>>23615779
Because I don't have dreams.

I barely remember mine. The ones I do involve me being chased by a few people who I'm certain want to kill me but I don't know why.

>>23615779
when I wake up I don't remember to write them down and then I forget them

I wrote down one dream

I remembered too much of it to post here, but Thomas Matthew Crooks (the man who shot Donald Trump) made a brief appearance at my elementary school.

>>23615807
You do, you just don’t remember them, but you could if you tried.

>>23615812
>get chased by people
>get mauled by dogs
>teeth falling out
>arson
Something’s not right on my head
I’m a well adjusted member of society, I swear, but my dreams would give Cronenberg a run for his money.
I’d rather not write them, I fear what I will find.

>>23615779
Because 99% of my dreams suck.
>walking around airports
>walking to grocery stores
>walking around grocery stores, esp in search of the donuts area
>having to go back to college to re-finish my degree with a class I didn't even know I had, which I somehow enrolled in, and the final paper and final exam is due that very day

>>23615779
journaling is retarded
go do something better with your time

>>23617762
He says while shitposting.

>>23617767
prove me wrong

Dreams are usually stupid shit that have no concrete meanings unless you intentionally introspect on it, in which case they don't really give you any more insight than introspecting on anything else in your life would.
>oh wow, I saw the Castle from Super Mario 64 and it looked oddly familiar, guess this is the only way I could've gotten an understanding of childhood nostalgia and the passage of time

>decide to start a dream journal
>get really good at remembering my dreams
>really really good
>start having dreams I don't want to remember
>can't turn it off
>develop insomnia
>have a mental breakdown
>after the treatment, no more remembering any dreams

Make sure you know what you're getting into

One time I had a dream I was walking through a valley from Dark Souls
There was a gigantic dragon lying on the ground, sprawled out and with no strength left
I walked to the dragons head and I could hear him crying, he was crying in the most pathetic way possible, it was extremely pitiful especially because I knew the dragon had once been so proud and mighty
I realised it was Satan and he had just been fatally wounded by an angel, he was terrified that he was soon going to be tortured for an eternity in unimaginable pain by God in Hell
I felt sorry for Satan
>>23617672
Yep I have the college dreams all the fucking time and they're always on those themes
I fucked up my degree and I can't graduate for some reason
For some reason I'm studying some classes and they're very difficult but then I remember I've already graduated and so I don't understand why I'm still studying
I signed up to a class but I forgot about it, I have 3 other exams to study for and I don't know how I'll pass this one
I neglected my studies completely and now I'm panicking at the end of the semester
For some reason I'm back in high school or even primary school for god knows what reason
College is my limbo

>>23615807
I had zero dreams for about 15 years.

Now I have them every night. I cleaned up my diet and do a visualization meditation on most days.

>>23615779
I used to have one when I was going through a phase of wanting to lucid dream. All of the other techniques I tried fucked my sleep schedule, so the dream journal seemed like the obvious best option. Writing out increasingly detailed paragraphs of what happened in all my dreams each morning, just to have a lucid dream that lasted 10 seconds once every few weeks killed all my interest in the pursuit. My first proper lucid dream that lasted more than a moment came to me when I had stopped trying anyway.

>>23615779
The last thing I want to do in the early hours of waking up is write and I can't visualize due to aphantasia so the dreams I do remember are just kinda dull mishmashes of memories with a guy chasing me down to kill me or something.

It's never anything abstract or fun that's worth writing about.

I had a dream where I was in utopia, in eden.
but everybody there was a fag and I didn't like them. too bubbly and expressive and I didn't think they liked me either. so I asked the authority there, a woman with Grey hair, to let me go. then I was in a wasteland and killed a man with a hammer that was on fire

>>23617794
Nta but joirnaling good because you keep record of yourselves. You'll see how far you'll grow.
I used to journaling, a workout journaling one, seeing my own growth for being able to do 2 diamond push up to 30+ is motivating

>>23618000
I dont know about dream journal though. I think some people do write down their dream in order to find some surreal or artistic inspiration from them. But when I tried to do so, I remember it being a purposeless and useless for myself, my dream is a story without beginning or end, there's no point in writing down your dream, for me at least

>>23618000
I'm sure the form for those push-ups is as good as your grammar...

yes but it's been dry of late. it's a fun exercise.

