Last night I dreamed that I was in command of a small army. Basically I was dreaming I was my favorite character Ender Wiggen from Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game. Anyway, my army had to take over this house. The house was only half built. And by half built I mean take a finished house with all the stuff inside and cut it straight down the middle and place a piece of glass at the cut point. So you can see in.
I went with a small recon group I had to check it out. The house had a McDonald’s on the side of it. The house was lived in, and the McDonald’s run by children. When on the children, a little girl, saw us we ran into the backyard and toward a river. In the river there where a couple of hippos. So we couldn’t escape that way. So we went around the house back to the base camp.
I decided that we needed to capture some of the enemy (the little children) for questioning. We formed a task force and we went in guns showing. We captured the kinds and lined them up outside. None of them would talk. I decided to try and trick them. I picked out the girl who saw me earlier and told her to say “Good bye” to all her friends because she wasn’t going to see them again. (Disclaimer: I had no intention of hurting her, just scare the others) I then took her around the building pulled out my gun and shot up in the air. I then told her that I would never hurt her. I bought her a ice cream cone and we sat down she told me about how her and the others have to live and work in the house and work at the McDonald’s for some guy named Ray something I don’t remember his last name. Anyway, I told her that I would help I went back to my men and started gather info on this Ray guy when I woke up.

I have a daughter named Myelin. She sends me postcards to Evans Lake. I'm at camp there. I wander around upper field. Joe is here, as is my mother. A snippy girl who looks like a cross between buffy the vampire slayer (I think) and a girl who beat me in the grade 8 student council election and then didn't go to student council meetings is in the mess hall, which is where the rec hall should be. She tells me my underwear smells bad; I tell her "at least I'm wearing some"; we glare at each other and she wanders off. I'm 18 (I remember thinking so. I'm not really.), but they've let me in as a camper anyhow. (the maximum age is 14) Still, I have special privileges. As the sun sets I sit under a log shelter with counselors and joseph/cameron, chatting and feeding the fire. We pass around a picture: about 15 oldish well-dressed men (think: picture of a board of school trustees from the 50s) all playing or holding guitars, crammed in to the skytrain. Oh, the skytrain! I must bus home from camp. I am on a bus. The driver misses my neighbourhood because he's distracted; we go for another spin around the whole route. There's a girl, Andrea, who's just had some horrible tragedy happen to her. A fire or something. The driver keeps embarassing her unintentionally by calling attention to her bravery and asking if she's okay. Finally, as we swing by Jericho Firehouse (this does not really exist) for the second time (I hope he makes the right turn this time), he gets some news on his radio. He tries to break it to her gently, but halfway through his clumsy introduction she can clearly tell he's about to say that her family is dead, so she just shakes her head, walks out of the bus and away. He is about to follow her, a well meaning but stupid puppy. I stop him with a hug (he's bare chested and sweaty now. eek. I am eerily reminded of the local fireman's calendar.) and tell him that though he means well, he's being a dork, now please come back and drive the bus. He kisses my forehead and sheepishly goes back to bus driving. At the next stop, when I am about to get off, Ben and Joe (the dynamic dream-haunting duo) get on the bus. They're wearing tuxedos with tails. Ben wobbles a bit; he's obviously a bit tipsy. Joe tells me someone spiked the punch with soy sauce. (ben is allergic to same) Heehee. We convince the bus driver to detour in to ubc and drop ben off at the frat house. The frat boys know how to take care of a tipsy roommate: they put ice cubes in his socks and tuck him in to bed. Joe and I forget where we were going; we go to sleep on the mysterious warm concrete block in the south side of ubc.

Nightmares are stuff we cook up in the maelstrom of poisonous thoughts, but the worst are the ones that have no apparent links to reality. Still they have a hold over adult rationale that is somehow shocking.
Last night I met Evil and she was a woman.

I should have learned to keep my mouth shut for she did terrible things to me every time I tried to protest. Locking me up and kicking me in the ribs do not count, her feet did not leave bruises. I could not find evidence of that when I woke up, but she left fear, nice fat chunks of fear scattered all over my bed.

