Is there perhaps some reason why my dreams are always about escaping from prison?
The plan this time was perfect.
There were a bunch of our friends coming to visit us in the jail today. They had come to talk with us for a while, then the warden took them on a tour of the facility.
Little did he know we had the keys to their cars.
That was the plan: while everyone else was on the tour, all us prisoners in the big room would pile into the big vans and drive out the back door. It almost worked, too...
The first van was packed full, and drove away; the second one followed it. The third and final one...never arrived. Guess who was among those left waiting for it.
Damnation!
I was hanging out with Caine from "Kung-Fu: The Legend Continues." Apparently, I was a good friend of his, and I had flown in to see him. It also seemed that he had students as well.
Anyway, his office was behind a maze filled with booby traps populated with sharp objects that pierced the walls. One of his female students (an attractive one, I might add - a blonde girl with a neon yellow-green shirt) had said that they were all scared to go through the maze. Caine started through it, and dodged every one of the traps like a champ, up until the butcher knife. He sliced the palm of his hand, and I had to get him a jumbo sized band aid.
After that, I got my suitcase from his office and looked at the clock. My flight was at 6:55 and it was 6:30. (AM or PM, I don't remember, but I got the impression it was PM.) I remember thinking to myself "Dammit, why didn't you call in advance to confirm the flight?" and "You're supposed to be there an hour before departure, shithead!"
Then I slowly woke up.
It's still 8 A.M., way too early to get up for a Saturday - returning to sleep, I find myself in a street, going to get a new passport with my younger brother. He is startled by a dog, but soon decides to chase it and gets bit. The boy who owns the dog also starts to whale on Alexander and I am forced to break it up. The passport lady tries to sell us Olympia merchandise, but it's all ugly and incredibly overpriced. All the merchandise references the Olympics in Barcelona. Annoyed, I leave and join a diner to get some grub. Aside me sits this girl with a little puppy which is begging for food. The girl drops some scraps but the doggy has trouble eating them (too big.) I break the food up for him and scratch him behind the ears. "Don't touch the neck," says the girl, "The last owners had a collar implanted and he hates that. Whenever he takes a bath, I'll see him scoop the water with his paw and wash himself on his head, his arms, but never his neck. He knows it's cruel to do something like that, I'd never do it." I agree that it's very cruel to do any sort of unneccessary surgery on an animal and proceed to talk to her about the cutesy dog.
Things shift to full-fledged freak out. It's like one of the Lee Stories, but it never really happened. I am a big hairy man. I wear an executioners mask. I am on top of Lee in her bed. She says "really give it to my ass big boy" and she is slapping my big meaty arms. I get a little freaked out and want to leave but she is getting mean. Inside I am a big wuss, and I go limp. She kicks me out. I stand in the hallway of her apartment building, naked except for the mask. I cry about it.
From this point onwards, the dreamscape takes on a more fantastic appearance, melding images from two different realities into one composite surreality. Our trip down the dark, winding river adopts the exact same emotional color as the jungle river journey in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness or Coppola's Apocalypse Now. We are surrounded on all sides by impenetrable mystery, unknown dangers and the calls of wild animals. But most mysterious is the scene itself: a river flows six feet wide between two banks lined not with drooping vines and lush jungle foliage but with home improvement hardware, garden tools, paint cans, plumbing mechanisms and a million other objects you would expect to find lining the aisles of a warehouse hardware store like Home Depot--certainly not something you would expect to see in the deep jungle, but just the kind of misplaced landscape you might expect in an average dream, conjured up by the mad subconscious. Perhaps I'm not an average dreamer since this kind of imagery is less common for me; thus I make note of this phenomenon as being an exceptional case. Our river journey through the jungle garage proceeds as we pass through a never-ending series of turnstiles--gate after elaborate gate made of rotating band saws, stacked vises and a host of other industrial sculptures which slowly mark off our progress. Suddenly we are set upon by a pack of wraith-like savages who attack us with blow darts, killing most of our group. The wild animal noises amplify in the dangerous heat of the encounter and when I awaken in my bed I'm left unsure whether I'd survived the journey or not.
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