>>23615779
my wife won't let me
not even fucking joking
she said it's annoying to have me shuffling about under the covers with my notepad and phone light in the middle of the night.

>>23618361
Maybe you should retort back with "it is annoying to have you as a wife" and then proceed to divorce her.

>>23618396
that sounds like more effort than it's worth. I'll just keep my dreams unjournaled.

>>23615779
because remembering dreams is a waste of time. there's a reason why they automatically get wiped out off your brain. remembering dreams is akin to collecting your own poo.

I do

>>23618361
leave the room?

>>23615779
I've kept one for years. It's one of the most rewarding things I've ever done. It's a way to open up the "dialogue with the unconscious" advocated by Jung.
Once I started recording dreams, I was quickly stuck by how often there are recurring themes and images. When your unconscious wants to tell you something, it is very, very insistent.
There are also narratives spread across several dreams, some of them lasting years. Sometimes these have satisfying endings, indicating progress in psychological development (or what Jung called individuation.)
Everybody should take note of their dreams, and get familiar with their symbolic language. They are absolutely not random or nonsensical, but articulations of your unconscious psyche.

Most of my dreams are of me falling
boring

>>23615779
> I meet MP on the occasion of a neighbor's death, and he invites me to his friend's house. The house is dark and dirty, flies are everywhere, everything is covered in feces, and outside there's a big pit spewing out shit. Father of K the joker arrives, and after a short joke, he starts having anal sex with K.

>I enter a classroom on the day of a classmate's funeral, and her coffin is in one of the desks, by mistake i push it and coffin falls to the floor. The girls mock me and point their fingers at me, and when I try to defend myself by raising my voice, they run away, outraged that I'm being so loud at the funeral.

> An old woman with Alzheimer's has to drive because I don't have a license. She gets distracted and drives into a river, water floods the car, and the doors lock. I manage to escape, but I can't get my sister out. She drowns in a glass of water, strapped in the car.

>I leave high school and start humming Nine Inch Nails. A passing dark-skinned woman hums along with me. With nothing better to do, I start following her. She moves faster and faster until she disappears from my sight. I turn back, head for the bus, but decide to walk home instead. It takes several hours, it's already dark, there's no sidewalk, and I'm afraid of being hit by cars because I don't have any reflectors. I escape from a car to the side of a house where I'm invited to a party. I sit at a table between some rough-looking men and ask where the nearest place to cross the river is to return home on a less traveled road. A gay man instead of answering starts groping my knee. I barely manage to get out of the bench and escape the house, jumping through a window and over a fence, and cross the river. I run "around" until I finally get home, it's already dawn when I enter my room.

>>23615779
>>23618813
beer, but the seller is AH and for some reason, I can't decide what alcohol to buy, so I don't buy any. Instead, I see rifle cartridges on sale. I buy them all because they're cheap, and I might not get another chance. Fast forward, I'm drunk and still sitting in that pub, bullets ostentatiously in front of me on the table. AH's friends come in - all bullies from my school days. I'm so drunk I don't even know when they steal my bullets. Then they pick on me, want me to go with them. We break into a school and find a hidden gun in a classroom. Then I black out. The next day, it turns out there was a murder, the local entrepreneur's daughter was killed. I'm a suspect because she was shot with a bullet that has my fingerprints. I don't remember anything from that night, don't know if I killed her or who did. I'm at her funeral, offering condolences to her closest family, and maybe out of guilt, I quietly say "sorry," as if admitting my guilt. Her mother sees this and looks at me with a painful gaze. The murdered girl's mother has gone mad, in a manic state, walking around the wake in black lingerie with exposed buttocks, laughing and saying she was just sunbathing - though only one buttock is red, the other is pale.

