and toilet seat cover, both hand carved hand painted wood monsters. I jerk off think about the friend in sleek dress and how good her body fest against mine and how nice it felt to whisper in her ear. Whatever I'm using as lube keeps failing me and I can't quite get to where I'm going. I wake up...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I dreamt I was successful as a comic and somewhat famous. The details are blurry but I remember I was tired and stressed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-3740254225182587800?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/3740254225182587800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=3740254225182587800&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3740254225182587800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3740254225182587800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2011/06/almost-sex-and-more-almost-sex.html' title='Almost sex and more almost sex'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5364820028362696046</id><published>2011-06-03T09:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-03T09:06:59.257-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Worst Dream Ever</title><content type='html'>Horrible, horrible, maybe worse dream ever. My little girl was dead, my wife flipped out so she went next door and killed her sister and her sister's baby with knife. But then the dream shifted and sister was okay but both babies were still dead. I was apologizing to sister and her husband. Sorry my wife killed your kid. She was really distressed over our kid dying. I thought about all the times that we had talked about people who've lost a child and it occured to me that we were now those people.&lt;br /&gt;We lived in a nice house, everything was lit like a glossy commercial for a cleaning product and we were all dressed in catalog clothing and we all had hair product. very strange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next night I dreamed about being back at Bridgetown performing. I kept performing right after a guy with big curly hair and we were enjoying working together. I was ridiculously relaxed, like sloppy relaxed. I'd go onstage with no set list and just start talking and it went okay but I kept feeling like it could have been better. I was too caught up in lounging and snacking and breathing deep to be bothered to do the work to make it better though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I dreamed that I was going to have sex with some skinny girl who wasn't particularly attractive but she had an appealing personality and I knew it was a dream and kept talking myself out of feeling guilty, saying it's a dream, you're allowed do what you want. Then I met a prostitute who said it would be $20 and I'd have to rent a room. I thought the room was a bit much but she said she'd be happy to let me and a friend go halfsies on the room and on her. The dream skipped forward past the sex to me and said friend trying to evade police because girl turned out to be underage.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5364820028362696046?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5364820028362696046/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5364820028362696046&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5364820028362696046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5364820028362696046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2011/06/worst-dream-ever.html' title='Worst Dream Ever'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1481692975606887202</id><published>2010-11-07T16:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-07T16:19:24.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Book Store</title><content type='html'>Last night:&lt;br /&gt;Looking for a book, a Christmas or birthday present for someone. I call a bookstore and they have something that sounds like it'll fill the bill, some kind of history book. I show up and it's a big, clean, well lit and well organized book store. I find the owner. The book they're recommending to me is on the counter. It seems perfect. While wandering around I find the basement level but it's not a store. it's like a locker room. Shower tile on the floor and walls and lots of naked or half naked people wandering around, some forming circles all seeming like they're up to some important business. The owner is the most confident, charismatic guy. He seems very smart and I'm wondering just what is going on.&lt;br /&gt;The book is used and he's crossed out the name on several previous inscriptions and written my name in, leaving the rest of the inscription in tact so I'm greeted and wished well by people I've never met referring to incidence I don't know anything about. The book it turns out is by the owner of the book store and isn't about the history it claims to be about it's all about his personal life retold by what was happing in his life when he learned of various historical events for the first time. &lt;br /&gt;I go back to the store and the basement level now is full of hospital beds and cubical walls and each bed has someone tied up on it, apparently voluntarily. Most are naked and tied in a way that would all easy access for having sex with the person. I look for the owner but I wake up after spotting a beautiful woman with a belt holding her thighs up against her belly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1481692975606887202?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1481692975606887202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1481692975606887202&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1481692975606887202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1481692975606887202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2010/11/last-night-looking-for-book-christmas.html' title='The Book Store'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8978323989679877383</id><published>2010-09-01T08:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-01T08:46:27.436-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men in suits in pool</title><content type='html'>I'm swimming with Max and there are two people who work for me as assistants or something sitting on bleachers nearby. I call them over and hand them Max so I can swim to the other end of the pool and get out. As I drop under water I see two men in suits drop into the pool facing and then approaching me. I realize that them having suits on and jumping in the pool is not a good sign  and I become very afraid. I wake up tense and stressed out about some big deal I've signed. I have to get up to shake the idea that I signed some big deal which I may regret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, hot sex with my wife dream. Yay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had one more dream before I woke up but I don't remember it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8978323989679877383?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8978323989679877383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8978323989679877383&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8978323989679877383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8978323989679877383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2010/09/men-in-suits-in-pool.html' title='Men in suits in pool'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-6910666680179437665</id><published>2010-08-06T07:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-06T07:44:17.999-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Giant dog, just huge. Smelled like doggy shampoo which I didn't like. Stopped to talk to panhandling gypsy punk types, was telling them something about the homeless dude who stayed at my house then I corrected and said "not homeless" just a travelling musician as if they were judging me. One of them told me he could play something on the cello. We started walking, I thought in the direction of a cello but as we walked he said he didn't have a cello. We went back to him and his friends, I gave them some change, nobody played me any music.&lt;br /&gt;Later or earlier Bryna gave me chocolate ice cream. I went to get myself more and I realized she'd scooped all the chocolate for me out of a chocolate vanilla combo. She loves me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-6910666680179437665?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/6910666680179437665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=6910666680179437665&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6910666680179437665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6910666680179437665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2010/08/giant-dog-just-huge.html' title=''/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-3690941601659763967</id><published>2009-05-26T08:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T08:34:06.945-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Awful Dream</title><content type='html'>Bryna was not sleeping well and having bad dreams. I'm sure that, plus the terrible sinus headache I'm struggling with triggered my own bad dream. I dreamt that Bryna was sitting up in bed having terrible stomach pain. She'd called the advice nurse who said this was nothing unusual and that she wasn't at risk of losing the baby yet but we weren't convinced. I got her to lay down and noticed blood on her forehead. She told me she had tried choking herself to get some sleep and that she may have also hit her head. I told her no more choking herself. When I woke up, the dream seemed very real and it took me awhile to realize it was a dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-3690941601659763967?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/3690941601659763967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=3690941601659763967&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3690941601659763967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3690941601659763967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2009/05/awful-dream.html' title='Awful Dream'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-6372111141831308</id><published>2009-05-18T18:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T18:09:46.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crime can be fun</title><content type='html'>Night before last, I was a criminal. A crime gang run by a guy who might've been Russell Peters let me help with a crime. I stole a bag of money from some bar and even though it seemed like nobody'd seen it, I hopped the bag fence rather than take a chance. I was able to leap right over it. Turned out this was a good thing to do becausee there were indeed people inside looking for the loot. &lt;br /&gt;I hopped in the Bosses car and we took off. Somehow some toughs caught up with us. They went through the car. They told me to check that my Camera was okay. I'd put the money in my camera bag so I knew they'd taken the money. &lt;br /&gt;I was afraid that the gang I was with would be pissed, plus I was still the one who did and could get caught for the crime but I didn't have the money so I was a perfect fall guy. But at the same time, I came through unscathed so far and I might just go on about my business having had some fun being a criminal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-6372111141831308?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/6372111141831308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=6372111141831308&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6372111141831308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6372111141831308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2009/05/crime-can-be-fun.html' title='Crime can be fun'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7862525313706847077</id><published>2009-05-18T18:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T18:05:22.223-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Barak Tapan Hussein Obama Trivedi, Stand Up President</title><content type='html'>Last night dreamt Tapan was Barak Obama. I was touring with the President of The United States, doing stand up comedy. Rad.&lt;br /&gt;I was working a shift at The Crest durring a music show. My friend Patrick was on stage playing an old timey key-tar which is funny because I don't think there is such a thing. Patrick kept talking between songs like he was the band leader, telling the audience what it's like to play a key-tar when you're used to a regular organ or piano keyboard. I was pretty sure he was just supposed to play and wasn't supposed to be talking to the audience all the time. The audience were really smart kids who knew all about old timey key-tars and what not. &lt;br /&gt;I was trying out my jokes on the other Crest employees and they didn't think they were funny. Really they weren't. Things like "Hey wow, I bet you didn't expect to see the President of The United States doing stand up comedy tonight" or "Man, what if McCain had one because of racists? Would you really want to win that way? I mean how could you even govern?" In the dream these seemed like jokes, but only to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7862525313706847077?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7862525313706847077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7862525313706847077&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7862525313706847077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7862525313706847077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2009/05/barak-tapan-hussein-obama-trivedi-stand.html' title='Barak Tapan Hussein Obama Trivedi, Stand Up President'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1282093882788317335</id><published>2009-04-22T18:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T18:46:37.384-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trouble Sleeping</title><content type='html'>two dreams in a row where I'm cornered by well meaning but annoying women who want to talk and talk and who are immune to polite social cues and in both cases I realize that I'm dreaming and that if I wake up they will go away! I wake up, and YAY, they're gone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1282093882788317335?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1282093882788317335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1282093882788317335&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1282093882788317335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1282093882788317335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2009/04/trouble-sleeping.html' title='Trouble Sleeping'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-470257473228494925</id><published>2009-04-19T08:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T08:29:01.085-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Food</title><content type='html'>Two nights in a row dreamed about food. Last night, I'm at my mom's with my brothers waiting for her to show up as she is making breakfast but first I am going through her cabinets eating all kinds of sweets. she has some kind of waffles with strawberry filling that are stacked in her cabinet with no packaging. I know its a bad idea to eat so many sweets but I'm out of control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night before, after doing a really great show, I dreamed I'd just done a really great show and was now with some older couple, friends of my parents or an aunt and uncle. I was a young adult, maybe early 20s in the dream and we were in a huge store that had food, I was eating a calzone but filled with mushrooms and sauce, no cheese and  walking around. I found a section that sold records and they had lots of cool stuff in brand new, mint condition. My only disappointment was that there was no comedy section. I finished the giant calzone and went to pay for it explaining to the sales clerk that it was me who set off the alarm on accident, I'd wandered into the employees only section because I thought it was an adult's only section.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-470257473228494925?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/470257473228494925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=470257473228494925&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/470257473228494925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/470257473228494925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2009/04/food.html' title='Food'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-17341654044547316</id><published>2009-04-16T10:31:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T10:42:03.277-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I suck at this</title><content type='html'>Man, I haven't updated in ages.&lt;br /&gt;And now sac press linked here. Shit. Its always tempting to pull a few posts down when I think anyone is actually reading this thing. Anyway, a bit of catch up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, dreamt that Morken and Sid had put together a cartoon show at The Crest just basically playing a collection of great old cartoons from $1 dvds like you get at target. The projectionist being like a DJ for cartoons. I was emcee but I realized right before going up that the audience was mostly kids and that I'd have to clean up my act. Sid was stressed about attendance. I reminded her that the audience would come late and that overhead was very low anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night before, wonderful peaceful dream abotu doing my shows at Luna's. Shows went well and I was doing some sort of abstract trade with someone. This trade, which I really can't explain it was a very vague abstract floating sort of thing that sometimes occurs in dreams, continued as I was waking and I had to work to shake it and wake up fully. All in all though a nice relaxing dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another night back and I dreamt that the two girls in the apt next to ours were over. I was helping one of them help the other with her video editing class. The one actually in the class seemed to care less. Then her boyfriend started calling. They didn't answer the phone and I got the feeling this guy was bad news. Then he shows up at their door banging and yelling. So, they open my door and tell him they'll answer the phone now. He walks right into my apt and grabs his girlfriend by the hair to drag her out. I jump on him, get him in a wrestling hold and start pushing his head into the hallway wall. I have a good hold on him but I can't figure out how to do much to subdue him. I see a push pin on the wall and I push it into the strained muscles at the back of his neck. Bryna moves in her sleep and I think it's the guy getting out of my grip. I wake up with a start and am relieved that I didn't hit Bryna in my sleep. My neck is all tight and I have to get up and walk around to shake the dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another night back. Good performance dream. I do my show, it goes good, everyone laughs, YAY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back one more and shitty performance dream. I do show it sucks, I'm scrambling and stuck on stage for the better part of an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My subconcious is clearly quite invested in these shows.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-17341654044547316?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/17341654044547316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=17341654044547316&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/17341654044547316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/17341654044547316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-suck-at-this.html' title='I suck at this'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8121345987060928</id><published>2009-01-16T09:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T09:36:11.825-08:00</updated><title type='text'>the dream team is in the house</title><content type='html'>Dreamt last night that Jsin had put up the video he shot at The Science Comedy Show which I'm keen to see. But when I woke up, still no video. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few nights ago I dreamt that I was going to Burning Man with someone and it was quite a trek getting there. We flew into some middle of nowhere town and were tying to figure out how to go the rest of the way when I realized we were close enough that EVERYONE around us would be going so we joined a huge throng of hippie types hitchin' on the side of the road. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Way back I had one I really should've written down and in fact really thought I had.&lt;br /&gt;So I'm sleeping at my brother's house in his room which already makes me feel weird and then I have this dream and in the dream I'm in just that same bed and I realize Bryna's been kidnapped. I'm very unhappy. There is an Indian woman there and she knows something about it (This was the day after all the horrible violence in Mumbai.) I really want Bryna back so I punch the lady in the face and then I tell here that I will hit her again and "break her face" if she doesn't tell me where Bryna is. My brother John doesn't approve but he knows why I'm freaking out. He suggests we look at the surveilence tapes. ?!?! Tapes?! So, we do, apparently there are cameras all over the house and the camera in the room I was sleeping in was smart enough tto follow the kidnappers who came into the room and lead Bryna out as I continued sleeping. I see their hideout and I realize the geeky guy who operates the security room has a picture of the hideout on his desktop. I ask him where the picture is, he tells me, we get ready to go. &lt;br /&gt;I'm going to go full guns a blazing. I'm ready to KILL. My mom calls to tell me not to act brashly. She doesn't know Bryna's been kidnapped she just knows I'm upset about something and prone to acting brash. I start to tell her about Bryna but then I blink my eyes open for a minute. There is Bryna, sleeping next to me. I'm not sure if I'm awake or still in the dream. I actually think for a minute that I need to call my mom but I start to put together that it was a dream. I have a hard time shaking the bad image of punching the lady in the face. I hug Bryna and try to go back to sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8121345987060928?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8121345987060928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8121345987060928&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8121345987060928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8121345987060928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2009/01/dream-team-is-in-house.html' title='the dream team is in the house'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7449998671449532731</id><published>2008-10-15T12:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T12:32:20.284-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sex in the workplace and more</title><content type='html'>Night before last dreamt that I was wandering about with a lady and a black guy, on some sort of roving show where eventually I'd be expected to do my act but they both kept doing pieces of it before I had a chance to. I could see my routine. It was a black smudge but with sharp edges and very opaque, high contrast. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, or rather this morning I finally had a dream where I getting some sex without being immediately thwarted by apparent need to be faithful even in my dreams. I was at work, only work was a-lot like the house where I group up and my office was my old bedroom, but with only one bed in it more like my current bedroom. I was being flirty with a coworker, one who I am pretty flirty with in real life and she was giving those subtle signs that I could kiss her. I went to do so and she stopped me, asking about my wife. I said that my wife didn't mind and I asked her if she wanted to call her husband. She dismissed that and I sensed that she might be upset at said husband. I thought about calling my wife, my cell phone still in my hand from offering it to my coworker. I decided that she really would be fine with it and I didn't want to ruin the mood. We kissed. I pushed up her shirt and placed by hand between her legs. I took off her panties but she still had most of her clothes on, the better to return to working after. I was naked, though I don't recall taking off my clothes. &lt;br /&gt;I noticed the door slightly ajar. I had a sense that some coworkers suspected what was going on but not the boss. I shut the door. Strange: the very coworker I was fooling around with was also outside the bedroom and was one of the people I figured knew what was going on. &lt;br /&gt;My coworker was thinner and smaller and younger than in real life but it didn't occur to me until after I woke up. &lt;br /&gt;I grabbed an opaque black condom and told her I couldn't wait to be inside her. I slid inside her and right as I got going I was woken up by my wife calling my cell phone. Arggghhhh!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7449998671449532731?