thumbs up!

Interesting mix, good luck

good luck with this vote

thx for the helpful helpful feedback! i agree w/ tsungchi and nrhatch in that as a whole the project needs more direction- something i had wanted to do but then thought i was passing the deadline so submitted it in haste... i am currently sorting it out

this is a great idea.  Good luck on your project

I'm enjoying the individual submissions, but like nrhatch, I can't get a handle on the project as a whole.  Are there any common patterns?  If so, what do they mean?  For a project like this, I think the whole needs to be equal to its parts; right now, it feels disjointed.

This doesn't do it for me. 

I'm willing to listen to disjointed pieces of dreams from friends who are trying to figure out what a specific dream meant, but after reading about 10 of the submissions in this project, the dream descriptions just seem pointless -- there's no interesting conclusion or observation.  Instead, they just waft off like the dream fragments they are.  It might be better if you actually included some "interpretation" at the end of each dream, using a dream guide.

It sounds like a book I would really like. All my friends think that my normal dreams are absolutely obsurde (idk how to spell it) so I am curious to see what other people dream about.

This is an awesome project

        “It didn’t always used to be this way, you know?  This place…oh, this place.  I used to come here all of the time.  Well, not all of the time.  I had a job and everything, but you get what I mean, right?  This place was beautiful.  People use that word a lot, not really appreciating all that it can encompass, but that’s what this place was; beautiful.  You could see so much just from one spot, one vantage point.  What’s weird, what really burns my ass, is that I never really saw it that way.  I’ve walked that path over there hundreds of times -literally hundreds- and only when I lose it…I was always focused where I was going, you know?  Or maybe paying attention to some mother bouncing along a trail, pushing her newborn along in a stroller.  Not that I’d ever do anything, of course, not with anyone else.  Elizabeth would cut it off if she knew I was even entertaining the idea.  But I can’t help what I notice, right?  And if my eyes eventually make me turn my neck, then my body…meh, I am but a man.”
        He paused at this point, chuckling and cutting his eyes at Anthony like he was his long lost fraternity brother, or a fellow barfly exchanging opinions on the fairer sex.  Being neither, Anthony turned the corner of his mouth up in compromise, forming the type of grin you give someone you who interrupts you reading a book; you let them know you’re inconvenienced with having to acknowledge them, but you’re more polite than they are.  He was cold.  Shivering, actually, but the man next to him on the ground seemed fine.
        “Or am I?  A man, I mean?  I don’t even know.  I don’t…” his hand moved toward his forehead, and began a slow migration to the bridge of his nose which he began to massage.  It was the third time’s it had happened in the last minute or so.  Anthony found it slightly off-putting, the habitual reflex of someone that’s not quite right.  He decided not to mention it though, instead, choosing to file it away to use if the situation got out of hand, something he expected to happen as the man clearly wasn’t all there.  At a slim 165lbs Anthony’s classification as a “Lover; not a Fighter” was something donned more out of necessity as opposed to any moral inclination.  His last physical altercation had taken place in the fourth grade, and had been both quick and painful.  His opponent had sized him up for days, waiting for the perfect moment to take retribution for a rumor Anthony had supposedly spread.  When they principal had finally pulled her off of him, Anthony’s parents had been called to take him to see a doctor (apparently, his injuries had been more serious than anything the school nurse was equipped to handle), and his assailant had been ordered to do lines for the rest of the week during recess.  From that day forward, Anthony was favored by teachers and females alike for his refusal to lay a hand on someone who obviously meant to do him harm.  In truth, if he could’ve, he would have had no problem punching and kicking the girl off of him, and running for the nearest adult.  Unfortunately, his size and overall lack of coordination prevented him from doing so.  Given that he hadn’t taken any steps to remedy this particular problem, he doubted he’d be able to take on this man, old as he was, and decided it would be best to keep his eyes open in case he decided to give into the crazies.
        “I’m not crazy.  I can tell you think I am, but I’m not,” said the man.  He had removed his hands from his face and was looking quite calmly into Anthony’s eyes.  “This isn’t fun for me.  You think this is fun?” he asked, pointing to the side of his forehead. “Do you?  Oh, what?  Am I scaring you?  If you’d listen, if you people would just listen, you  would see that I’m not crazy, that I’m not lying.  How can I explain this to you?”
        At this point in the fairly one sided exchange, Anthony had no idea what the man was talking about and didn’t necessarily care.  His only thought was that he regretted stopping to help this guy.  He’d found the man kneeling at the end of the dock, hands planted on either side of his body as if bracing himself.  The county had received heavier rain than usual, so the man had no trouble placing his head into the water, which was exactly what he was doing as Anthony walked by.  Anthony rarely cut through the park after leaving his internship, but it was a cool evening, he had a warm jacket; why not?  As he approached the dock, he had kind of chuckled to himself, laughing at the idea of someone being dumb enough to try and drown themselves by holding their head underwater; it was almost like walking upon an ostrich attempting to hide itself from some random predator by burying its head underground.  Then the man had fallen forward, with nothing but three cartoon-like “splooshes” to signal his sudden departure.  Anthony found himself very alone all of a sudden.
        “Are you serious?  Really?  Really?!” he’d said to the rippling water as he ran towards the pond.  He watched as the man sink lower and lower, head first, like he was tied to a weight. 