I came up with the theory that Evil needed stale air to perpetuate herself and I snuck into a side room to pry open more windows. When I came back in I walked smack into her. Oh, I yelped. That was scary. This was too much, nevermind that I was serious. I was being glib and sassy and got tied to the wall.

Here is when I cried out, and the baby in my room stirred and cried out, and I jolted back to reality for a few moments. Somehow I sank again, though.
When it was my turn to die (because I had vexed Evil to the full extent), the fat lady on our side with us took off her beaded necklaces and proffered as many as Evil wanted in exchange for my lesser punishment. The Blabmouth is wrong, they all said, But she is still a child, here, take this, take that. Leave it be.

Evil took all the necklaces, (leathery skin crinkling) and unrolled the rugs. CHOOSE TWO she told me. Out rolled two little red-head children, pale skin and long straight hair. RUN, I said. RUN, we all said. We wanted them to get away safe. I would take whatever punishment I had coming. I deserved it all.

They ran into a closet and Evil followed and when we held that door shut they swelled and swelled and became one and exploded out onto us.

Last night I met Fear and she was a child, me, cowering against a frail and bony mother, strange face but protection. Mother, I said Keep me warm. Please. We were lying on a thin mattress and somehow the rattle of a weak woman's skeleton kept me shivering and safer. This is when Evil stood over us and I curled up with my eyes squeezed shut and mouth covered with shaking hands and she poured acid or something burning all over my neck, as we lay cowering.

I woke myself up at this point, yelping aloud. And I sat in the 4 a.m. light, afraid to shut my eyes. Twenty-one, and scared to sleep because of the thoughts my subconscious cooked up. Dawn came near six.
Police State Fragments

  • I arrive at Allen's apartment, lavishly decorated by his landlord. No one is home however and I walk around the place, checking out the many strange artifacts from other countries. I wonder where he and Nicole are. I get a strange feeling, as if they are here but I can't see or hear them. They arrive then, greeting me warmly. Allen says we're in for an eventful night.

  • Sitting around a broken wooden table in a field which has been informally designated as a garbage dump. With Allen, Nicole, and some others, I bring out my tiny glass jar and look inside. It's a mixture of marijuana and psilocybe cubensis. I hesitate but proceed to pack a bowl of this shamanic mix into the glass pipe I am offered. It's passed around the circle a couple of times and I fill it again. I feel distinctly stoned, and sense the growing body tingle of an impending mind fuck. Then the cops show up, busting down the hurricane fence and heading towards us. I deftly hide my jar under a bit of carpet lying near my foot and drop the pipe into a hole. They force us out of the field and cart us away to the mind control headquarters.

I had a dream a few days ago,
I was dreaming that I was dreaming that I was dreaming that I was dreaming......and so on until my alarm went off
every time I woke up I was still asleep
Do you see the first lines of a poem?
It was really kind of terrifying after awhile because
I was beginning to wonder if I was trapped in my dream.
The funny thing is that they say you cant dream about nothing,
if you are dreaming about a dream is
that any different than dreaming about nothing?
I suppose it is because you can not remember nothing
and you can't be terrified about nothing unless it is about your future