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7449998671449532731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7449998671449532731&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7449998671449532731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7449998671449532731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/10/sex-in-workplace-and-more.html' title='Sex in the workplace and more'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7761446006859009271</id><published>2008-09-28T09:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T12:44:53.355-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Three or four dreams</title><content type='html'>Watching people do tricks in an empty swimming pool on bikes. There is one person who seems to represent our crew. I realize she is an older woman and then I become very nervous about her hurting herself. Later in same dream, or same night at least...&lt;br /&gt;I'm booked to MC a show. I go to do intro someone but they start without an introduction. I'm embarrassed and I yell at my friend Scott who is apparently producing the show. I am really mad. I throw my phone and break it. Scott gets someone else to emcee. I see this and I'm furious. I shove Scott on the ground and am fixin' to kick his ass. He is much smaller than me and it feels terrible to be fighting with him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go to hang out with Nicole as both of her parents are dead. I believe this is the occasion of her mom's death, though in real life Mom went first and other than a quick cup of coffee than an a few unreturned voicemails when Dad died I really wasn't able to be there for her. But now, in the dream we're hanging out, having a lovely chat and checking out the old house where we'd spent many hours. In the dream the house is small, the kitchen is like a motorhome kitchen and I marvel that we all once hung out in it. Her crazy aunt shows up and she is worried about me saying that we all hung out in the kitchen, as if this could be a problem for the aunt. I sense that teh aunt is not comforting for Nicole and we go sit on the curb and talk some more. Her sister is around somewhere as well. I wake up missing Nicole and feeling sad that she is dead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My comedy tour is booked at some gig in a village, outdoors, coliseum type setting but smaller and more rustic. We don't know what to do. We do some silly village people sing along which seems appropriate and I make bad jokes, doing the Shakespearean version of "Here I sit broken hearted."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7761446006859009271?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7761446006859009271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7761446006859009271&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7761446006859009271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7761446006859009271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/09/three-or-four-dreams.html' title='Three or four dreams'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1136022935148177109</id><published>2008-09-11T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T10:45:36.815-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Three dreams</title><content type='html'>Okay, so not in order because I"m already forgetting it, but at one point in last nights dream I'm walking with Em Yay and Bryna and I am telling them that I have a way to help Obama win the election; I'm going to make t'shirts depicting McCain (or it may have even been Bush in the dream) saying "No peas for me." but Obama is saying "Yes, please. I love peas." and I figure this'll get the voters riled up because every body loves peas. I mean, who doesn't love peas? Emily laughed her big generous throw her head back laugh and when I woke up I decided that laughs was what I missed the most about her.&lt;br /&gt;Later, or earlier, but I think later we're at someone's house and Paige is there and my brother James is there and Bryna's there and we're all joking around and having fun and I realize how much I love this and I miss the earlier part of my adult life when it was common for everyone to hang out at my house, especially in the mornings when I'd cook up giant vats of potatoes with rosemary and garlic.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, but back to walking down the street with Em and Bryna. Em tells me that she is Elaine from Taxi, I think her intent being to make fun of the ridiculousness of my plan for helping Obama win, but I way "YAY! I'm Latka!" and I start a very annoying Andy Kaufman impersonation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few nights earlier I'm rolling around with Alexis all night. She is in small gray shorts with matching tank top and I want very badly to have sex with her but I keep telling her to hold off because I have to get in touch of my wife to get permission. Now, in real life I don't ask my wife permission to have sex with other girls much less cheat on her,  but in dreams, god dang it, I should be allowed to do as I please, they're just dreams! Ah well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and speaking of polyamory I had a dream that my buddy Jason was super tired and I'm like, dude, why you so tired and he's all, "Oh man, my wife and I had a three way with some other dude and you know how that goes..."&lt;br /&gt;Crazy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1136022935148177109?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1136022935148177109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1136022935148177109&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1136022935148177109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1136022935148177109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/09/three-dreams.html' title='Three dreams'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1307959623773581510</id><published>2008-08-11T07:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T07:11:09.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>hot sex, birds, kittens, lions, weird guy</title><content type='html'>First off was the sex. Great stuff. Starring myself (of course) and the wife upright, her ass resting partially on the kitchen counter. Okay, that was nice. Then a nice post coital walk. We see ants eating a larger bug. And a bunch of birds are above the scene going nuts, like they want to get to the ants (or the bug) but their blocked by a strange grid of branches. Then as we're looking we're startled by a kitten pouncing on the birds. The kitten licks the birds. Then two lionesses run by. Yep, thats right, two lionesses. We hold real still as they pass. The lion across the street is going crazy. There is a house across the street with a pet lion in the front yard. I decide we should get where we're going quickly and we start jogging in th direction the lioness went. We stop suddenly and step to the side allowing lion(ess(es)) to pass us.&lt;br /&gt;On the news that night all the attention is focused on the strange guy who had the pet lion. He, the news reports, doesn't work and is supported by someone who just keeps his good looks and good speaking voice and good grooming on hold for when ever its needed. With all the attention his weirdness (Lion keeping, not working, etc.) has drawn his profile is too high for his benefactors uses. Said benefactor now installs cameras all over for a reality tv show based on the gentelman's proclivity for strange sex, a proclivity he must develope if he doesn't already have.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1307959623773581510?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1307959623773581510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1307959623773581510&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1307959623773581510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1307959623773581510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/08/hot-sex-birds-kittens-lions-weird-guy.html' title='hot sex, birds, kittens, lions, weird guy'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-3685006122369944135</id><published>2008-08-10T08:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T08:37:07.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back Yard Pool Party</title><content type='html'>I'm at a pool party. Apparently invited by Tapan as he is the only person there I know. Most of the guest are jock, cargo pants type guys with girlfriends in bikinis who just lay in the sun not talking. Tapan was on top of this weird round platform that water came up from the center of and then ran over constantly. He was having a blass. I was not in swimming attire. One of the 'dudes' asked me to take a picture and then a bunch of pictures of his girlfriend. I don't know why I had to take them as he wasn't in the shots. She looked bored. Some big guy came and stood right in front of me and I had to ask him to move. The 'dude' was real happy that I'd taken the pictures of his 'hot' girlfriend. I went inside and saw Tapan smoking a cigar. I asked where he got it. He offered it to me but the end was shredded and slobbery. Bored girl told me that 'dude' had cigars and that he was looking for me to offer me one. Found dude, was picking out  short mellow cigar, woke up....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-3685006122369944135?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/3685006122369944135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=3685006122369944135&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3685006122369944135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3685006122369944135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/08/back-yard-pool-party.html' title='Back Yard Pool Party'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7456025753583214221</id><published>2008-07-28T19:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T12:47:34.041-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Hit Me; I'm Too Smart!</title><content type='html'>I am playing with a cockatiel. It is very smart. I hit it on the back of it's head. It jumps off its perch and marches away crying. I follow it. It turns around and yells "Don't Hit Me! I'm Too Smart!" I tell it I'm sorry, and I am. The bird then climbs on my finger and snuggles against me shivering like it's just desperate to be loved. I pet it and feel guilty. Even after I wake up I feel guilty all day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7456025753583214221?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7456025753583214221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7456025753583214221&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7456025753583214221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7456025753583214221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/07/dont-hit-me-im-too-smart.html' title='Don&apos;t Hit Me; I&apos;m Too Smart!'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1607023624059821180</id><published>2008-07-28T19:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T12:53:26.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>trashy</title><content type='html'>I'm at some rich kind of trashy girls house in some sort of professional capacity. I have a clip board and I'm trying to take notes but she keeps making out with first one guy and then a different guy. I'm standing there waiting thinking "this is stupid" while she makes out with some hipster on her bed and then she spots a sex toy and is embarassed. She brushes it to the side. The dude keeps trying to make out with her but now she is over it. &lt;br /&gt;He leaves. I sit down with her to do whatever business I'm there to do. I pull out the sex toy and she is shy but I'm very confident and reassuring. I get her off with it. Then she gives me head and she press her tongue against my frenulum as I cum, causing me to come long and hard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1607023624059821180?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1607023624059821180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1607023624059821180&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1607023624059821180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1607023624059821180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/07/trashy.html' title='trashy'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-4485297038795706012</id><published>2008-07-21T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T09:26:10.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'>all I have to do is dream....</title><content type='html'>Last night, dreamt Nicole died in my bed. I lived in a tiny one room white brick apartment. The front door opened right onto the sidewalk. I don't know if she was my girlfriend, or if it was a platonic relationship or what, but there she was and just like her death in real life, I couldn't find my emotions. I was numb. So I stepped outside into the sun and I called my little brother. I explained my situation and I choked up a bit, maybe even cried, but it felt forced. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later I'm driving with Bill and I've explained what happened. We're going camping and I'm wondering if there will be any sexual contact between us and I'm trying to decide if I'd be interested in that.&lt;br /&gt;Still later I'm at Safeway, seated by the Starbucks which is where I go to use the wifi. Bryna is with me and we're kissing and flirting and then I lift her skirt and start performing oral sex on her right there at Safeway. I think someone we knew happened upon us but that part of the dream is fading...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few nights back I dreamt that Coexist was going on at The Crest (which we are soon) but the tour was made up of me, John plus Sid and Ducky? Sid seemed to be doing mostly off stage stuff, announcing us etc. Things were going okay, not sensational, on stage. We'd sold out the audience so that was good, but then Ducky took the stage and started doing TFO type stuff that had nothing to do with the tour and hadn't been run by us at all. I was pissed and horrified as Ducky took over and ran away with our show.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-4485297038795706012?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4485297038795706012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=4485297038795706012&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4485297038795706012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4485297038795706012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/07/all-i-have-to-do-is-dream.html' title='all I have to do is dream....'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-412257511531508005</id><published>2008-06-26T22:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T22:55:54.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fuck I'm Weird</title><content type='html'>I'm a black guy in a dance troupe with three other guys but we're really organized crime types and so we pretend we're doing a dance routine while we sneak off stage and out the back door ala the Blues Brothers but a copy catches me so I kick his ass and maybe even stab him with a pen but I'm able to undo things if I think I did something bad, like rewind and undo&lt;br /&gt;but then I'm a white guy again I think, but I'm still the guy that fought with the cop and I seem my friend Chris (who is black) and he has crazy long hair which means he has been out of the military awhile which is strange since I thought he was still in Iraq and then a cop talks to us but I play it cool and the cop doesn't recognize me but Chris runs all over the warehouse we're for some reason in acting crazy and I start to realize that he is very unstable and I suspect he is schyzophrenic, as a friend of mine in real life actually is the symptoms having shown up after he reached adult hood. I bring Chris home to Bryna and watch as she and other people realize that somethings not quite right and then I'm crying and walking int eh rain and I'm naked and I need to find clothes but I don't feel particluarly modest and luckily a woman offers me some clother. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of nights earlier I dreamt that I went back in time and Darwinian subconcious impulses meant that I, having even just a few decades more evolving done than the girls my same age in the past am suddenly irresistibly attractive to them and I flirt and catch eyes and I walk right up to this blonder girl in a bikin top and little dolphin shorts and put my hand on her ass and I kiss her chest and I just keep on walking...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-412257511531508005?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/412257511531508005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=412257511531508005&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/412257511531508005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/412257511531508005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/06/fuck-im-weird.html' title='Fuck I&apos;m Weird'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7664195315772351243</id><published>2008-06-05T21:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-05T21:43:24.394-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Run Aways, Emily and France, Bear, Scary Upstairs</title><content type='html'>I dreamt that I still had my bus. I was out walking and saw a skinny girl, mid to late teens sleeping in a car or being chased away from the car or something. Later I discover her sleeping in my bus. I figured it was decked out pretty nice to live in, it's purpose really, so I told her she could crash there for awhile while she got back on her feet. I felt really good about it, because the bus is almost like a little apartment and she could feel safe and know that she had somewhere to go. I told her I'd make breakfast. Then I went in and told Bryna that I let an underage runaway move in to my bus. She took it surprising well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next night, after seeing a news program about Mormon exiles or "lost boys", I dreamt that I let a couple of THEM come stay with us. I don't what is with the runaway theme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamt Emily was back from France. At first I thought she'd had a fight with her boyfriend and I'm like YOU DON'T LEAVE FRANCE OVER A FIGHT! YOU....JUST.... GET ALONG!!! But, she actually was back because it had been decided that she was going to live there and so she had to pack up her apartment and take care of some business. Our house was crazy. In addition to Emily my family was there and a present had arrived from George of Sea Monkeys but I don't remember what it was or what was odd about it, but something...&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and also Emily had a custom card made for us, she wrote the text but then had it printed and printed sort of ghetto, like she found a twenty five cent make your own card machine or something.&lt;br /&gt;Thene we were at a big store that had a zoo like exhibit with a bear and then the bear seemed made and was charging, and I thought the scenery was made to look bigger than it was so the bear was reaching us much quicker than he should have. We all ran, along with other customers to the parking lot. We locked the doors. We both insisted on driving back by the store though because we really wanted to see the bear but Bryna made sure our windows were all the way up first and that is funny because in real life our windows are stuck in the up position and won't roll down and we have now air conditioning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THEN a couple nights ago the scarry upstairs apartment. We're in our apartment only it's my nondivorced parents apartment with an extra room, our room. My friends Crelly and Kate are over and they want to see the attic which I never went into so we pull down the attic ladder stairs thing and go up and it's a great little two bedroom apartment with a kitchen. And I'm stoked and we'll live here and I remember suggesting that we not even tell the landlord that we know about it. I start to wonder about it though. Why hasn't the landlord mentioned it. Why is it furnished and why does it look like it was vacated so quickly. I start to be afraid of it. No real reason, just dreadfully afraid.&lt;br /&gt;I try to go to sleep (still in the dream here) and my mom comes in and lays down across the bed to talk with us. She is scared too. Bryna, half asleep, says she knows the man that we sense and he thinks I am a genius but bares me know ill will. I sense that this man/ghost whatever was a controlling oppressive not good sort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I wake up I'm freaked and I have a really hard time sleeping.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7664195315772351243?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7664195315772351243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7664195315772351243&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7664195315772351243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7664195315772351243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/06/run-aways-emily-and-france-bear-scary.html' title='Run Aways, Emily and France, Bear, Scary Upstairs'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8142590480452649111</id><published>2008-05-23T11:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-23T11:53:10.043-07:00</updated><title type='text'>backstage</title><content type='html'>Sometimes it's hard to decide what to share since I do dream about people I know. Usually I just change the name, but if I'm writing about a group I'm involved in and a limited number of people are in the group, well it's too easy to figure out who it is.&lt;br /&gt;Oh well. If you're friends with me, you might have to deal with the fact that I occasionally dream about you naked.&lt;br /&gt;SO then, I dreamt that my comedy troupe was performing in LA. I found out last minute that a friend of mine was opening for us. This friend is known for going on and on, usually way over the amount of time alloted when he performs. He's a good performer but his shows are always WAY too much of a good thing and tend to exhaust audiences. I try to, as politically as possible, convince the club booker not to have this go open but it is no use, and I find out we're actually the FOURTH troupe going on, though we're the headliner, in this case it sounds like a bad thing.&lt;br /&gt;The backstage area and the club in general is crazy; split level, hallways and bridges and balconies and very strange. I found a dressing room area and one of the girls in my troupe walks by in a bathrobe that in real life is my wife's bathrobe. It's open and I can see her breast and belly. At first I'm flummoxed but I want to see more so after I pass I turn and initiate conversation. She's halfway into her dressing room but showing me more. In the dreams she has small breasts, in real life she has fairly large breasts. Her immodesty tells me she is probably open to fooling around and I decide I'd like to. I wake up though before anything actually happens.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8142590480452649111?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8142590480452649111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8142590480452649111&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8142590480452649111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8142590480452649111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/05/backstage.html' title='backstage'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8029078707346833948</id><published>2008-05-16T11:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T11:04:06.741-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Swingin' desserts</title><content type='html'>I have some friends who are swingerific. In this dream I and the wife of this couple are getting desserts at a buffet. We're both vegan (in real life she isn't) but we're cheating on our diet with chocolate cake with whipped cream and strawberry shortcake with whipped cream.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure she's a swinger in the dream and there is a sense that if we're cheating on our diets maybe we can cheat on our partners.&lt;br /&gt;I'm concerned that I'm having so man affair dreams lately. This is the first one where it didn't involve me having explicit permission. weird.&lt;br /&gt;I woke up really wanting some dessert.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8029078707346833948?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8029078707346833948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8029078707346833948&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8029078707346833948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8029078707346833948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/05/swingin-desserts.html' title='Swingin&apos; desserts'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-2338969402524378937</id><published>2008-05-16T10:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T11:05:47.452-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Puddle</title><content type='html'>Christian dream, second one this week (&lt;a href="http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/05/leaky-roof-fireworks.html"&gt;see Leaky Roof Fireworks&lt;/a&gt;). This time he's back and really clean cut looking, trimmer too, like he was when were young.&lt;br /&gt;He tells me of an uncle who warned Christian's cousins to watch him since he was a drunk and a thief. Christian, who is on the wagon (sober) in this dream tells me how he responded by holding a bottle (he holds the bottle in much the way used to steal bottles years ago by sliding them into the fore arm of his jacket) and he hops into a puddle and acts drunk and crazy stomping around in the puddle. Christian is actually acting it out in a puddle as he describes it and people are stopping to watch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-2338969402524378937?