        Anthony hated swimming.  He kicked off his shoes.  He hated water.  He took off his jacket.  He looked around to see if there was anyone else who would save him from this ridiculous situation.  He was the kid who “forgot” his swimming trunks everyday during the swimming portion of his physical education class.  He stepped off the edge of the dock.
        Ice.  Colder than ice.  His nerves seemed to first contract, then burst.   They actually felt as if they sharpened, and pushed through his skin, stabbing with their millions of serrated edges.  A second passed.  Three.  Seven seconds, an hour, a decade, and still his body refused to obey the commands to flail his arms about in shock.  Then, slowly, he started kicking.  His legs began to jerk, and eventually warmed.  Not to any level of comfort, but enough so that the barbs that were his nerve endings sunk back beneath the skin, eager to find a slightly warmer environment.  He gasped, drawing air into his shocked system, and gained his bearings.  Okay, he was fine.  He was above water, he wasn’t drowning…why had he…shit!  He looked down and realized he could no longer see the figure of the man.  The lake wasn’t deep; parents took their children here in the winter because even in its deepest section, the odds of the frozen lake cracking were slim.  Once the cold hit, the lake easily froze.  Okay, so he had be somewhere near, underneath, in the dark water.  A lamppost had flickered on back on that dry, beautiful, warm, heavenly ground, and Anthony’s mind drifted towards thoughts of the money the state would save if they would just wait another hour to turn on the lights…no!  Focus.  He submerged.  No preparation.  All at once. 
        His skin now felt everything.  That was one way to describe it.  Unfortunately, all it felt now was pain.  He kicked towards the bottom, and within three seconds, his head hit a rock.  He couldn’t see anything, but had his hand what he hoped was one of the support beams for the dock.  He groped around in the dark, hoping that the man hadn’t kicked around once he hit bottom.  Nothing…nothing…cloth.  He found cloth attached to some sort of weight.  This had to be him.  He grabbed the man with one hand circling across what he hoped was his chest.  He kicked toward the light, up, up, up and jerked back.  What had happened?  Why had he stopped?  He kicked harder, pushed his body far past its less than adequate abilities.  They were moving slower than they had initially; Anthony wasn’t sure if he could make it.  Now that his body was adjusting to the cold, it had shifted it’s attention to lack of oxygen.  It needed it.  Now.
He kicked, and broke the surface of the water.  He sucked in air along with a fair amount of water, coughed, and pulled the man up above the surface.  He had kept one hand wrapped around the wooden beam of the dock, and the other around what he discovered actually was the chest of the man.  Eventually his breathing slowed, and the fire in his chest gave up its battle to consume his body. 
        He had pushed the man up over the edge of the dock, climbing up after he was sure that he wouldn’t slip off.  His eyes were drawn to a string that looped tightly around both of the man’s hands.  He hadn’t noticed it before.  He had pulled their ends out of the water, shocked at their weight.  He pulled them up, out of the water, and almost laughed.  The idiot had actually tied 15lb weights to both arms!  That was probably what held Anthony back.  He laid there for a moment, checked the mans vital signs, prepared to leave once he was satisfied that the man was breathing, and called 911.  At that point, he had opened his mouth, speaking to Anthony.  At that point, he had to stay; if something happened, Anthony was pretty sure the man could sue now that he had a description of Anthony.  Good Samaritan law.
        “These things I see,” the man said, pulling Anthony back to the present “these things, I can’t take them.  Everything is different.  This park, this park has lost it’s beauty, simple as it was.  You, you’re eyes are red.  Humans don’t have red eyes, so why are your eyes red?  The trees are all wilted, and they grow downwards,” at this point, his voice dropped to a whisper, suddenly furious in tone “Those two men behind me?  You see them? Do you see them?  They’re always there.  They watch.  They never leave, they never eat, they never sleep.  And they whisper.  Truths, never lies.  Truths, never lies.  Truths, never…” he stopped, and sat back.  Anthony looked at the setting sun, and realized this would be the perfect setup for a horror film.  At any moment, this guy would pull out a knife…
        “You won’t see, will you?  You don’t understand.  I had to do it.  They never lie, they never lie.   They told me this was the only way to escape these things, and they’re right.  I can’t take seeing their truth’s anymore.  They tell me you’re about to run, you want to run, you want to run.  Anthony.  Anthony, let me make you see.”
        None of this made sense to Anthony, but he decided it was time to exit tout de suite.  He grabbed his jacket, and jumped to his feet.  He actually didn’t see the man grab his feet, but he felt them tangle around the mans hands and he fell backwards.  The man was on top of him, one knee on the ground between his arms, straddling him. 
        “Anthony, please, Anthony.  You have to see.  They say you need to see, you have to see.”
        The man placed his still cold hands over Anthony’s eyes, pressing down so hard that Anthony began to see fireworks of colors behind his closed eyelids.  Nothing happened.  He felt nothing.  He was suddenly aware of the smell of the man on top of him, but that was it. 
        Then, the man removed his hands, and Anthony saw.  The little things…they were gone.  The sky was still different colors; the purple, gold, and orange of sunset.  There was still the receding sun, and the moon in the sky.  Why was the grass brown?  Dry?  The water was black.  It hadn’t been that dark before.  Yes, it had been dark but not…were the trees barer than before? 
        He looked up at the man who still straddled his chest, and saw the dead look in his eyes, the orange glow that seemed to emanate from his very pores.  His eyes were purple.  Purple.  Anthony shifted his eyes directly behind the man’s shoulders.  Two figures, black in every way, stood at the beginning of the dock, watching.  The were utterly still, yet Anthony could sense their anticipation.
        “Do you see?  Do you see, Anthony?” said the man, once again calm.
        Oh, God, he saw.