> I'm a bit drunk and haven't slept all night, coming back from somewhere by car with D, who tells me to stop by a store. In the store, I want to buy aspirin or something similar, but it turns out I don't have any money or a card on me. I manage to borrow from D, but she refuses to sell to someone in my state. In the end, I throw the money on the counter and take the package myself; she threatens to call the police, accusing me of being a thief. I return home, constantly looking over my shoulder, afraid that the police will catch us if we stop.
I keep tormenting myself and finally decide to ride my bike to the village where the store is - it's on top of a hill, but there's no one inside. I ride my bike back down, and there's a gathering of tough guys (dresy); one of them asks if I've seen his bike. I ignore him, thinking it's better that way. I return home. After some time, a fat tough guy from that village approaches me, threatens to beat me up, and accuses me of stealing his bikes. He says everything would have been fine if I had just stopped and answered him normally.
Annoyed, I go with him to the boiler room, which I find in ruins. I want to show him that his bike isn't there, but to my surprise, none of our bikes are there either. I go to the stable to check, but there are no bikes there either. However, in the distance, I see the village of the tough guys on fire, and specifically, my bikes from my house. They've all been stolen, set on fire, and are lying twisted in a pile. Symbolically, we strip down, and I allow myself to be nailed to a cross, curled up like the man in my favorite painting by Yukio Mishima.

>>23618825
> I visit MK in a block on M Street. The conversation doesn't go well, and I leave to use the toilet outside. After that, I plan to return, but I go up a floor and meet MP, who also lives there. I invite myself into his apartment. From the beginning, he tries to get rid of me, which I notice, so I stay out of spite and tell him that I'm hungry and that he could offer me lunch. He gives me a cutlet and potatoes; the cutlet is a bit burnt. He tells me that his friends are coming over, and I say that I would also like to meet them; I don't want to be alone anymore.

His friends arrive, and I say something about the food, that the potatoes are very good. A brunette girl starts laughing at me, saying that I need to get my life together and become independent if homemade potatoes impress me so much. I didn't ask her anything, but she starts telling me about her life. She says she is a "border" (borderline personality disorder), meaning she intensely hates some things but also loves to death. She has a million quirks, like knowing all the bus lines in the city by heart because she hates waiting at the stop even for a moment.

MP is unhappy that I find common ground with her and says they were just about to go out together. He tries to push me out more aggressively this time, and I push back. He pushes me into the hallway, and I go downstairs, with MP and his friends following me, singing a mocking, cynical song about Jesus, reminding me of my high school nickname. It's already 10 PM, so I decide not to go back to MP. I stand on the stairs and wait for them to pass me.

I go outside the building, and a group of young men approaches me, all singing the song about Jesus again, mocking me. Angrily, I shoulder-check the last one, who turns around in rage but decides not to attack and goes into the building. I walk down the sidewalk and notice KG beside me. She doesn't laugh at me and doesn't run away but approaches. I hug her, reminiscing about how we played badminton together on a school trip in middle school, which must have been one of the happiest moments of my life.

>>23618832
> I'm racing with A, a girl I touched in middle school who later ignored and humiliated me, so I take this race personally. I run up the hill from O Street and am first at the top. It's downhill from there, so I speed up. I run as fast as I can, but she still catches up to me. She's getting faster and takes the lead, pulling further and further away from me; I don't know how. We reach a store on L Street. An arrow on my phone indicates I should run towards D Street, but the usual path is blocked by a wall I can't climb over. I check the building next door – it's locked. So, I enter the old swimming pool, which is the third building from the left. As soon as I enter, zombies start attacking me. It's dark inside, and I have to keep my flashlight on. I dodge their bloody bodies with torn skin exposed through their tattered clothes. There are more and more of them, and I reach a dead end. I have nowhere to run, but I manage to climb onto a high cabinet where they can't reach me. After a while, the zombies around me explode, leaving falling bubbles behind.