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/2338969402524378937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=2338969402524378937&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2338969402524378937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2338969402524378937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/05/puddle.html' title='Puddle'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7452377082731869872</id><published>2008-05-13T09:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T09:15:21.032-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I can, but I can't</title><content type='html'>About a month ago I had a dream that I was rolling around with a really cute Asian girl and I had Bryna's permission (common theme lately?) but we were in public and I didn't think I could explain to anyone who saw us that I had permission and that I wasn't being unfaithful so I was reserved. I really liked this girl though and she was awfully pretty.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7452377082731869872?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7452377082731869872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7452377082731869872&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7452377082731869872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7452377082731869872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-can-but-i-cant.html' title='I can, but I can&apos;t'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7256775294359910563</id><published>2008-05-13T08:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T09:04:07.314-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blow Jobs for The Bride!</title><content type='html'>My family is around me. I'm at a hotel I think. In preparation for my wedding my fiancee will go on a date with one of my friends. In the dream this is a ritual that most couples do. It ritualistically tests the bride's devotion and loyalty but not too much of a test since the date is with someone the groom trusts. Mostly just a fun tradition.&lt;br /&gt;I tell her that I'm okay with it if she wants to give and or receive some oral sex on her date. My friend shows up in a limousine that is pedaled, like a stretch Velo cab.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7256775294359910563?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7256775294359910563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7256775294359910563&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7256775294359910563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7256775294359910563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/05/blow-jobs-for-bride.html' title='Blow Jobs for The Bride!'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5051469853899094594</id><published>2008-05-13T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T08:59:45.347-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaky Roof, fireworks</title><content type='html'>The roof in the bathroom is leaking, the ceiling is buckling and I'm sure it's going to cave in. It does, in a big way. I run to my brother john and tell him that the ceiling has buckled. We run to the bathroom and the rain is coming right through the roof and ceiling to the pointer where it's practically raining in the bathroom and blowing at an angle into the hallway.&lt;br /&gt;We head to the backyard and for some reason we climb the fence far from the house and then traversed the top of the fence rather than just climbing by the house. John does this well but I find I can't quite move swiftly along the top of the fence and so I hope down and climb the fence by the house, onto the house.&lt;br /&gt;My mom is now up on the roof with me. At some point it stopped raining. There are nephews on the roof and one of them falls through the hole in the roof but is kept safe by all various bits of wreckage slowing his fall.&lt;br /&gt;It's night then, my nephews are all holding full handfuls of bottle rockets and blowing 'em all off from their hands. I'm concerned, not for their safety but that they're not moving around as they do it, so they'll make it easy for the cops to get to 'em.&lt;br /&gt;Later in the night, or maybe it was earlier, I dream that some kind of bulky dark guy with bleached hair and beard is calling my name. The guy catches up to me and it's my friend Christian. Christian has been incommunicado for the past year. In the dream he shows up out of nowhere and off the wagon. He is drunk and I start thinking about how I tell Anne that he is back and drinking again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5051469853899094594?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5051469853899094594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5051469853899094594&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5051469853899094594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5051469853899094594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/05/leaky-roof-fireworks.html' title='Leaky Roof, fireworks'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7030387463271559933</id><published>2008-04-08T22:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-08T22:20:14.049-07:00</updated><title type='text'>pre-wedding dreams</title><content type='html'>School, I'm nerdy guy, with glasses but kind of cook nerdy, at least I think so and I'm quiet and I just star very intently. And at one point I'm picking up on two girls and I lay across them but they make me get up but they don't make too big a deal of it. I go to a class where all the computers used to be but they're gone, supposedly in the next room so that this room can be used  for some cute somewhat chubby girl to have a party and she's very popular and I'm enjoying being there but nobody talks to me and I start to feel awkward and so I leave and as I'm walking out the door Nick, my friend who is now a rock star (in real life) is walking in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had another dream, my parents were together, big party at their house, like a family get together and George the Sea Monkey guy was there but he was very old and kind of grumpy and working on something very intense. and there were five steps he needed to write out and it was of utmost importance and had something to do with Sea Monkeys. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And a few days before that I dreamt that I caught Bryna smoking and was very upset. She thought I was making a big deal of it. I didn't know how to make her take me seriously. I told her I didn't want to marry a smoker. My heart was pounding as I said it. She laughed at me. It was hard not to laugh myself. My emotions were all confused.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7030387463271559933?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7030387463271559933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7030387463271559933&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7030387463271559933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7030387463271559933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/04/pre-wedding-dreams.html' title='pre-wedding dreams'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5574657943569604887</id><published>2008-03-31T08:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T08:30:08.026-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sea Monkey Savior</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamt that I was making house calls to help people with their sea-monkeys. Somehow I had to make a delicious dinner as part of the process of fixing the sea-monkey tanks? I was eating the dinner and the girl whose tank I was working on was in her room waiting patiently for me to be done. I decided that on all future jobs I would let the customer eat the dinner, the dinner that HAD to be made to save the Sea-Monkeys. It was, and is, completely unclear to me how the two are related.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreamt that both my parents were at my house and they were huge. They were both trying to cook in my little tiny kitchen and I knew that was a bad idea (my parents are VERY estranged.) They had really big buts and their buts were battling for space as they were both bent over their culinary projects.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreamt that I was trying to arrange to have sex with the last girl I ever slept with before getting together with Bryna as a last harrah before getting married. For some reason I had to push my penis into a Styrofoam ball to leave an impression of it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5574657943569604887?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5574657943569604887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5574657943569604887&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5574657943569604887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5574657943569604887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/03/sea-monkey-savior.html' title='Sea Monkey Savior'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1618690287487470252</id><published>2008-03-20T09:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-20T09:25:37.079-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Way behind</title><content type='html'>Never been the most disciplined guy, but I gotta get better at keeping this thing. If I don't write 'em down they fade, blend together, but then the come back at odd times and I swear then that I'll move 'em to the front of my brain with my more concrete memories, but it doesn't work, not often anyway. Oh well, here goes; working backwards...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving some stuff into an apartment in a big apartment building, the kind with an indoor hallway. A tall black man, Kenny perhaps, is offering help. I have a kiddie swimming pool and I dump the little bit of water that is left in it around the corner on the carpet in front of a neighbor's apartment. I go in and talk with Bryna, fold up the pool and notice that the apartment is starting to look neat. "We're reclaiming our apartment." I tell Bryna. When I wake up I'm bummed. Our apartment is still a mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a bit of a crush on a blond woman who works at the coffee shop I frequent. In this dream we're hanging out, we're naked and it's understood that I have a girlfriend and so we can kiss or have sex but it's okay to be affectionate, which is really quite nice. She lays on top of me and I wrap my arms around her, and I decide to ask permission to go on a road trip with her and to have a bit of an affair. It's common in my dreams for me to seek such permission. Funny that I don't seem to dream about cheating only about having an allowed dalliance. So, I ask for permission, permission is granted and we head off on our road trip. It's really fun and exciting to be on the road with a beautiful exciting women and to not be doing anything wrong. I feel happy and alive. Again (see next dream, working backwards remember) I'm really affected and can't shake the dream. This girl's working the next day when I go to get my coffee and I'm all flustered when I talk with her. I even leave without my coffee and have to go back and get it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another permission dream, only this time I'm with young Bryna, the 18 year old Bryna that I first fell in love with, and I have to ask the current Bryna for permission. &lt;br /&gt;I wake up feeling really affected by this one. I think I miss the care free days when we had nothing but time for each other. And always I miss being on the road. I'm really looking forward to our honeymoon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1618690287487470252?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1618690287487470252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1618690287487470252&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1618690287487470252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1618690287487470252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/03/way-behind.html' title='Way behind'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8825944126411005364</id><published>2008-01-25T13:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-25T13:53:53.253-08:00</updated><title type='text'>severed head alarm clock</title><content type='html'>Well it wasn't quite severed, but dissembodied or at least lacking a body. It seemed fine without a body as if it maybe never had one. It was making noise, telling me something, serving as an alarm.&lt;br /&gt;I woke up and turned off my alarm. &lt;br /&gt;Prior to the head going off I'd been dreaming about my comedy festival. In the dream it was thursday. the show was over and had apparently done okay. I was talking with Andrew from Cody Rivers and telling him that I was relieved. That if Thursday had done okay then Friday and Saturday would do really well.&lt;br /&gt;The show seems to have been in a small room, maybe a classroom or a cafe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few nights ago I dreamt that we were in a tall buidling and someone was at the window with remote controls. I looked and he had a red and a blue remote control truck that he was driving around and making do great spins on the street below. The trucks looked like remote control toy trucks, monochromatic and boxy, but they were life size and doing crazy damage to all the cars parked on the street. He let me drive one. It was fun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8825944126411005364?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8825944126411005364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8825944126411005364&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8825944126411005364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8825944126411005364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2008/01/severed-head-alarm-clock.html' title='severed head alarm clock'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-3568205251457226162</id><published>2007-12-19T07:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T07:43:37.806-08:00</updated><title type='text'>weird...</title><content type='html'>Suzie Q- the snack cake that is whipped pigs fat and sugar between two chocolate cakes, only this one's giant and shaped like a guitar and I'm playing with it like it's a real guitar and singing a song made up of the names of snack cakes "Twinkies, Ding Dongs, Ho Hos" etc. The guitar belongs to Bryna and I feel bad when I can't help eating it. &lt;br /&gt;We're in a locker room, or laundry mat. We put our clothes in a locker that dries your clothes or warms 'em at least, but you pull the key and lock the clothes in. We just want to warm our clothes because it's cold out and their still a little wet. I don't seem to remember us being naked though? There's a living room attached to the laundry mat/locker room. I leave the remains of the half eaten Suzie -Q guitar in there.&lt;br /&gt;Dream jumps. Bryna has my old job at Capitol Aquarium. I'm helping her. The lights keep going out. There are some weird fish, including an elephant nosed dolphin fish, which is a huge fish with a weird smooshed up wrinkled nose and very little resemblance to an actual elephant nosed fish, which always reminded me of a dolphin. There was also a fresh water shark who looked like a toy shark, all squat and big eyed with two large cheek disks like a frog. &lt;br /&gt;There were a bunch of kids helping Bryna do the job I used to do alone and I noticed the siphons were no longer set up to keep the tank from draining all the way down. I explained to Bryna how we could set them up so that they wouldn't drain so much. &lt;br /&gt;I was distraught to see they pulled a half an aisle of fish tanks to sell dolls and toys all of which were marketed towards black people. The manager explained that the janitor bought enough toys to make it worth carrying them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-3568205251457226162?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/3568205251457226162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=3568205251457226162&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3568205251457226162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3568205251457226162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/12/weird.html' title='weird...'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8131242064401026794</id><published>2007-12-10T09:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-10T09:39:48.472-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>1) Nicole's parents&lt;br /&gt;I show up at Nicole's sister's apartment. Nicole = highshcool girlfriend who I'm totally out of touch with now. I'm surprised upon visiting her sister to discover that she is there also. And then I'm further surprised to see that her parents are there. Nicole's parents once read her diary and found out she gave me a blowjob. I was never quite comfortable with them after that, despite the fact that frequently intoxicated mom was sure I was Jesus Christ and then some, the genius of my generation. No, really, the lady was quite impressed with me for some reason. So, back to the dream. I hem and ha over Nicole's mother as I never expected to see her again. I ask that they take a pictre of us together, I insist even. Only later do I remember that Nicole's mother is dead. I realize with horror that I fussed over and even posed for a picture with the widowers NEW wife, embarrassing myself and really driving home the fact that he married a woman that looked exactly like his first wife. I'm relieved when I wake up, just to be free of the awkwardness. Then I remember that Nicole's father died last year. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Sexually Harassing Zombie&lt;br /&gt;It's zombie hollocaust time again and as of late my zombie dreams involve rebuilding society in the suburbs. Bryna and I find a small gated community and a couple has a zombie head that they're taking out to the trash. They invite us in. The zombie's body is twitching in the kitchen, all wrapped up in black garbage bags. This is unusual, the zombies in my dreams usually follow the rules; no head, no move. Ah well, I help the couple take out the trash and we close up the doors. I think there's a visit from some older guy who is a busy body at leat, but may be in some position of authority, either assumed or granted. Then it's just hanging out with this nice couple who remind me a bit of my cousin Isa and her husband. It's pleasant hanging out. A zombie walks by and he's really tall. He comes to the glass door and he's covered in blood. He can talk! He's got a dirty mouth and mostly talks about Bryna's body parts. We all just stare at him as a curiosity. We'll have to kill him, but it's just another chore, not a big deal at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Mom and Spider&lt;br /&gt;We're at mom's, the family, not all of us, but a good sized crowd. There's a spider on the carpet. Bryna says it's the bad kind, not good to get bit by. Mom is not afraid and is trying to make the spider eat a smaller bug. She pushes the spider around with her finger and has no fear of it. (In real life, NO WAY.)&lt;br /&gt;The spider then flattens out on the ground, and spreads out, transforming into a large flat disc. The flat spider disc eats the bug. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Bryna smoking&lt;br /&gt;I hear bryna tearing coupons on the back porch. Bryna used to hang out on the back porch when she smoked. I push my head agains the screen until it stretches enough for me to see that she is smoking. I walk out on the porch and catch her smoking. I'm very upset. I ask her how long. She says a few weeks. I'm mad that she didn't tell me. I go inside. I come out again, I take her soft back of camels which are sitting on the steps a few steps down and I tear them up and throw them. She gets up to walk away from me. I think of all the ways I could have responded. She's mad at me, I want to talk, I want to make her go back to not smoking, I'm asking her if she's walking somewhere to talk or trying to walk away. She's really mad. I want to do the right thing and be the good guy but I'm mad and don't feel like she should be mad and I wake relieved that it's not real and I take a minute to shake it off and I wrap around my nonsmoking sweetie and go back to sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8131242064401026794?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8131242064401026794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8131242064401026794&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8131242064401026794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8131242064401026794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/12/1-nicoles-parents-i-show-up-at-nicoles.html' title=''/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8111148319954238549</id><published>2007-11-26T10:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-26T10:44:44.447-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Damn, fell behind again</title><content type='html'>Start with last night, work backwords&lt;br /&gt;Dreamt that Bryna was showing me the apartment she had on a high story of a buidling, way up there. It looks like a real luxory pad and I feel bad that we live in such a modest place but determined to find us something better and I sense that she's missing the nice diggs.&lt;br /&gt;I woke up to the cat running under our bed, but then I realized that the cat we were sitting has gone home to grandma's and so I wonder what the hell ran under the bed. I turn on the lights, and look under the bed, I check the whole apartment. I find the back door unlocked which freaks me out. I determine that I must have dreamt the the cat ran under the bed, but it had to have been triggered by something as my dream shifted so suddenly and then I woke up.&lt;br /&gt;I don't sleep well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night before: My big brother John is in bed recovering. He had half his body taken away from him, though I'm not sure how. He's grown back the half he lost, right down to his fingers and facial features. He tells me that this is the proof of God I've been asking for. Science can offer no explaination for his miraculous recovery. I admit that I thought he would have, at best, some useless lumps of flesh in place of his left side, if he survived at all. I promise to do some research.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another night back: A teacher is instructing the students in my class to go to my show and then to see a movie that is playing after my show.&lt;br /&gt;Class ends. I head to the show with the teacher but he's dawdling. Then we stop to pick up my nephew Antonio and the teacher tries out Antonio's skateboard. I'm worried about being late and I'm talking myself out of being worried about attendance. It doesn't matter, I say out loud, even if just the other students are there it will be fine. The show is really funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few nights before that.  I run through a grocery store and stab a developmentally disabled girl in the chest. I feel terrible and I don't know why I did it. I get her to the sidewalk in front of the store and I try to care for her while we wait for an ambulence. She seems fine. The whole where I stabbed her with some conical black thing that wasn't quite a knife, is closing up and not bleeding. I worry about internal bleeding. I see an army of cops coming. I decide to "give the collar" to the bike cops. The cops handcuff me and start smacking me around, knocking me over just to pick me up and know me over again. I don't like it. I wake myself up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same night. I'm out with Bryna and Sue (an old friend who we're now estranged from.) We go into an opera house in a small town. The opera house is HUGE. We find seat way to the back. It's crowded and we assume it's crowded all the way up. Later we realize that most of the house is empty, only crowded in the back. I stab Sue and her inflatable body deflates. The folks around us think we're carrying on rudely. The act on stage is struggling as they can barely be heard.&lt;br /&gt;Back at home I try to repair Sue's body with tape but when I reinflate her the tape doesn't hold. He spirit and Bryna dismiss me as a complete doofus.&lt;br /&gt;I look in the back yard and there's a rat pary, but also a bug party. Big groups of bugs forming pretty patterns. And animated looking baby racoons. I call Bryna to see.&lt;br /&gt;When I wak up I find out Bryna had dreamt of Sue and of Racoons also.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rat Party: May have been the same night as above dreams. There is a park in Sacramento where the Rats come out in amazing numbers at dusk. The Rat Party is REAL, not just something I dreamt. After seeing it I dreamt that I heard a noise in the kitchen. Going to check it out, I witness a Rat Party in my kitchen and it scares me something aweful. I call to Bryna to wake up and I see that there are rats in our room and they're crawling on Bryna. AUUGGGHHH. I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8111148319954238549?