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BlueOpossum's Dream Journal

Cohesion
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An Imposer Mows Our Lawn

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Friday, March 17 2017

        Morning of March 17, 2017. Friday.        I am living in an unknown residence. My mother (July 14, 1916-October 2, 2002) is still alive, appearing as she was in perhaps the early 1970s. I am aware that an unfamiliar male seems to be cutting grass right across the threshold of the front doorway (from left to right from the inside view). The door is open. He is using some sort of small tool. Apparently, he had already cut most of the lawn. He is the

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Mowing to the Clock or Mausoleum

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Monday, August 29 2016

        Morning of August 29, 2016. Monday.        My dream curiously starts out at the King Street boarding house (where I have not been since the early 1990s). I do have some memories of my present life status but it is distorted and also changes before my dream ends. I start mowing the lawn, but oddly, for whatever indeterminable reason, continue to mow all the way to the north side of La Crosse via the causeway through the marsh (though which is more l

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Folsom Chaos

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Thursday, December 17 2015

        Morning of December 17, 2015. Thursday.        It has been some time since I have heard Johnny Cash's “Folsom Prison Blues”. In fact, the last time I heard it was the extraordinarily odd and highly unsuitable Cowsills version (which you would have to see and hear to believe), which may be why there is an odd playful mood in my dream regardless of being quite generic and otherwise uneventful.         It mostly

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A Man Mows Sixes and Nines in my Front Yard in Cubitis

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Sunday, February 9 1992

        Morning of February 9, 1992. Sunday.        I had been thinking about the letters that Zsuzsanna (my wife-to-be at the time) and I had written to each other. I am standing in the south side yard of my Cubitis home. It seems to be morning. Looking into the front yard, I see an unknown male (of perhaps about thirty or more) on a ride on mower. He is making sixes and nines in the lawn with his mower. He smiles slyly as if it is part of a secret or m

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Questionable Mowing

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Sunday, September 8 1968

        Morning of September 8, 1968. Sunday.        At first, it seems my father is wearing grayish green shorts and an orange shirt and on a riding mower, heading south and beyond the culvert past our front yard, being "too close" to Highway Seventeen. For some reason, I feel somewhat embarrassed rather than worried about his safety. A couple cars slow down, nearly stopping, but there is no confrontation or mishap. I eventually realize howeve

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