After a moment, some people enter, including an obese woman who is the manager or cleaner at the pool. She curses the state of this city, those damn zombies, and how the pandemic is destroying small businesses. The people around her get louder and ask more questions, so she responds, bored and frustrated, that the pool's chlorine-filled atmosphere is deadly to zombies. A German tourist nearby chimes in with broken Polish, saying that the chlorine bomb itself is a goldmine and he wants to buy the pool. The woman responds mockingly that he can't afford it. The German insists that he can and will buy it. A young guy nearby gives the German a thumbs-up, and the German responds by raising his hand in a "high Hitler" gesture. I watch this from the shelf, wondering if others saw the gesture and regret not hearing the German's name, so I can't look up more information about him.

>>23615779
I remember every dream I have without needing to write it down.

>>23618561
then I wake up too much and can't get back to sleep.

>>23615779
I dream everytime I sleep, but I only write them down to my friends if they appear in them. I dream of my friends often, nonsexually speaking

>>23618682
*gasp*

>>23618842
I liked your dreams. They remind me of my own. Mine involve mobs a lot more.

You can have the first one I ever recorded. I havent looked at this journal in years.

02-14
* College graduation day. With childhood best friend, N. The ceremony arrives and large crowds begin to congregate however I forgot to change into good clothes. I run away with N (and maybe a small number of others) to a Walmart in the countryside. I need to track down and purchase two items clandestinely, and not reveal myself or the reason for my purchase for some reason. I find one immediately, but must ask an assistant for help with finding the second item: a diabetic wristwatch to monitor glucose levels. We arrive at the designated area but there is no watch to be found and purchased. A prolonged amount of time is spent checking the aisle for the items. Eventually my parents arrive for an update on the situation. The large graduating crowds soon arrive as well, and charge the Walmart across a vast, grassy, open front parking lot. My mother races out the side door and attempts to flank the mob, and I follow right behind. I am able to concentrate and channel magical powers that allow me to accelerate growth and spring up fully grown trees and shrubs to stymie the mob and allow for myself and others to escape. I make it across the lot and behind the mob, but turn around to fight someone. His card has 3 attack and 2 health. My card has 43 health and 2 attack. We fight and he dies, but for some reason I die as well when my health drops to 40. Fade to black on that card and number.

Who wants to pyschoanalyze me?

>Trying to make my way back to the piano i was interrupted playing through a dizzying tangle of streets, I end up in a weird end of town and enter a kind of gym. Half of the building is a kind of salt of the earth, working-class sawdust saloon, and the other is a kind of giant, looming rock climbing course, into which the streets of the town have turned, a kind of staggering amalgamation. I ascend the course with one other somewhat fat guy in a yellow and blue cycling spandex suit who is presumably trying to stay in shape, and he is beating me. Eventually I make it to the top, arrive at a booth manned by a pleasant young lady, who instructs me to lay in the tub as a reward. I am dismembered by her assistant as I wake up.

My dreams are stressful. I think it's been a couple of years since I had a nice dream.

There was a period of my life where every night I would have these fucked up dreams about being restrained while my arms were cut off by a rotating saw blade and in their place useless rubber imitation arms were sewn on, which I would impotently flop around as I vainly attempted to escape my bonds. I dreamed about this for like 6 months.

>>23615779
I did for a while.
I started remembering way more dreams because of it.
I stopped because there was way too many weird sexual things in them that I didn't like remembering.

>>23615779
Trying to write shit down in the dark before I forget all of it is a complicated task, made more complicated when an alarm went off and I have to get to work.
Allocating the effort to do this for benefits that elude me is a hard thing to justify beyond an experiment.

>>23622217
>way too many weird sexual things in them that I didn't like remembering
Homosexual.

>>23615812
I have that dream every single night. A guy or a group of guys tries to kill me and the only difference is the location. Sometimes they break into my home and I escape through the window or they start chasing me outside and it keeps going until I wake up. I can't remember the last time I had a different type of dream.

>>23622569
More like incest

>>23615779
I post mine on social media

>>23615779
Because I have like five dreams tops every year (and wet dreams about every two years)

In compensation, I daydream a lot