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8111148319954238549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8111148319954238549&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8111148319954238549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8111148319954238549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/11/damn-fell-behind-again.html' title='Damn, fell behind again'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8179811271974005037</id><published>2007-11-01T09:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T10:03:02.903-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Zombies all the time</title><content type='html'>Watched 28 Days Later again two nights ago:&lt;br /&gt;Dreamt that I was living in a 3 bedroom track home with six other guys. We were two to a room in a gated community trying to rebuild in the midst of a Zombie holocaust. We didn't see any zombies and it was mostly just satisfying work building up a comfortable community with inventiveness and elbow grease. No money, no job, but lots of hard work.&lt;br /&gt;The dream morphed a bit and it was my brothers and I in the house. My mom was in a house nearby and came by to visit. Later my dad lived in our house too.&lt;br /&gt;We saw paratrooper landing and realized it was The German Army come to help America fight the zombies. I said "Good, this should wipe 'em out." and my little brother said "Bullshit. The army is going to get infected and the mess will get worse." I figured he was right. Zombies came out of the wood work, from everywhere, drawn by the noise of the paratroopers who started shooting 'em.&lt;br /&gt;Then things were quiet again. A little girl was now living in the house. Maybe the daughter that I often dream that I have. She said a man was walking really slowly outside and she didn't think he could see or hear. I looked out the window and it was a zombie. I saw a few more. I figured it was James' prediction come true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8179811271974005037?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8179811271974005037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8179811271974005037&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8179811271974005037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8179811271974005037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/11/zombies-all-time.html' title='Zombies all the time'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-7448005340043391604</id><published>2007-11-01T08:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T10:06:21.971-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Birthday Present and Parking</title><content type='html'>There was a young lady working for me when I was in retail. I couldn't help noticing that she was quite attractive. She was flirty and I went out of my way to avoid being alone with her. If she'd come into my office I'd walk out onto the floor, that kind of thing. And I'd make sure AT ALL costs that her and I were never the last to leave after closing, even if it meant keeping some poor kid there long after they finsihed their own closing duties.&lt;br /&gt;Then, I left retail and I didn't see her again for a few years.&lt;br /&gt;I ran into her recently and she still drives me up a wall but she's now an adult and not a subordinate.&lt;br /&gt;So, last nights dream. I'm giving her a ride home and she's wearing a short skirt, opaque black thigh high stockings, looking as cute as could be and flirtling like crazy. There's a hotel on the way to drop her off and it occurs to me that it would be a great place for a tryste.&lt;br /&gt;I'm a good boy, even in my dreams. I go to Bryna and ask permission to have said tryste. It's my birthday I tell her. I figure this will work on her and the other woman. I get to have this, it's my birthday.&lt;br /&gt;I describe the skirt and stocking to Bryna. I'm sure that the outfit will be what convinces her to give me her blessing. Like she'll say, "Oh, a short skirt and stocking, well yeah, of course, go for it."&lt;br /&gt;The dream ends before I get my birthday present.&lt;br /&gt;Earlier in the dream I parked my car on the side of the freeway. Not sure if I was out of gas or just decided it was a good place to leave my car. I had 24 hours to get it back. When I got back it was gone. There was art all over the shoulders of the freeway. Some kind of art in public places thing. Metal sculptures of the sort my friend and neighbor Gale does. Steve V. had some sculpture that loosely incorporated his motorcycle. His motorcyle was on the freeway and was art. My vehicle had been towed. Some symbolism there I'm sure. I went to some office full of beaurocratic goings on and told them it had only been 23 hours, even though I wasn't sure this was true, I figure it was unlikely that my vehicle got tagged within the first hour of my leaving it.&lt;br /&gt;A woman working there was helpful in getting my car back. I think there were cars parked in hallways in the building but they were being replaced by metal sculptures as well, just as on the freeway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-7448005340043391604?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7448005340043391604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=7448005340043391604&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7448005340043391604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/7448005340043391604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-birthday-present-and-parking.html' title='My Birthday Present and Parking'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-4357430474215267151</id><published>2007-10-24T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-24T08:30:08.537-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Moths and Crickets in my back.</title><content type='html'>Trying to do the dishes. Not wearing a shirt. The moth keeps landing on my back, on the small scab where I had a pimple or scratched a mole. I bat the moth away, and I pull crickets out of the hole in my skin. The moth is putting the crickets there. They are crickets which will grow into moths.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-4357430474215267151?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4357430474215267151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=4357430474215267151&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4357430474215267151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4357430474215267151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/10/moths-and-crickets-in-my-back.html' title='Moths and Crickets in my back.'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8649806975239865449</id><published>2007-10-24T08:19:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-24T08:28:17.672-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I invented a new art form in my sleep</title><content type='html'>I was the monster. The way it worked is that the monster would go into a cafe or restaurant, unexpected and scare people. The other band members would already be there, including two Japanese school girls whose job is to scream and run around. The musicians in the band would start a song to the monster. "Monster, we know you're hungry, but you can't eat these people. These are important people." The song describes each person in the restaurant, making up details about them. From there, it becomes a full musical. Each person gets their own song building on the made up details we assigned them. The monster sings his own song. There is an antagonistic who gets eaten.&lt;br /&gt;And in the dream this was an established form of entertainment in Japan. It had a three syllable name with a k and an h and a j but I don't remember the name. We were the first folks to bring this art form to the states.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8649806975239865449?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8649806975239865449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8649806975239865449&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8649806975239865449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8649806975239865449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-invented-new-art-form-in-my-sleep.html' title='I invented a new art form in my sleep'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-4539493471629434938</id><published>2007-10-21T09:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-21T09:12:16.165-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Zombies again,  sort of...</title><content type='html'>The whole town was evacuating due to the Zombie attack. I hadn't seen any zombies but civil disorder was a bigger concern for the moment. I wanted to take off, but I wanted to have my bike. I went to the Zimmerman offices to get it. Some thugs saw me go in and followed me. I pretended not to be into the bike. Telling them there was much better stuff in the inner office if we could get through the doors. "Oh we can get through the doors." they started breaking the locks. I grabbed my bike and split.&lt;br /&gt;I met a girl who was Laura from some dumb tv show that Bryna watches, Rescue Me. Laura joined me in heading up the mountain. Then we found a kid. Now the kid was with us too. I was a dog who seemed trapped on a ledge by a river. I lowered my body down, thinking the dog could climb up me and get free. As I was doing this very dangerous thing the kid just wandered around this trail I hadn't seen and called the dog who came right up easily. I felt silly and climbed back up. It was getting dark and I realized we'd been very foolish letting it get dark without preparing for the night.&lt;br /&gt;I woke up several times during the dream but always went right back into it. One time I even named things in my bedroom trying to get a lock on where I was, on the real world. Still I went back into it. I imagined a small shed with a tin roof and figured we'd sleep on the roof. Zombies can't climb and people wouldn't see us up there. Sometime after that I woke up. The residue of the dream stayed with me for a the first few hours of the day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-4539493471629434938?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4539493471629434938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=4539493471629434938&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4539493471629434938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4539493471629434938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/10/zombies-again-sort-of.html' title='Zombies again,  sort of...'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-403332258880753635</id><published>2007-10-21T08:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-21T09:04:33.306-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Scott S and The New Apartment</title><content type='html'>Last night, restless, went to bed depressed and dreamt of Bloom County all night. I think I was dreaming that I was righting it.&lt;br /&gt;Then toward morning dreamt that Bryna and I were moving into a bigger apartment. The walls were old peeling paint, the carpet disgusting brown Brillo, but lots of space. I don't know if we were getting along. Not necessarily fighting but not real close and cozy. Scott S was coming over to visit. I was thinking Scott S. was some Chicken John, snooty SF guy, though I was picturing the real Scott S, a Sacramento guy, who thoroughly dislikes me. I guess I was juxtaposing to snooty guys, both of whom run (or ran) venues, though in real life Chicken John has nothing against me and wouldn't even really recognize my name or face. Anyway, Scott S shows up with a friend who has some crazy welded together two person bike thing. Neither of them say high to me as they ascend the back step of the apartment building. I follow them in, thinking I should have invited at least one of the guys who were hanging out on our back porch (Ben or some Craig Usher, another local guy who reminds me of Scott S butt he's really nice.) I go back but they're all gone. I go into my apartment. Scott's friend is racing an over sized bike pulling to trailers up and down our hall. He still doesn't acknowledge me. I don't know where Bryna is, but I imagine she's chatting with Scott on a porch somewhere. Our aparment has so many doors that when you open 'em all it's almost like you're outside. We have a way long closet with a toilet and sink at the end of it, maybe a tub, I don't remember. I decide that we don't need such a big closet and then with a little work it can be an extra room for guests (mostly our nephew Antonio.) I notice then that their is a room, and then the closet. Now if only there were another entrance to the bathroom. I wash my hands which for some reason have grease all over 'em. I'm looking at my tatoos, regretting having them, and thinking about how much of a dork I'll look like to Scott S with my dumb tatoos. I go to find him and Bryna and I wake up, relieved to not actually have any tattoos. Yay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-403332258880753635?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/403332258880753635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=403332258880753635&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/403332258880753635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/403332258880753635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/10/scott-s-and-new-apartment.html' title='Scott S and The New Apartment'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-2270786671554774425</id><published>2007-10-10T10:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T11:00:43.599-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Last night:&lt;br /&gt;Wasn't quite fighting with Bryna, just wanted to stay somewhere else for a night. rented room in a place that looked like a cheap downtown motel on the outside but was kind of themed on the inside. My rooms was tiny like a closet and all frilly with pink ruffles and crowded and cluttered and the bed was tiny and I realized that two of the walls were actually just sheets and one came down and in the next room, just loading in, were two of the lesbians I met at Tina's wedding. They said hello and were very friendly. I really wanted to go to sleep but didn't think I could get comfortable in this crowded room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, after waking up to the rain really coming down, I was dreaming that the rain washed away a bunch of internet stuff for The Coexist Comedy Tour, including Tissa's myspace page. I was repairing her page and she wanted to make sure Junior was on her friend's list as she thought he was the coolest. (She's never heard of Junior in real life I'm sure.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday:&lt;br /&gt;Dreaming about hookers, they were around for some reason, a bunch of them in really great costumes. One in a mostly red outfit, another in mostly yellow, etc. and then after they were gone dreaming about fantasizing about having sex with them or was I dreaming about actually having sex with them. Lines blured. The sex was standing, maybe anal, with the one in yellow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day before that:&lt;br /&gt;I had a pet. It was a Big water puppy/monster from The Host. Creature was playful and LOVED to rock out to cheesy hair rock and I was thinking "Wow, I've actually had conversations with this creature? Haven't I?" It was very sweet and liked to be pet but was also a bit intimidating, I wasn't sure that it wouldn't bite. Watching it work it's way out if it's tank that was barely bigger than it was. Later it had glass stuck to it's skin. I carefully picked the glass off. Was the glas from it's tank?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-2270786671554774425?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/2270786671554774425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=2270786671554774425&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2270786671554774425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2270786671554774425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/10/last-night-wasnt-quite-fighting-with.html' title=''/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8387950607605966525</id><published>2007-10-04T12:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-04T12:41:07.790-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Poke in the eye</title><content type='html'>At a backyard BBQ. There's a guy there who seems a-lot like Chad (who I'm currently on tour with) but he's bigger and he's not Chad.&lt;br /&gt;I flick something off my leg and it hits him in the eye, really gets him good.&lt;br /&gt;He's not happy.&lt;br /&gt;I apologize. He sort of accepts my apology. A while late, the incident fogotten, I toss him something. It hits him in the same eye. He's now really pissed. I tell him I'm sorry. I over do it. I jump up but he would just as soon I get away from him.&lt;br /&gt;The BBQ was being hosted by Jerry Perry and Linda Perry. They showed me inside their apartment. It was all burnt out and flooded and devoid of light and there was meat everywhere, like they were in the meat business.&lt;br /&gt;I went back outside. I thought a bug was on me, a swatted it. It was just a piece of bark. It hit the dude in the eye. "Okay, I'm not even gonna tell you I'm sorry, because you won't believe me, I'm just gonna leave. but I am sorry. I'll go now."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, that's a good idea, GO!"&lt;br /&gt;He's really mad now, and I'm thinking this may mean a fight at some time in my future. I wonder if I should go ahead and fight him now, while I've already got his vision blurry, but I decide this won't spare me another fight later so I leave.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8387950607605966525?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8387950607605966525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8387950607605966525&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8387950607605966525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8387950607605966525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/10/poke-in-eye.html' title='Poke in the eye'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-542642307911490739</id><published>2007-09-25T13:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T13:33:20.623-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thee Nights catch up</title><content type='html'>Kept waking up, stressed, trying to get Mick Jagger's contract worked out in a way that everyone would agree with. Had to actually tell myself "You Don't Know Mick Jagger or The Stones! You have nothing to be stressed about. Go TO SLEEP!" It didn't work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next night. Dreamt of Q-Tips. I was getting so much yellow gunk from my ears, even a little brown and then some blood. Decided to be gentle with the blood. Told Bryna about it. Asked her not to freak out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night. Long, luxurious blow job. Finally finsihing with a hand job, cock held gently against her breasts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-542642307911490739?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/542642307911490739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=542642307911490739&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/542642307911490739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/542642307911490739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/09/thee-nights-catch-up.html' title='Thee Nights catch up'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-998939037771763954</id><published>2007-09-18T09:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-04T12:44:38.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Weather</title><content type='html'>Bryna and I are lyin' in bed and our west facing window is as wide as the wall it's on and almost half as tall. Bryna's reading and I tell her to look at the amazing round patterns the clouds are making, like a cloud mandalla. Everytime she looks though they're in a comparitively boring formation.&lt;br /&gt;Finally I get her to look and keep looking. She sees the amazing patterns. A tunnel clowd forms and comes toward us. It's hailing hard. We get the windows shut. The tunnel clowd goes down the alley next to our house. Things start to calm down. It's really cool. We cuddle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-998939037771763954?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/998939037771763954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=998939037771763954&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/998939037771763954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/998939037771763954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/09/weather.html' title='Weather'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5685377748037683200</id><published>2007-09-18T09:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T13:34:56.881-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm on a boat. A mans explaining that when you see this certain kind of shark you tell your divers not to go in the water. But if there already on the way in, expect to be taking them home without limbs. And like we're illustrating the point with no option to follow the advice, everyon on the boat jumps in. I think to myself that I'm not supposed to be amongst the divers. I manage to get back in the boat whole, along with with one other person. Then everyon else starts climbing in with missing legs. There is no blood. It's as if the shark carefully amputated and cotterized the legs in some undersea operating room.&lt;br /&gt;I was rowing the boat back with my hands and hoping we had an engine or something. Than I notice the one other guy with all his limbs in tact has oars. Cool. I'd help, but dang, just one set of oars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later in a different dream in a different universe it would seem, I'm at a funeral. My co-workers are there. My coworkers are mostly related to each other, a large Mexican family and we've actually attended quite a number of funerals with them. A cute little white girl is talking on a microphone and I'm seeing if any of my coworkers need a lift. I try to comfort the younger woman from my office and her friend (or sister?), but they seem to want me to piss off as if I have no business even talking to 'em. There's som odd tension of me finding them very attractive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5685377748037683200?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5685377748037683200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5685377748037683200&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5685377748037683200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5685377748037683200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/09/im-on-boat.html' title=''/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5024702936329110847</id><published>2007-09-10T19:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T19:44:48.316-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Black Furry Pillows</title><content type='html'>Walking out of an antique/junk store. Walking with a pretty asian girl who doesn't speak english and her hip caucasion boyfriend who just doesn't speak.&lt;br /&gt;Then there's an old asian women there, the girl's mother, and her and I make jokes and trade stories and laugh and put my hands on her shoulders and the city is pretty and I'm happy.&lt;br /&gt;I get to an apartment buidling with many little apartments and the girl and her bf live there and so do. She is suddenly on the second floor and she gets my attention and throw me down a black furry pillow and points up. She wants to go sit on pillows on the roof.&lt;br /&gt;I tell her I have to introduce her to my girlfriend first and I don't know if she understands but she walks with me towards Bryna and I's apartment. She gets in the elevator which is right next to my apartment. It's a cool old elevator with a black iron gate. On her way into the elevator she bumps into Emily W. and Emily doesn't acknowledge her. I try to introduce Emily, proud of my correct pronunciation of the girl's name and Emily says in an impatient tone, "I'm not in a state to meet anyone!"&lt;br /&gt;I follow Emily into my apartment. it's one small room. Bryna's on the bed shaving her legs and the little apartment is full of girls, Emily, Chris, Bryna's sisters. They all seem angry. It's Bryna's birthday. I want to get away from the negativity. &lt;br /&gt;I ask Bryna to come meet my friend. We walk into the hall and the girl has let the elevator gate shut. She opens it when she sees us. She's standing at the back of the elevator. I introduce her to Bryna and I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5024702936329110847?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5024702936329110847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5024702936329110847&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5024702936329110847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5024702936329110847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/09/black-furry-pillows.html' title='Black Furry Pillows'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-6826376500935161047</id><published>2007-09-10T19:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T19:37:32.091-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rape</title><content type='html'>Dream I was an extra on some movie set. A blonde girl was snobby to me. I pushed her and her friend to the ground, but it didn't seem like a violent act because they just sort of floated down. I didn't take off my cloths or their but I was able to start having sex with her, sort of. I wasn't very hard and she was making snotty comments about the fact that I couldn't even rape her right, such a loser am I. I managed to hold her and her friend down at the same time. They were too bored to fight it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-6826376500935161047?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/6826376500935161047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=6826376500935161047&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6826376500935161047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6826376500935161047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/09/rape.html' title='Rape'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-2457607310477713124</id><published>2007-08-14T08:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T08:54:59.959-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Working Backwards</title><content type='html'>So last night, Bart Simpson is hanging out with a Pirate. The pirate ties a rope around Bart's waist allowing Bart to float up above the flying pirate ship. A cloud formed around or behind bart that was shaped like a dragon. Bryna comments to me what a beautiful image this is.  The cloud solidifies and darkens. Bart is now encased in a black, cloud-dragon suit. He lands on the deck of the ship and the pirates attack him. He knocks pirates aside easily. When he gets to the pirate that tied the rope around his waist, the Pirate Captain, approaches Bart who he's come to love like a son. He reaches out to Bart while commanding the other pirates not to hurt the boy. Bart swats at the captain and lays him open. The big gashes appear across the pirates torso. He looks at Bart, hurt, betrayed, with big sad eyes. Bart continues being a dragon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dream shifts. I'm now walking with a kid across a field It's very dark. I push him to the ground and duck down with him. I hear a zombie shuffling by us. The hope is that we can remain very quiet and still and go undetected by the moaning shuffling ghoul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another shift. I'm with James, my little brother. He's about 16 or 17. I'm about 21 or 22. He's dating a woman my age. I check out her ass. I think to myself that it's that certain shape that doesn't age well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I dreamt that I was hugging Bryna to me tight, and kissing her. The dream shifted and I was lying on top of her. We were in to winter clothes. I told her I wanted it to stay cold that I was looking forward to to making love to her in her winter clothes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-2457607310477713124?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/2457607310477713124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=2457607310477713124&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2457607310477713124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2457607310477713124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/08/working-backwards.html' title='Working Backwards'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-6081533664796868125</id><published>2007-07-06T07:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-06T20:53:36.393-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing Catch Up yet again</title><content type='html'>Crazy old house, full of clutter. It's an amazing, ornate house but everything is aged. The paint, the floor, the rugs, all look very old. I live there as do lots of other folks it seems, including Bryna and some friend of ours. An uptight old lady owns the house. The old lady pushes us out somehow. There are tears and such as we prepare to move, I think we're going to stay at my mom's while we look for a place. I curse the old lady out. She seems unfazed. Cursing her out starts to feel really pointless and unsatisfying. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm riding my bike. I round a corner and some other guy who was already riding in the direction I'm now heading is awkwardly close to me but we're going the same speed. I can't go any faster and I don't want to slow down. The bike becomes a car and the guy is now in the car and he is Patton Oswalt, the comedian, though he wasn't Patton Oswalt when we were on bikes. I'm trying to get to day care to pick up my nephew Antonio but trains and whatever else are block my way. Patton grabs teh wheel and turns it, sending us down an alley that runs alongside the train. We get to Antonio's day car and I'm told he had an accident in his pants. They gave him other pants to wear but it seems they didn't clean his soiled pair instead just shoving them in his back pack. The back pack is a teddy bear and it smells like shit and I tell Antonio that since Patton Oswlat is in the car he's going to have to hang the bears ass out the window. I really want to make a good impression on Patton but he seems like a cool, really down to earth guy and I'm afraid of seeming like I'm trying too hard. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had a dream while in LA that I was feeling up some short girl with big, badly done fake breasts. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Patton Oswalt in my car, picking up Antonio, bear back pack smells pooey.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-6081533664796868125?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/6081533664796868125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=6081533664796868125&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6081533664796868125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6081533664796868125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/07/playing-catch-up-yet-again.html' title='Playing Catch Up yet again'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8498016488115981854</id><published>2007-06-17T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-17T09:52:56.629-07:00</updated><title type='text'>catching up</title><content type='html'>So a couple of nights ago I was a girl, and I was playing and running around and then I bumped into something and instantly all fun is gone and all adults are focused on me and concerned and apparently I'm some manner of hemophiliac or something and my mom puts me in the shower and the cold water and the pruning up of my skin should help me stop bleeding apparently but I never really bleed that much anyway from this little scrape and then I'm not the girl, I'm me, and I'm writing a script about this strange girl in the dark red and purple checked dress and I'm trying to decide what to do next.&lt;br /&gt;And I'm in a house with Bryna and Bryna's in the garage and her father has died (in reality he died many years ago) and she's smoking. And I want to care for her having lost her father and I don't want to respond to her smoking at such a moment but it's hard to pretend that I'm not very upset and I don't want to be with her it she's going to be a smoker and it's lame and I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8498016488115981854?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8498016488115981854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8498016488115981854&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8498016488115981854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8498016488115981854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/06/catching-up.html' title='catching up'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1047322748336313507</id><published>2007-06-17T08:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-17T09:37:43.151-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wow</title><content type='html'>Let's see if  I can get this all down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walking with Bryna. Stopping at guys house, nice house, I think the guy is an internet friend or something. His roommate is a girl from France or Germany or somewhere that gives her an adorable accent and Bryna is impressed with a collection of ceramic blocks about the size of dominoes with a painting on each block.&lt;br /&gt;There are some frogs and one frog does something wrong so I discipline him by setting him in one spot and telling him to stay but he doesn't stay and so he has to go back in his cage. It occurs to me as I'm doing it that punishing a frog may be pointless. Then we're on the run. We have the frogs, and there are people after us, military and police and such.&lt;br /&gt;The nice guy with the roommate and nice house is leading our activities and we have a cantankerous old man with us in a separate truck. We pull over and the nice guy puts the frogs in the back of the old man's truck where he's towing some kind of crazy equipment. The old man complains about everything and seems by his very posture critical of all we do but he's loyal regardless particularly to the nice guy.  As nice guy puts the frogs back with the crazy equipment it occurs to me that there's something unusual about these frogs and that they are why we're being pursued. He explains that now the frogs sent will be pumped back toward our pursuers.&lt;br /&gt;It must work. We're no longer pursued. Now we're touring with a musical act. And a very shy girl who seems a-lot like Chelsea Wolfe (a local musician who was in a show I MC'd last night is a member of a folk band. I'm back stage. Chelsea and another girl go onstage. It's a big stage in a big hall. The girls stand behind a set piece of some sort so that can't be seen. In front of this barrier is a guy singer or maybe two. Now it seems we're in Japan and the Japanese hosts have arrange for a bevy of naked dancer/back up singers to flood that stage and they're quite adorable and as one could imagine quite surprising and surreal to our folks singers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I'm driving a diesel to southern California with my friend Steve Ogden in the passenger seat. It's hard to drive the diesel and I feel like I'm about to run into someone. I keep telling myself that many other people do it so I'm sure I can. My visibility is reducing. I don't really see the road. I just see sky, or I see the road off in the distance but not right in front of me as if I'm floating above it. Steve is yelling for me to get over and I try but I end up going right down the center of a fork in the road and now we're falling. I panic and try to wake up. I fail at waking up but I succeed at realizing that this is a dream and trusting that I can enjoy it and not worry about really dying. The diesel lands on a freeway below and we keep driving. Steve is pissed and I offer him the solution which is me not driving anymore. We exit the freeway and are in a big city that seems to be all made of red brick. There is no city like this between Sac and southern California in real life. Steve wants to stop here for a big flea market.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Allen is there and when we park I explain why I couldn't drive right, how my visibility went all crazy and that I guess I can't drive diesels. Allen chimes in that I'm full of shit, that I can't drive anything. I want to punch allen in the mouth. Steve's going into a giant truckstop that advertises lots of porn. I want some porn but I don't want anyone to know I'm buying. I see a little tiny tube on the ground. It's a porn dvd rolled up like a joint. I put it in my pocket and I'm happy, I've got porn.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1047322748336313507?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1047322748336313507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1047322748336313507&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1047322748336313507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1047322748336313507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/06/wow.html' title='Wow'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8574229578520711991</id><published>2007-05-26T07:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-26T07:42:30.387-07:00</updated><title type='text'>two dreams in one night.</title><content type='html'>I'm in an apartment, my mom's old town house I think. My mom and dad are there and Bryna also. Bryna has been being stalked and harassed by someone and while my parents and I were upstairs he apparently showed up, walked right in my mom's house from the back yard. He's getting increasingly brazen and Bryna's getting really freaked out but she still hasn't really gotten a good look at him.&lt;br /&gt;Two cops knock on the door. One of them is really huge, almost a giant. Bryna's reacting like he might be the creep that's been harassing her. I notice they're uniforms are only rent a cop outfits. When big dude stroked Bryna's hair, we knew it was him. I go nuts, I curse at him and I push him out of the house. once Outside, out Bryna and my parent's view,  work him over with a baseball bat. His friend won't get close lest I bat him too. I go back inside. I apologize to my mom for cursing. I got upstairs and get into bed, peeking out the window to see if there's more trouble coming. I feel like I'm hiding from what happened. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm working at a convenience store. Next door is a 7-11. Nobody's working there. I'm kind of managing both. I work all night. I finally have to go across the street for something. When I come back the manager's at 7-11. He looks at me dissapointed. I explain that I'm trying to watch both stores and I don't even work at 7-11, they just forgot to schedule someone. I go next door. The boss is there too. He's cool. A strange man who looks like a middle eastern Mario (from the video games). He wears a green plastic net on his head that looks like fake seaweed. He gives me a big bottle of wine, a big bottle of tequila. he's very thankful that I stayed all night. I put back the tequila.&lt;br /&gt;I walk home. It's a long walk and I worry I took the wrong way but I think it out and I know the main thorough fairs will get me home. I pass a neighborhood, folsom and 18th ave (doesn't exist in real life). I was in this cool little neighborhood in another dreams when my sweetie and I went for a walk and found the Old I annex. i think to myself that Bryna and I should come back and hang out here sometime.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8574229578520711991?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8574229578520711991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8574229578520711991&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8574229578520711991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8574229578520711991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/05/two-dreams-in-one-night.html' title='two dreams in one night.'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-2375288153952081033</id><published>2007-05-20T10:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-20T10:19:38.094-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Open heart surgery and a drug fiend</title><content type='html'>Open heart surgery with only a local anesthetic. In fact, I was sitting up durring the procedure. The anesthetic made it not hurt, but I could still feel the scalpel cutting deep into my chest. My heart was on the right side of my body in the dream rather than centrally located. &lt;br /&gt;Later I was explaining to my mom that it was no big deal. Immediately after the surgery I was up and about. &lt;br /&gt;I was walking home from my mom's and I saw a guy trembling and sweating profusely in a parking lot. He was wild eyed and disheveled. I continued walking. Later I saw a young girl looking very scared but trying not to react, not wanting to give the boogie man the attention he needs to exist I guess, as the trembling guy was noisily approaching her from behind. I watched and I don't think he was heading for her intentionally. He was running and puking. He had on only a pair of tattered pants. He was thin and muscular and completely fucked. &lt;br /&gt;When he noticed the girl he did turn his attention to her so I called his attention to me. He started following me and the girl ran in the opposite direction. Now Bryna was with me. We reached our apartment building and walked the long hallway to our front door. (We've never lived in a building like this in reality.) I told Byrna she should go inside and let me deal with the crazy. She did so, and I started running. Crazy ran too, and then I jumped on the ground and let him trip over me hard. I got up and was going to go into my apartment. My neighbor came out and he was a short very serious macho type. If I was going to really take care of this situation like I should, he would just have to do it for me and see that crazy was out of the building.&lt;br /&gt;Of course I should have just let him, but I didn't want to be looked down on. I ran again, toward the exit of the building but when I dropped down this time crazy guy just stepped right over me. So, I shoved him out of the building and told him he had to go and I acted like and animal myself, lunging at him and growling 'til he looked like a confused puppy. I went back inside and he didn't follow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-2375288153952081033?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/2375288153952081033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=2375288153952081033&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2375288153952081033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2375288153952081033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/05/open-heart-surgery-and-drug-fiend.html' title='Open heart surgery and a drug fiend'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-2913438383560201491</id><published>2007-05-14T12:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T12:45:42.615-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Couple of Dreams</title><content type='html'>Two nights in a row dreaming about my apartment where I live.&lt;br /&gt;In the first Bryna discovers a door that goes to a really nice balcony/porch off our house. The view is delightuf. She's sitting out there smoking. This is the first time I've had a dream with her smoking where it seemed normal and I got upset since she quit 8 months ago.&lt;br /&gt;We check out the porch and it's pretty flimsy. Then we notice it's not attached to the main building and just sits up on stilts. It sways in the wind and I suggest it should be attached and that it's probably not safe for now.&lt;br /&gt;Later, I'm in the house and bryna standing on a small platform that's a few steps higher than the porch. I don't recall this being there before but I tell Bryna to be careful. Just then she loses her footing and steps onto the porch right into a small tub of chemically stuff, maybe cleaning stuff, I'm not sure. She slips in the tup and falls off the porch. I run toward the porch but its too late for me to do anything. I see her fall, and she lands on one shoulder and rolls, the way one would ideally if falling off a skate board. It seems like she'd be okay.&lt;br /&gt;I run with all my might to get to down the stairs and to her. Her eyes are open and she seems okay when I get there. I'm so relieved. I hug her and a strange rumbling low howl is coming out of me for a long time. I see me feeling this emotion but it's like I"m watching if from afar and I think she'll be okay and it's good that she sees how much I love her. The howl turns to sobs and I wake up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then last night I dream that our new neighbor has a mini motor home that doesn't run and pushes it way from her driveway like she's all done with it.  Bryna guesses that she's coming from a bad situation. She tells me that groups that help people escape bad situations will often give them a camper or motor home to live in until they get a job and can afford an apartment.&lt;br /&gt;I think the mini-motor home is the coolest thing ever and I push it into our backyard. I sit in it and plan how we could be comfortable in it, watching movies on my laptop. I know I'm supposed to be inside helping with the house but it's just too cool.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-2913438383560201491?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/2913438383560201491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=2913438383560201491&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2913438383560201491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2913438383560201491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/05/couple-of-dreams.html' title='Couple of Dreams'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1902388689435836323</id><published>2007-05-11T07:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-11T07:55:06.887-07:00</updated><title type='text'>catching up again</title><content type='html'>My parents are still together, dad's bbq-ing in back yard, for some reason my mom asks me to say grace, I do it, real quicklike. Later I'm explaining to a pastor friend that I said grace. Something happens with me and my brother Edward, a fight or something. Later he gives me a hug, a real stiff awkward sort of hug and I cry and then I tell him that I have a ridiculously high need for my brothers' approval, but I always do such dumb things when they're around. He tells me that he's not much for hugging and such. He tells me that it's been a few months since we've hugged and years since we danced?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier Dreams that I didn't record:&lt;br /&gt;I'm running down the street and I'm not satisfied with how fast I can move so I turn into a wolf to run faster. I worry someone'll see me so I turn back to me, but I get frustrated again so I turn back to a wolf. The city is beautiful. I get home and there's my friend's kid, Ella, at the top of my stairs waiting to go in. I go to get the door and a dog charges us. I drop to the ground and kick the dog in the head as he leaps at Ella. He recovers and leaps again and I pin him to the ground with my foot on his throat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My little brother is a Sea Monkey. He starts to get embarrassed walking around being stared at. I take him to Target to buy him some clothes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1902388689435836323?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1902388689435836323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1902388689435836323&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1902388689435836323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1902388689435836323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/05/catching-up-again.html' title='catching up again'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1542213452067499027</id><published>2007-04-03T10:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-03T10:50:48.117-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Breaking Up over Smoking</title><content type='html'>I dreamt again that Bryna had gone back to smoking. At first just a cigarette here and there, then I saw her with a pack, but a slim sort of half sized pack. I told her she was back to smoking, that she was just stepping right back into being a full time pack a day smoker. She told me that she was fine, that she enjoyed having a cigaretter here and there. She seemed so non-challant about it all. She made for the door, so as to smoke in the backyard. I yelled, some sort of gutteral growl. I got a hold of myself. I practically begged, "Please. You can throw that pack out and start over right now." She wasn't interested. I implied that I couldn't stay with her if she kept smoking. She was not affected and accused me of threatening to break up with her over other trivial matters. I argued that this was not true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My nephew Antonio, who hadn't been in the dream up til now came into our room and asked me what was wrong. I walked him to a second room and tucked him into bed. I told him everything was fine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She went out back. Our back yard was gorgeous, lush and green. I could see her out there well because our second story bedroom had half walls and no cieling. It was more like a porch but it was fully furnished as a bedroom. I called my mom and I was really upset, sobbing and shaking. I felt like I had to leave Bryna but I didn't want to and I felt like our impending wedding made this more complicated. I looked up and there were white birds flying about and they looked very pretty against the black sky, but the site of them made me a little nervous.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up alone in my bed. Bryna had fallen asleep on the couch. I went and woke her and asked her to come to bed with me. She did. It was a hard dream to shake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1542213452067499027?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1542213452067499027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1542213452067499027&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1542213452067499027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1542213452067499027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/04/breaking-up-over-smoking.html' title='Breaking Up over Smoking'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5799570425827988837</id><published>2007-04-01T09:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-01T09:14:09.905-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tehran</title><content type='html'>I dreamt I was in Tehran. At first it was Bryna and I visiting but then it was Jonathan and I there on some manner of business. Mostly though I walked around by myself and I really love walking around by myself in a strange city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The room we were staying in was on the second floor and had window that hung out over the sidewalk, like a bay window, and the floor of the window was glass so you could look through it and watch people going by. The owner of the hotel asked me how to become a nicer hotel. I gave him advice about painting and buying really good beds and bedding. He was a nice guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at a cafe and it was so foggy that I couldn't see for more than a half block in either direction. It was incredibly pretty. I'm guessing they don't really get much fog in Tehran, but what do I know? I was overwhelmed with emotion, even cried a little, at the just how pretty everything was. I wanted to call my mom and tell her how amazing it was but I worried that she'd just be scared to death of me being in Iran.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later I was walking back to the hotel and it was sunny and it just hit me that I was so far from home and it was really exciting. I got back to the hotel and went up to the roof, six stories up. It was a cool view, but the elevator went down after I got out of it and there was no way to call it back. I was afraid that I'd look suspicious up on the roof but I looked around and lots of folks were on their roofs. The back of the building the roof wasn't to far from the ground, like it was built on a very steep hill. Then the front wasn't to far either, faulty dream logic. I woke after hopping down from the roof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of nights ago I dreamt that I trained a baby or mini elephant, sit, stay, etc.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5799570425827988837?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5799570425827988837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5799570425827988837&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5799570425827988837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5799570425827988837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/04/tehran.html' title='Tehran'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5874453533619302133</id><published>2007-03-23T15:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-23T15:17:24.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Show Stress</title><content type='html'>And here it is again, my show stress dream. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Putting on a show in a strange venue. The stage seems to be just a slightly raised square with audience to in front of and to the side. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morphs and the scale gets bigger. Ben's onstage doing some kind of magic trick thing. The audience is leaving in droves. I think it's because they can't really see the close-up magic tricks he's doing. I rush to the stage and cut him off putting Amber on to close the show. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterward be is sobbing. he's really really upset. I try to comfort him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5874453533619302133?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5874453533619302133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5874453533619302133&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5874453533619302133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5874453533619302133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/03/show-stress.html' title='Show Stress'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5935176835203526435</id><published>2007-03-23T15:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-23T15:14:11.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sniper</title><content type='html'>I go up top a big building, with a gun, and pop off a few shots. I don't think I hit anyone, just stirred the city up, got the beehive buzzin'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I come back down and I walk around in the chaos I've inspired. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I head up another building. I pop off a few more shots from different corners of the rooftop. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm heading across town toward another building. I pass a kid. I don't feel guilty or anything but I decide I've had enough and I go home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the dream I'm really stressed trying to imagine what evidence I've left behind that might lead the authorities to me. I realize they will keep investigating this for a long time and I'll have to live with this stress for the rest of my life, never knowing when Johnny law might come knocking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5935176835203526435?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5935176835203526435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5935176835203526435&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5935176835203526435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5935176835203526435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/03/sniper.html' title='Sniper'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-9205437419470191186</id><published>2007-03-09T11:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-09T11:06:31.886-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Two More</title><content type='html'>Last night&lt;br /&gt;In my apartment with Bryna but it's part my aparment and part the house I grew up in, there's even a room we refer to as John's room. I'm terrified that someone's in the house and I search each room with my fists up ready to defend myself. Bryna and I are going to take a shower together. I can't decide if we should shut the door and just enjoy our shower and try to forget my fears or leave it open so I can keep my ears open for anyone moving about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night before last.&lt;br /&gt;Bryna sitting on backstep smoking. I get really mad. Bryna is crying because we're being evicted. I'm worried that we'll be out of the house and lose each other if we don't make up before the eviction goes through.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-9205437419470191186?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/9205437419470191186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=9205437419470191186&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/9205437419470191186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/9205437419470191186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/03/two-more.html' title='Two More'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-106572991502194583</id><published>2007-02-21T21:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-21T21:44:38.770-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Nights of Dreams</title><content type='html'>Dave is trying to get in front door, but I get there just in time and push the door closed, he pushes back but I get it closed and bolted. He runs to the back door, I do the same. This time he wins the pushing contest. He beats me up. I don't remember much of the fight, just flashes of trying to smash his head into the ground and such. I'm beat up, I call the cops, it should be pretty open shut, crazy fucker, and Dave is a crazy fucker, forces his way into my house and beats me up. When Dave pulls out his acoustic guitar and plays a number for the cops it seems things might go his way. One cop describes a scenario in which I could be the guilty party. Maybe I went to Dave's house and attacked him and he kicked my ass there and then I lured him here so that I could call the cops and say that he beat me up here. I'm frustrated but eventually they do take Dave away as he's not able to keep up the illusion that he isn't totally fuckin' nuts for very long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two Days Ago&lt;br /&gt;Bryna's left me, though technically she's just taking a break, we're taking a break. I'm sure there's another guy. I'm bothered by how unemotional she seems to be. She gets a job at Capitol Aquarium. I am working for Scott making jewelry. We each have a new apartment, mine is over Scott's shop. I don't want to slip in it because it's scary. it's brown and nebulous, I don't know where it ends, it just goes on and on. I  think it's residual form another dream that I only remember flashes of, but I do remember a crazy building that's all brown inside and a mess of rooms and hallways that blend together. &lt;br /&gt;I run to work, early in the morning, through a bad neighborhood. I think that if I look like a jogger out for a jog I'm less likely to be fucked with than if I look like a guy going to work, like somehow I'll be more intimidating if I'm less working class. I worry about getting into the shop, I wonder if I have keys, I figure I don't as Scott wouldn't have given me keys. I figure I must have keys to my own apartment though and It's right upstairs, so I can go in there for an hour or two. I'm scared to be outside, but the apartment's scary too. It feels really good to run. This part of the dreams goes on a-long time, running, enjoying the site of the ground going by beneath my feet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-106572991502194583?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/106572991502194583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=106572991502194583&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/106572991502194583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/106572991502194583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/02/two-nights-of-dreams.html' title='Two Nights of Dreams'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-6867747476783319800</id><published>2007-02-16T06:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-09T11:08:13.212-08:00</updated><title type='text'>three dreams one night</title><content type='html'>I blew it financially, will lose my apartment and my little brother who is my roommate is ready to grab the full place. I'm crying and freaking out and telling him he's an asshole.&lt;br /&gt;Then when I calm down I work out a deal where our mom whose been living there rent free will start paying rent and I give up a few other things and I can keep the place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bryna and I and Antonio looking at a two bedroom place. The rooms are huge. I'm showing Antonio where I can divide one room up to make it my office and his bedroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in my apartment where I live in real life. My mom is having me show my grandma old records hoping to find some she'll like but she don't like nothing. Apparently someone had earlier brought by a gentleman they thought grandma might be interested in. Then Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore come by before a show. I tease Thurston about all the stuff he left last time he came by. Kim says some super cheesey thing about how the new album is named after me, but she means named after everyone that they stay with while touring.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-6867747476783319800?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/6867747476783319800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=6867747476783319800&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6867747476783319800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6867747476783319800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/02/three-dreams-one-night.html' title='three dreams one night'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-2137958847180234265</id><published>2007-02-11T13:58:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-09T11:11:04.776-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Loogie game?</title><content type='html'>In my room. People are playing loogie game. Idon’t want to play. It’s too gross. Yuck. There’s a girl there, she, being lady like, turns away and puts the logy in her hand and then flings it rather than spitting in public.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bryna looks all wrong. Like here skin is baggy and hanging off of her and it's really troubling me but then she's normal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uncle Johnny overnight guest or Uncle andy maybe both&lt;br /&gt;Aunt peggy showing me a bunch of cousin andy’s clothes, too small for me.&lt;br /&gt;Bryna’ pissed that someone picked at the leftovers in the night.&lt;br /&gt;House becomes the office where I work, just changes the way things do in dreams. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I poor cereal, look in cereal box, there’s pepperoni and such in it. &lt;br /&gt;Trish comes in, ALSO pissed that someone picked at leftovers in the night&lt;br /&gt;This woman who is some sort of inspector or something comes in and we try to warn her no to eat the cereal. She laughs, we’re not sure if she believes us, she spits some chewed up pepperoni into the box. Yuck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-2137958847180234265?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/2137958847180234265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=2137958847180234265&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2137958847180234265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2137958847180234265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/02/loogie-game.html' title='Loogie game?'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-4866223907215814378</id><published>2007-02-02T19:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-09T11:11:49.136-08:00</updated><title type='text'>catching up</title><content type='html'>Last night: Dreamt I needed somewhere to sleep. Wasn't homeless, just to far from home and tired. Climbed into Capitol Aquarium, where I used to work, through an open window. In the dream Capitol was this smallish white brick building that wasn't much of an aquarium as it lacked fish tanks, but it did have a back yard. I snuck back out the window just as Grant the owner was sneaking in.  Later I went back, for a visit presumably but I think mostly out of curiosity to see if they knew that I'd crashed there. The criminal always revisits the scene of the crime. I went into the backyard to say high Lori, Grant's daughter, as she tended to the lawn or something. I talked with her brother Bobby, the guy who ran things when I was there, but he was just a disembodied voice. The voice maybe came from the hose, I spoke to the hose figuring thats what carried his voice but I gave it surprisingly little thought as we made small talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier in the week: In the waking world my friend Patrick is desperately seeking work. I dreamt I'd opened a cafe and the ambience was really cool but the food was boring. I asked Patrick to come be the cook. He said he didn't know. I was beside myself. "Dude, you're desperate for work, ready to take anything, and I'm offering you a really good opportunity, what the hell?"&lt;br /&gt;He wasn't sure he could make good Macaroni and Cheese, which for some reason I figured would be really popular. I remembered all my past experiences with Patrick and decided to just let it go. He'd take a few days and then he'd agree to take the job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had another dream that I've forgotten most of but it did involve girls having sex with each other using this stainless steel silo shaped strap on thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-4866223907215814378?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4866223907215814378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=4866223907215814378&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4866223907215814378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4866223907215814378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/02/catching-up.html' title='catching up'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-4614700780273777816</id><published>2007-01-20T08:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-20T09:12:03.641-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chris'  Guitar</title><content type='html'>So my buddy Chris Woodhouse invents the most fun little guitar ever. It's got to bass strings. you play a bass track which then loops. A little metal piece that bobs around can be, well, bobbed around to make a cool speed metal guitar noise, change the pitch with buttons on the neck, and there's even another thing, that is also manipulated with a pick or fingers that gives a looping drum beat. &lt;br /&gt;Then, we're at a rollerskating rink. I seem to be in charge in some fashion. A conga line starts. I'm in the conga line for a bit but then a break off and I'm able to skater really well doing big circles going forward to sideways to backwards so I face the same direction the whole time. I skate really fast and it's a thrill. My mom and dad walk onto the rink. Dad wants to know why I haven't called. I tell him, I've been here, my phone's out of range. Yeah. &lt;br /&gt;I'm at my house. The skating rink may have been at my house. I own a house. I keep explaining Chris' guitar thing to people. He makes a bunch and their really popular. It's going to be his big break. Two younger girls are looking for something in my house, maybe the bathroom, and it feels strange to be a home owner. I feel very much like an old fogey as I keep my I on these girls out of concern for my home. I even lock one of the rooms. They follow me around and talk to me. I go to the garage, I'm going to go skating. I do an ollie on an old really tiny board on some cracked up pavement.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-4614700780273777816?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4614700780273777816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=4614700780273777816&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4614700780273777816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4614700780273777816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/01/chris-guitar.html' title='Chris&apos;  Guitar'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-9068338865954484051</id><published>2007-01-18T06:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-18T06:46:07.527-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Ween</title><content type='html'>In some weird part of LA I hadn't seen before. John's directing, Dad's driving but Dad's not listening very well. Trying to find the venue where Ween is playing. We stop at a cool little store. I've already eaten but must take advantage of being here by getting some snacks. Am tempted by chocolates but I know that I shouldn't. Ween is in a side room of the store. one of the weeners is explaining that they wanted to change their names to, um, something, I forget. Dean liked the name changes for the other two guys but didn't want to be called "baby". We leave and dad is driving poorly, John is getting impatient. There are weird women in the parking lot. Older women, with almost nice bodies in bathing suits and what not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-9068338865954484051?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/9068338865954484051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=9068338865954484051&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/9068338865954484051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/9068338865954484051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/01/ween.html' title='The Ween'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1819737943987294113</id><published>2007-01-16T06:30:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-16T06:30:57.969-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hawaii</title><content type='html'>Hawaii, dad paid for trip,&lt;br /&gt;Cheap island, two resorts, voucher for dinner. &lt;br /&gt;Dinner and there’s a musician, some kind of giant. Dinner consist of cool little mini fruits. Mini kiwis, mini watermelons. &lt;br /&gt;Walking with dad on wet hard ground, shallow water on both sides of us.&lt;br /&gt;I say something that dad takes as insulting. I reassure him that we’re stoked on and appreciative of the trip and I tell him that we’re going to go hang gliding and snorkeling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1819737943987294113?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1819737943987294113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1819737943987294113&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1819737943987294113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1819737943987294113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/01/hawaii.html' title='Hawaii'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-5146017494672712932</id><published>2007-01-14T08:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-14T09:01:22.294-08:00</updated><title type='text'>comedy?</title><content type='html'>We're at a show, on stage, myself and Andrew, one of the guys from The Cody Rivers Show (who are actually coming down in April to do a show.) I sit next to Andrew and he starts a really depressing bit. Its improvised and it goes great. A nice, dark piece of comedy. &lt;br /&gt;We're at some hipster party with all the cool kids. For some reason we start doing the routine there in the middle of the party. There is a set of bleachers so setting up in front of them is kind of like being on stage. I do an awkward introduction where I say that the parents of the people in Pets (a local band) lost their jobs and will now be supported by their kids music. I say that that is great. I also say that I'm not totally sure that its Pets, it might be one of these other "couple" bands, but its one of them. We start the routine. I do it differently, less funny, more just depressing stories. The bleachers are emptying. There's maybe one person watching when we finish. &lt;br /&gt;After we're all hanging out inside, in a big dark room full of chairs and couches. Evan is handing out flyers for a Brent Weinbach show. I announce to the room, "I wouldn't say this lightly. This guy is the funniest stand up comic working today."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-5146017494672712932?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5146017494672712932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=5146017494672712932&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5146017494672712932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/5146017494672712932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/01/comedy.html' title='comedy?'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8479130026138173960</id><published>2007-01-13T09:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-13T10:35:53.995-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't get through the damn mall</title><content type='html'>We just want to get to the smog place, but between us and it is small galleria, mini-mall type place and we can't seem to get through it. Walking in the direction we need to go on the first floor we hit a dead end. We try some stairways but they're employees only, behind the scenes deals. An attractive girl tells us a way to get up the third floor which goes through. I have to run back to tell her I liked her outfit. The third floor is a nails/hair place and it's big and spacious and very chi-chi. The woman running it, stereotypically enough, and older Asian woman, greets us as soon as she sees us. We explain that we're just trying to get through the building. They have a fish tank and I have to look at it. Its a big, amazing reef tank. Instead of lots of variety this tank has a few species of coral only in amazing abundance. It's graceful and gorgeous and sunk in the tank are three big plastic sub sandwiches?!?! I figure the store-owners insisted on this, though I can't see why since it's a beauty salon not a sandwich shop. I ask if Jim is the one who set up the tank. He is. We go into the stairwell and I'm trying to explain to Bryna what is so unique and amazing about this tank. &lt;br /&gt;Now we're downstairs and on the other side of the building. We're at a more expensive upscale version of hooters. It's a nice place but its staffed entirely by mostly unattractive women in skimpy outfits. I'm standing outside where two girls are swimming in a sort of wave pool. I am watching. They aren't attractive in the slightest and yet I can't look away thinking I might see some skin. A wave comes and then the side of the pool drops out and I realize that I'm standing on some sort of giant slip and slide. I am being swept away by this huge wave and I go with it. It's not fun, I'm not enjoying myself, but I know there is nothing I can do about it, so I try to only get wet on one side. I think about where my phone is. Finally the wave stops. I get up. I feel and my phone is in the dry pocket. I walk back toward the restaurant and my friend Brett. Bryna at some point became Brett. I'm in the suburbs judging by the people walking toward me. I think I see my friend Bill but it's not him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later I dream at my mom's house. I have a room there. My mom is playing cards with a bunch of old ladies. I'm listening to music with some friend of mine and my brother James. I have a huge pile of free singles. I tell James I don't know if any of them are any good as I haven't gotten to them yet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8479130026138173960?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8479130026138173960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8479130026138173960&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8479130026138173960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8479130026138173960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/01/cant-get-through-damn-mall.html' title='Can&apos;t get through the damn mall'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-4300373583616257357</id><published>2007-01-06T22:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-06T22:12:14.866-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Then End Of The World, again</title><content type='html'>The world was ending. It was well known and so we prepared. Every person told their one last story. Nobody listened particularly well as we were all distracted by the question of what our own last story would be. But you listened just enough, because you'd want to adjust your story if someone before you hit on the theme your were planning or in the case of someone you knew well they could actually end up telling the exact same story you had in mind. This half listening is what allowed for the possibility  that a really good story could cut through the stress, sadness and urgency of the moment and really catch the crowd, make everyone forget for a moment that the world was about to end. I changed my mind a dozen times about what story I would tell, until finally I gave up on making a choice realizing it would all depend on who went before me. I tried to reassure myself, telling myself that I was always good in a pinch...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-4300373583616257357?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4300373583616257357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=4300373583616257357&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4300373583616257357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4300373583616257357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/01/then-end-of-world-again.html' title='Then End Of The World, again'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8196051337596088400</id><published>2007-01-04T06:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-04T08:01:17.429-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hamburger, Crest, Sea Monkey</title><content type='html'>I'm out with Scott promoting Love and Math (a play) and we go to a falafel place. For some reason we have a hamburger to promote the show? The owner of the falafel place agrees to take our hamburger and display it but he cus the sides off so it's not round like a burger and instead is long like the sub sandwhiches he sells. &lt;br /&gt;We hear someone ordering the new special hamburger as we leave and we shrug, laugh and move on. &lt;br /&gt;Then, it's my birthday. I'm on stage at The Crest. It's dark, real dark, pitch black. I'm asking for a light and a few people flick their lighters but its too dark and the contrast is too much, the lighters are hard to look at. KT asks me to get the food and bring it to the stage when I'm done on stage. Sids then on stage, there are some lights and I"m in the front row. I'm instructed to keep her up there so Andy (her business partner at The Crest) can play some joke on her. I try, then this spotlight comes on and goes all weird, sorta psychedelic. This is Andy's idea of a whorthwhile prank. Sid roles her eyes.&lt;br /&gt;Then, I'm at work. Allen has a cup of water on Lilly's desk and is showing LIlly's granddaughter some of my sea monkeys. I am stoked to see that there are indeed some live ones, having come back after dehydrating the tank. &lt;br /&gt;Hamburger falafel promoting with Scott.&lt;br /&gt;my birthday at crest/picking on Sid w/spotlight, keep her on until Andy finishes pickin' on her. &lt;br /&gt;Sea Monkey's, Allen showing them to kid up front.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8196051337596088400?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8196051337596088400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8196051337596088400&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8196051337596088400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8196051337596088400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/01/ha.html' title='Hamburger, Crest, Sea Monkey'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-522342040689225357</id><published>2007-01-03T14:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-03T14:38:33.721-08:00</updated><title type='text'>jimi</title><content type='html'>There was an old wood cabin and a band was playing, the members of which all looked like brothers with white hair and full white goatees. They all wore matching grey suits. They were the greatest musicians of all time, brought back to life to make up this band. The guitarist was Jimi Hendrix, not sure who the others were, but I was excited to have brought them back, and I was telling someone about it but asking them to keep it secret. &lt;br /&gt;There was more but I forget.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-522342040689225357?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/522342040689225357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=522342040689225357&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/522342040689225357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/522342040689225357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2007/01/jimi.html' title='jimi'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-6482782369663367182</id><published>2006-12-31T09:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-31T09:17:18.992-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Need a room</title><content type='html'>Looking for a room to cheat on Bryna, don't want to spend much, only have like twenty bucks to pay for the room and get a prostitute to occupy it with me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-6482782369663367182?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/6482782369663367182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=6482782369663367182&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6482782369663367182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6482782369663367182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/need-room.html' title='Need a room'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-4162336033895560490</id><published>2006-12-31T09:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-31T09:16:18.926-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Danny, Spike</title><content type='html'>Danny, my friend from work who died, had done a piece of art, a gray minimalist sort of skull done in stucco or concrete, on a black background with some red details, all done on cardboard. I had been working on getting the piece, buying it or whatever but Danny died. He came into the Gallery HorseCow where the piece was being kept and told me not to worry that he would give it to me in his will. He would be at his will reading, to make sure it went right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dream jumps a bit and I'm walking on a sunny late morning to a hotel room. The concierge tells me that someone has been asking for me every few minutes, and that it's getting to be a bit much. I go to the room. Brett is inside sleeping. I'd slept somewhere else. There are a couple of girls in the room, including a beautiful naked girl sleeping on the floor. She becomes a fully dressed very business like black girl who gets immediately on my case. Where've I been, why am I not promoting, etc. Apparently I was back in the employ of Spike and Mike and she was some kind of new crew leader.  I tell her that starting early isn't really the strategy with Spike and Mike.  I'll start at 12 and I'll probably work until 10 at night or later. She calms down and asks if I'm the same Keith who worked for Spike before. I tell her I am, and that Spike and I are old friends.&lt;br /&gt;I go out promoting. It feels like I'm in SF. It's sunny and wonderful out. I have flyers for the original festival, and then I have small flyers printed on a sort of wax paper with the Sick and Twisted graphics and Spike's home number and address with very little detail beyond that. I had to be selective with this flyer, or at least create the feeling amongst the party boys I gave it to that I was being selective so they'd think I was only inviting people who were totally cool, you know, like them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-4162336033895560490?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4162336033895560490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=4162336033895560490&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4162336033895560490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/4162336033895560490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/danny-spike.html' title='Danny, Spike'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-6597390108259588233</id><published>2006-12-28T09:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-28T09:13:48.975-08:00</updated><title type='text'>vague</title><content type='html'>Barely remember last night's dreams. Belle and Sebastian's album Life Pursuit was involved. I was either helping with the production or doing a story on the production of this album and it was discovered that three of the songs on the album were recording, quite &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;controversially&lt;/span&gt;, by convicts.&lt;br /&gt;Also, vague rememberance of planning a crime, a robbery or something.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-6597390108259588233?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/6597390108259588233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=6597390108259588233&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6597390108259588233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/6597390108259588233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/vague.html' title='vague'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1564815263004893801</id><published>2006-12-27T07:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-27T07:54:36.033-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitol Aquarium</title><content type='html'>I dreamt that I worked at Capitol Aquarium again. I saw some people milling about the tank room and it looked like big sales were being made. I headed in to see if I could land one of them big sales. The big display tank I looked at was cracked, but not leaking. I mentioned to Grant (the owner) that it was cracked. He sort of rolled his eyes and looked tired. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier in the night I had a dream that Danny, another friend who died this weekend (it was a hell of a weekend) was in the office and I was there with Bryna. I was jokingly baby talking at Bryna and Danny was laughing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1564815263004893801?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1564815263004893801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1564815263004893801&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1564815263004893801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1564815263004893801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/capitol-aquarium.html' title='Capitol Aquarium'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1568947007211019251</id><published>2006-12-26T06:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-26T06:22:56.755-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Vivian</title><content type='html'>The office manager at my work, Vivian, died the day before Christmas Eve. &lt;br /&gt;I'm very sad about this. I also, apparently have a lot of apprehension about returning to work. I work with two of her sisters, her niece and their childhood friend. My boss is pretty much family as well as she was one of his first employees over 20 years ago. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I tossed and turned all night. When I did manage to fall asleep a few times a dreamt about going to work. I dreamt that she was there, alive, and then she left to go to the hospital and she died. I dreamt that I was there and her spirit was there saying good bye, wearing a big white furry coat. Hugging that coat, the sense of it just over whelmed you and white furriness became the whole world and I got crazy chills through my body. I dreamt I was there and being nice to the family members and one of them suggested we get some pie because Vivian had been working on making some pie when she got ill. Every time I fell asleep another dream like this started.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1568947007211019251?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1568947007211019251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1568947007211019251&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1568947007211019251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1568947007211019251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/vivian.html' title='Vivian'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1591460918907974347</id><published>2006-12-23T11:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-23T11:28:51.668-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Scott, Lori, Taco Bell</title><content type='html'>I dreamt that my friends Scott and Lori owned a Taco Bell. I went to visit them and it was just Lori and the nice girl who works at Temple Coffee, only in the dream she worked at the Taco Bell. I teased Lori that the place was a mess, and it was. I told her that when I worked for KFC we kept things much cleaner. She pointed out that they just had a thing replaced, a water heater or fryer or something and that they'd clean up now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1591460918907974347?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1591460918907974347/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1591460918907974347&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1591460918907974347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1591460918907974347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/scott-lori-taco-bell.html' title='Scott, Lori, Taco Bell'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8417015970805044370</id><published>2006-12-22T08:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-22T08:28:02.257-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Performing</title><content type='html'>ICBINC comedy show, in a classroom of some sort, audience of all young women, seated on the floor. We're unrehearsed, we don't even know for sure what our casting is. &lt;br /&gt;It seems to be just me, Ben and Miles. Miles is bitching that he may not get much stage time, but Ben doesn't know his lines so I may stick Miles in more. He doesn't know his lines either but he's good at improv. The audience is there, watching, as we scramble to figure out what the hell we're doing. Miles' friend charged everyone a buck too much, and then refunded everyon $2 trying to correct. I'm not pissed though, It's no problem, compared with our bigger problem of not really having a show to put on. &lt;br /&gt;Egads.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8417015970805044370?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8417015970805044370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8417015970805044370&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8417015970805044370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8417015970805044370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/performing.html' title='Performing'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-115851792231219612</id><published>2006-12-18T13:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T13:53:48.178-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Damn Frat Boys</title><content type='html'>Dreamt they were having a big crazy fraternity rally/party on our street. We hunkered down to watch movies, staying inside away from the crazy frat boys. When I heard them chanting about turning cars over I decided to go downs and see what I could do to prevent them from killing our car. When I got downstairs they'd all sort of moved on except for a couple of guys and a girl. They were being nice enough but I could tell that they were really dumb, somewhat drunk and volatile. Talking to them was scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to actually live next to a frat house and they did have crazy parties. Once I saw one guy punch another in the face, and then his fist continued on and went THROUGH a car window. Ever punched  a car window? That's a hard punch that can break that thick glass. One guy there rented a car, on daddy's credit card of course, and just never took it back. It was strange to get a peak at this bizarre culture, spoiled upper middle class to rich white kids who were just complete degenerates as is the right of passage among the wealthy I guess. The truth is some of 'em were fairly sweet guys when you had a chance to talk to 'em. They'd come over sometimes and watch me feed goldfish to my water puppies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-115851792231219612?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/115851792231219612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=115851792231219612&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115851792231219612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115851792231219612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/damn-frat-boys.html' title='Damn Frat Boys'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-8388363934144173749</id><published>2006-12-17T10:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-17T10:37:44.934-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Smoking Dad</title><content type='html'>My dad quit smoking after some problems with his heart. I dreamt that  he was smoking. In all these people smoking dreams (three nights in a row) it's the pack of cigarettes that advertises to me that their smoking and how much. I take the cigarette from my dad and break it and tell him I won't let him smoke. I've had this dream before.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-8388363934144173749?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8388363934144173749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=8388363934144173749&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8388363934144173749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/8388363934144173749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/smoking-dad.html' title='Smoking Dad'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-1327211929562209391</id><published>2006-12-16T10:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-17T10:38:14.337-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Puke, Smoke</title><content type='html'>Bryna and I are at Chris' place. Bryna and Chris are drinking and they decide to lay down on the sidewalk and look at the sky. Chris starts puking but it's clear, like water, just flowing out of her mouth. I realize how drunk both girls are. The puke is making a growing wet spot on the sidewalk and it's going to get in Bryna's hair. I realize that Bryna's gone. I find her in Chris' closet, smoking. We fight.&lt;br /&gt;Weird. I keep dreaming about Bryna smoking. She quit 3 months ago. I'm REALLY invested in her not smoking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-1327211929562209391?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/1327211929562209391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=1327211929562209391&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1327211929562209391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/1327211929562209391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/puke-smoke.html' title='Puke, Smoke'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-2884515836225614473</id><published>2006-12-15T07:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-15T07:45:38.421-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bryna, me, thrills, addiction</title><content type='html'>Bryna and I are on vacation with Erick, my brother. We're looking at pamphlets to decide what to do. We decide we're not gonna do the 1,000 foot drop off a waterfall in a kayak. I think about it a-lot though. That'd be a LONG fall. Erick is my brother who has struggled the most with addiction, which become relevant in the context of the rest of the dream. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later in the dream I'm at my friend Bill's house, but it might even be his parents house. It's very bright and sunny. Bill's telling me that if you fail at the first attempt to get clean sober you get addicted to the process of getting clean and then falling off again. That's where he is, and he's gettin' ready to dig the fall. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This jumps to me dreaming that I'm readying a syringe of heroin to shoot Bryna up durring sex. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I dream that Bryna fishes a cigarette out of her purse for her sister, referring to it a stripe? I ask her if she's been smoking again. She admits she has. I am sad at first and trying to be understanding but then I get mad. WHY! I yell. She says she was never that into quitting to begin with. I remind her that she was. She starts getting really mad at me and I try to back pedal, to be sympathetic but I'm really hurt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-2884515836225614473?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/2884515836225614473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=2884515836225614473&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2884515836225614473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/2884515836225614473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/bryna-me-thrills-addiction.html' title='Bryna, me, thrills, addiction'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-3807560002589639680</id><published>2006-12-13T07:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-15T07:47:52.014-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shut your fucking mouth</title><content type='html'>Me and my family, parents and all are at a table at homey sort of restaraunt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A table of yuppies are seated nearby. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're talking smack about them, they're talking smack about us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of them says something to me. I respond, "You can talk about us all you want. You start talking to us and I'm gonna punch you in the fucking mouth!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weird.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-3807560002589639680?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/3807560002589639680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=3807560002589639680&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3807560002589639680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/3807560002589639680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/12/shut-your-fucking-mouth.html' title='Shut your fucking mouth'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-116490341869667017</id><published>2006-11-30T08:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-30T08:16:58.710-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shittin' the bed and parachutin' strippers</title><content type='html'>Dreamt I shit the bed. Dreamt that I woke up to a round puddle of butt soup on my sheets. SO glad that one was a dream. Took awhile to calm down and accept that I did not in fact shit the bed. &lt;br /&gt;Then when I fell back asleep I dreamt I was on a boat full of Veterans having some sort of meeting. It was SOOO boring so I walked out on to the dock and made a phone call. That's when I saw the girls in sexy matching patriotic type outfits falling from the skies. It was like they were parachuting the way they floated down, but I saw no parachutes. A few landed in the yucky dirty water around the boat and had to be helped in.&lt;br /&gt;I went back inside. The old men Vets were now young men frat boy types. I had a seat and the dude next to me was getting a lap dance from a gorgeous girl. I would've liked some attention from her, but he was keeping her occupied. I looked around. The girls who were free were all unattractive, sort of out of proportion. The girl doing the lap dance accidentally brushed against me once in awhile and it was nice. I was hoping dude would run out of money so I could have some attention from this gorgeous woman. I saw other guys going into a back room with girls and I figured special favors of the illegal variety were happening back there. The girl dancing next to me kept saying no when the guy would ask for more than a dance. She wouldn't even strip off any clothes. This of course made her even more desirable. I woke up thinking about how nice it is just to have an attractive woman sit on your lap.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-116490341869667017?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/116490341869667017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=116490341869667017&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116490341869667017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116490341869667017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/11/shittin-bed-and-parachutin-strippers.html' title='Shittin&apos; the bed and parachutin&apos; strippers'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-116465431430567566</id><published>2006-11-27T10:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-27T11:05:14.316-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Zombies and more</title><content type='html'>Just vague memories of last night's dreams. Zombies, hunting 'em, but according to some intricate list/system, hard to keep track of, boring like work instead of fun and exciting like Zombie hunting should be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier in the dream I was working for In Alliance still, working with the developmentally disabled. I was working with a girl whose cranium was tiny, like a microcephalic, but the back of her head sort of twisted and you had to pull and untwist it to keep it clean and then let it twist back up. I was uncomfortable with this, it was kind of gross, even though she was a perfectly nice girl. I was wishing I didn't work for In Alliance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haven't written my dreams out in some time. Been getting bad at this again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a dream a bit ago that Bryna and I went for a walk. We walked down this drainage canal and it was very pritty and became a valley and then into the city. We were in a really nice sunlit area with brick buidlings little restaraunts and cafes. There was a smaller version of Old Ironsides there. At first I was confused wondering how I got to Old I, since we walked the opposite direction but then I realized it was an Old I annex or something of that sort.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-116465431430567566?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/116465431430567566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=116465431430567566&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116465431430567566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116465431430567566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/11/zombies-and-more.html' title='Zombies and more'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-116317357155636354</id><published>2006-11-10T07:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T09:18:20.820-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Puppy and Cartoons</title><content type='html'>I remember dreaming about a little girl walking her dog. A stranger was standing next to me and we both noticed the girl throwing down the leash in frustration and letting the dog run off. The stranger turned out to be her father. He told her she had to be patient and then her mom and brother were there too, and we were all in a mall. The family needed dog tools.&lt;br /&gt;I spoke to them with some kind of slight European accent. "Excuse me. I am thinking of having a pet, a cat or dog, but I don't know what pet tools are for?"&lt;br /&gt;They explained that the tools were for digging holes to burry poo.&lt;br /&gt;I pet the dog who looked like an unfortunate, blackeyed mix of a chow and a chihuahua. The dog looked nervous and unhappy. An older Asian man stopped an pet the dog as well. I thought the little family were kind of scary, sensing much tension beneath the surface.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later I remember dreaming that I was immersed in comic book artist culture. I don't remember much but there was an ad in some industry magazine for a comic book artist game show where artist had to use the computer to create an image in mere minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My alarm went off and I hit snooze. Then I dreamt that I got up, and realized it was saturday. I crawled back into bed with my sweetie, soooo very happy to be staying there. OF course, it's not Saturday and the damn alarm went off again, reality crashing in on me. :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-116317357155636354?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/116317357155636354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=116317357155636354&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116317357155636354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116317357155636354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/11/puppy-and-cartoons.html' title='Puppy and Cartoons'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-116310223020334477</id><published>2006-11-09T11:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:57:10.216-08:00</updated><title type='text'>catching up</title><content type='html'>I've been bad about keeping this thing going and now I've got just snippets...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had an interesting dream wherein a nude woman was on her belly in front of me. I could direct her movements by speaking into my cell phone. She was some sort of dial up hologram. Bryna walked in and saw me having this fun and being both silly and sexy, she lay next to the hollogram and and mimiced her movements. I instructed the hologram to kiss Bryna. I woke up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I dreamt that my dad was just divorcing my mom (they've actuall been divorced for over 14 years). Dad was having mom move out or having her pack his stuff, I'm not sure which. He looked really young and in good shape. He was in the backyard using the swimming pool. I cursed at him, in front of my mom. She didn't seem to mind the cursing much. Then I went out and really chewed my dad out proper, yelling at him and getting verry emotional. He didn't get real upset, didn't seem to care to much, but he was sarcastic back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later I was fighting with James while driving somewhere and Erick was explaining to Dad by telephone that I was fighting with James and it had something to do with James not accepting that skateboarding was a fad that would pass? I was unloading my camera from the trunk to film some skateboarding. Lots of fight with my family dreams lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Odd that I don't dream about my illness. It's really bad lately. I just started on a new drug called 6mp. It's actually a kind of Chemo drug and I'm pretty depressed about taking it, but I was pretty depressed about shitting blood too. Seems like I should be dreaming about this?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-116310223020334477?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/116310223020334477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=116310223020334477&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116310223020334477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116310223020334477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/11/catching-up.html' title='catching up'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-116178620239322585</id><published>2006-10-25T07:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T07:35:18.656-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm shooting video of my friends Scott and Lori's wedding. In the dream Lori barely knows me but I am hired as a friend. I plan my shots and I get ready. The wedding starts and durring her precession my camera work is a herky jerky mess. She stops halfway to the front of the church and her and Scott are singing to some prerecorded music, a fast passed Cab Calloway type tune. Actually, she's singing and Scott's lip syncing his part. I'm fighting with some kid who stands right in front of my camera. I move him over but he keeps moving back. I shove him and he still won't stay out from in front of my camera. About that time I realize the camera's not recording. I hit record and it only stays on for a minute. I have no idea what's wrong. I wake up. &lt;br /&gt;After waking up, it occurs to me that I should've stayed in the dream and said "Cut. Okay, that was great, let's get a second take. I want more emotion this time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I dreamt I lived in a nice house. I heard a noise in my back yard and three young black girls were playing back there. One of them was climbing a tree that grew right up along the house. I scared her by saying hello from the second story window when she'd climbed almost that high. She got over it, said hello back and then found a birds nest. She plucked it from where it sat.&lt;br /&gt;"Don't Do That!" I told her firmly. "Put it back so the mama bird can hatch her babies."&lt;br /&gt;The eggs in the nest were all different shapes and colors. The girl did not want to put it back. I took it from her, set it back, and escourted her out of the yard. THe other two girls seemed to cease to exist. &lt;br /&gt;As soon as I went in my house I saw her sneaking back into the yard. I ran to a side door and cut her off. "What are you doing?"&lt;br /&gt;"That Mama bird don't know what she's doing.&lt;br /&gt;"You have to get out of here." I told her, and I shoved her. I don't remember much beyond this. I felt bad that I shoved the girl.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-116178620239322585?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/116178620239322585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=116178620239322585&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116178620239322585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116178620239322585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/10/im-shooting-video-of-my-friends-scott.html' title=''/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-116007116856269579</id><published>2006-10-05T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-05T10:59:28.573-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm at work, there's some kind of get together, the employees kids are all there. I'm talking to Vivian's boy about a pain in my knee. He tells me the pain in his knee started just the same way, and he ended up needing surgery.&lt;br /&gt;I get on my cell phone, talking to Scott at The Bee about the job I'm hoping to get. I walk outside with the phone and it seems our office is in Seattle. I walk up the hill to a coffee shop, still talking to Scott. He wants me to work with a guy named Erick in LA, doing a TV show. "I thought you wanted me to write." He tells me I will do the tv show and then write about doing the tv show.  I can't see anything but white as there's smoke everywhere. I want to keep talking. I realize that if I start walking I might be walking into the fire or out of it. I keep talking and I walk. I end up on a busy Seattle street, foot traffic heavy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cell phone turns out to actually be the office phone, the cord still attached. I picture the cord running from the office up to the coffee shop and back down to where I am now. I unplug. I'm now just talking on the handset but it's working fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-116007116856269579?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/116007116856269579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=116007116856269579&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116007116856269579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/116007116856269579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/10/im-at-work-theres-some-kind-of-get.html' title=''/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-115950195902519529</id><published>2006-09-28T20:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-28T20:52:39.036-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Three New Dreams</title><content type='html'>Some manner of duck or puppy or duck/puppy hybrid is coming onto an elephant, all rubbin' up on 'im and what not. Love me eleaphant. The elepant doesn't seem to notice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Dad tells me, "This dog really hates this tooth." He takes the tooth, which he only recently had extracted from his head, and he throws it on the ground. The Dog (who is my childhood pomeranien, Wicket) freaks, barks and growls at the tooth and then picks it up and puts it as far under our shelves as it will go. The dog leaves the room, and dad pulls the tooth out and puts it back in the middle of the floor. When the dog wanders back into the room, he's happy and mellow, until he sees that tooth. Then the whole freak out and try to hide it under the shelves thing all over again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm at work only work is in a house that's a-lot like my childhood home. Allen and I share an office in real life and in the dream our house is in what was the front bedroom, it's dark and it's a total mess. I'm in there and Vivian (the office manager, a feisty older Mexican woman whose has had several brushes with death but just refuses to die. You should also know that she preaches at me, A-Lot.) comes in and accuses me of doing drugs. I tell her I don't do drugs. I'm tired to the point of feeling drugged. She attacks me and scratches my face. After she scratches my face she goes back up front. I tell Dave (the boss) what happened and he isn't going to do anything about it. I go home. I don't work there anymore. I decide to sue, and I start getting excited figuring I'll never have to work again. I am hoping that the scratches on my face are deep enough when the police come. I will of course have to file a police report. I wake up dissappointed and relieved. It takes me a while to remember that Vivian is actually very sweet to me. There is some HEAVY underlying tension in the office though, and I'm sure that's where this one comes from.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-115950195902519529?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/115950195902519529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=115950195902519529&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115950195902519529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115950195902519529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/09/three-new-dreams.html' title='Three New Dreams'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-115853351210400326</id><published>2006-09-17T15:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-18T10:31:44.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>From childhood</title><content type='html'>1) when I was a kid I dreamt that I took a hole punch and punched a hole in my scrotum, to see what was inside. I was bleeding of course, and realized that this was going to need some seriou attention. I was horrified that I would have to show my mom and dad the hole I punched in my scrotum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) The farmer down the street had a pussy tree. The tree had pussy's all over it. I wanted so badly to stick my dick in one off 'em, but the farmer would shoot you with salt pellets which hurt like hell, or so I was told. Of course, I couldn't resist forever. I snuck over his fence, climbed the tree and found a good sticky wet pussy. It was coated with something like honey. I started fucking that tree and even as I saw the farmer come out of his house, I had to finish. He was shooting, I was fucking, finally I ran off. God damn, I wished I had that pussy tree.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-115853351210400326?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/115853351210400326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=115853351210400326&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115853351210400326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115853351210400326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/09/from-childhood.html' title='From childhood'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-115853325826349220</id><published>2006-09-17T15:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-17T15:47:38.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'>one i missed</title><content type='html'>Couple of days ago, dreamt the world was ending. It was a pain in the ass. So many people to be processed, including me, and I'm there, wanting to do it right, wanting to seize my chance to get a few things in the next world that I was maybe missing in this one, but it was enough just to try and keep up with the lines and the crowds. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything was white with chrome accents, our clothes were white, the only color was the different shades of flesh from the crowds of people we filed past cashiers and turnstiles and rode on escalators. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. A pain in the ass. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOTE: proabably triggered by my re-reading of The Chronicles of Narnia including the last book where the end of the world is one big boring affair.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-115853325826349220?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/115853325826349220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=115853325826349220&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115853325826349220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115853325826349220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/09/one-i-missed.html' title='one i missed'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-115850300207949371</id><published>2006-09-17T07:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-17T07:23:22.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'>real doll, dinners ruined, skateboarding</title><content type='html'>I have a real doll. I'm having a threesome with my girl and the doll but just messing around really. She has to go do something, so I have anal sex with teh doll. There is some kind of epair guy in my room I don't know if he saw me doing it with the real doll (how could he not have) but he definitely sees the doll now and comments on it. I put the doll away, folding it up and putting it out of site (under the bed maybe?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivia, from Oli-Pom's store closed down and she's working at some trendy mall place with skateboard decks attached to their rack even though they have nothing to do with skating. here and I make fun of this. I feel bad that she's working somewhere so lame. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family has a get together, the WHOLE family, nephews and nieces included. Complicated, Erick making dinner, but dinner burnt or something and we have to make different dinner and dad shows up and is pissed at what happened to original dinner and John is taking it all personally as if he is being blamed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get WASTED stoned with James and then hop in the car with my mom. We're in a back yard that's huge, just acreage, so she's driving across the yard when I hop in her car. We go somewhere in the city. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm skateboarding, it's a bright fairly warm fall day. I ollie and break my deck. I'm part proud, like it's a big deal to break my deck and part pissed. I thow half the board, but I"ll pick it up, because I'll just be putting the trucks on a new deck.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breaking my deck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-115850300207949371?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/115850300207949371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=115850300207949371&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115850300207949371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115850300207949371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/09/real-doll-dinners-ruined-skateboarding.html' title='real doll, dinners ruined, skateboarding'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-115790849538247068</id><published>2006-09-10T10:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-10T10:14:55.383-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Big beautiful house, lots of snow, amazingly scenic. Morning, standing outside looking at the show hanging on all the foliage. My family’s on the way to pick me and my brother Erick up, everyone’s hurrying. I am entertaining the thought of living in this house for awhile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look outside, to enjoy the view again. It’s pouring rain. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m at John’s. There’s a little black girl there. A friend of his daughters. She’s overly well dressed and made up, not garish just strange, like she stepped right out of a JC Pennys catalogue. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m back in my little apartment, it’s pouring rain still. There’s a little girl there playing video games with me. I don’t know if she’s a niece or what but I’m apparently babysitting her. We both hear a banging noise. (I did get out of bed last night for real after hearing a banging noise. Never found out where it came from) Checked the front door, checked the back door. Two guys are outback. I kinda know ‘em but I don’t really want to let them in. I don’t trust them for some reason. But they’re supposed to help me with something on the computer. I don’t know what. They seem to sense my discomfort and move away. They’re standing in the rain. (Very simmilar to dream from two nights ago where two guys in the rain knock on the door at my work.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I invite them in but I wake up right around here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-115790849538247068?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/115790849538247068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=115790849538247068&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115790849538247068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115790849538247068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/09/big-beautiful-house-lots-of-snow.html' title=''/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-115790830256629591</id><published>2006-09-10T10:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-10T10:11:42.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No Pants and fighting in the rain.</title><content type='html'>I'm at work, and it's busy but close to closing time. It's already dark out. I take off my pants and wander around in my boxers as comfortably as I might if I were at home. Two guys are acting kinda weird in the yard, then they knock on the door of the office and want to come in. The door, the whole wall actually, is glass like a storefront. I find a pair of pants. I have pants laying all over the plae. They're out there in the rain and I tell them they can't come in we're closing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go to the front door and the guys it turns out are there to pick up one of our employees. They're mad that I wouldn't let them in and they want to fight. I tell them that this ridiculous. They're friends my co-worker, there's no reason we should fight, it's just a misunderstanding. I realize I'll have to fight them. I square off against one guy and a girl put up her fists as well. They were gonna fight me two at a time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I run back in the office to see who will fight with me. Ben is there. His face looks crazy, surprised, pissed, ready to kick ass. We run back out and I grab a guy by his head, and push down with all my weight smacking his head into the ground again and again. I realize this could kill him, so I rewind, and just bang his head on the ground once. I punch him hard in the face, but I realize this is too much too and I rewind again. I wake up. I never want to be in a fight again. Hurting people sucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-115790830256629591?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/115790830256629591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=115790830256629591&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115790830256629591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115790830256629591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/09/no-pants-and-fighting-in-rain.html' title='No Pants and fighting in the rain.'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18620116.post-115790776214356047</id><published>2006-09-10T09:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-10T10:02:54.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>snippets</title><content type='html'>Two short dream snippets:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Tony Hawk is paralyzed from the neck down, but he seems as happy and together as ever and is still real involved in the skate scene, opening skate parks and what not. I'm looking at him thinking, damn, he lost the thing that his whole life has centered around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) I'm at Burning Man which is like a water park but the tickets are still over $200. I buy my ticket and then a big wave knocks me on my ass. I look and the wave came from a little pool, barely bigger than a jacuzzi after my dad cannon balled into it. Dad is laughing affectionately while sitting in the pool.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18620116-115790776214356047?l=kljdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/115790776214356047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18620116&amp;postID=115790776214356047&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115790776214356047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18620116/posts/default/115790776214356047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kljdreams.blogspot.com/2006/09/snippets.html' title='snippets'/><author><name>KLJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07518406972256513476</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YUWsB-dKD3c/TUOK13bxb-I/AAAAAAAABUI/QNPJpAxwEi0/s220/Lunas_KLJ.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