then a few days later I had another thought provoking dream

this dream was about a fire in one of
the dorms. This is not always a good thing since whenever I dream about
fires something similar happens shortly thereafter. Like the time the boiler
at school blew up and we had to go home in the middle of witer with no
coats. but that is besides the point. It could have easily been a
metaphor for the climate between my brother and I at the moment.
The dream was split into two parts.
The first part I was running errands all over campus. I was literally
running. Why cant I burn calories by running in my dreams? The dorms
were oddly spaced apart. 'am not sure where Van Meter is but I know its
not in the middle of a field like it was. Inside were all the people at
UMASS I graduated high school with. I cant say there are any that I'm
really friends with. The building was in flames and no one could get out, I
had to run a half a mile to find a yellow call boxes. (for emergency
phones they are not spaced very well) and when I kept calling 911 the
line was busy and there were smoke plumes coming up all over campus.
When the fire trucks came they got everyone out safely (even though
they had been trapped in there over an hour) For some reason I ended
up in jail. I don't know if this is the same dream or not because it doesn't
seem to follow a sequence unless I was somehow accused of setting the
fire which is not logical but I was asleep. We were forced to wear Pink
flowery cotton clothes and our beds were like small dog beds
and this girl didn't like me so she was really mean to me so I beat the hell
out of her and I was really scared because I knew as soon as someone
found out they would kill me so I grabbed some ones hand (this is the
weird part) I knew I was dreaming but I was trapped in the dream and I
couldn't wake up. And I told this girl to squeeze my hand really tightly so
that I would wake up. I did wake up it was 11:57 AM.So I made a pot of
coffee it took me about an hour to really enter back into reality. So I
wonder. People that inexplicably slip into comas in their sleep. Is it
because they get trapped in their dreams and they cant get out. Or was
I just unconsciously thinking about the movie THE CELL. I'm curious as to
whether or not I would have woken up if I had not squeezed some ones
hand to wake myself up, If you die in your sleep you don't necessarily die
in real life. I have. But is it possible. I think it might be.

The first thing I remember is ending someone's life. He was wearing a black coat, lying prone by a lake of black glass. I was slowly pushing a kitchen knife into his chest, which made creaking noises like the mannequins at CPR training. I was feeling frustrated and petty. His wife was standing beside him, watching, and as I stood she said, "I can't let you get away with that."

I got up and ran down to the lake, out onto an old wooden dock, then dove cleanly into the water. I surfaced behind an empty dingy furthur along shore, keeping it between me and a Coast Guard boat that churned by malevolently, obviously looking for me. I could sense purposeful movements all along the shore. The water was cold, and clear, but so deep that it looked black. After the Coast Guard passed, I got up onto the water as if it was somehow solid and ran after a cruise ship travelling in the opposite direction. I jumped onto the ship like it was a play structure in a children's playground. I pushed through unnoticing crowds of people, trying to get to the other side of the boat. I heard police pushing after me. There was no urgency, no guilt, no strong emotions of any kind, just me finally escaping the press, jumping off the boat onto shore and running up a grassy hill into a nearby large white house.

Suddenly I knew the house was in a large city. I ran upstairs, which appeared to hold classrooms of students for advanced subjects. I told one student where he should buy textbooks, and pretended to look studious in a different classroom, but thought to myself that they would soon realize I was not a Teacher's Assistant. I shut the door to the narrow wooden stairs leading upstairs, letting in a few of my friends (faceless) in the process. As I put plywood in front of the door, I could hear a SWAT team coming up the stairs with a battering ram. I picked up a red phone on a small table just to my right. I called my Dad to tell him what I had done, with the thought that if only he understood, I was all right with whatever else might happen. But I couldn't reach him, and for some reason I was flooded with the most searingly tangible sense of immeasurable sadness. I knew I could not escape, and I felt this profound sense of loss and regret at the waste of my life. I hung up the phone, and turned to my friends. With a sincerity that I can still feel, I said,

"I couldn't reach my father."
My friends murmured condolences at this, but I could only wonder,
"and this is a sadder moment to me than ending someone's life."

I turned and was suddenly walking out of a door hitherto unnoticed on the main floor. I still had a sense of people trying to bring me to justice, but I also knew that the authorities had purposefully disregarded this door in order for me to escape. I remember thinking in the dream that the police must have overheard my sadness. At peace, I walked out onto the busy street, knowing my life would never be the same because of what I had done.

As I began to walk away from my life and everything I had known, I met both of my parents and my sister. I told them what I had done. I remember my mother saying it was all right and my sister smiling, then I was walking behind my Dad towards the flight desk at the airport. Somewhere we had obtained (with blessing it felt) false passports, even though as I gave mine for inspection I noticed it was my childhood bank-book. The seated stewardess and the one standing by the door smiled at us and ushered us into first class. Then the plane was in flight and I knew I was safe. I sat down beside a striking woman in a dark green dress. She seemed familiar. As I sat, there was suddenly a large number of females in the seats ahead of me, who had turned and were looking at me in stern recognition. I placed a hand lightly on the knee of the girl beside me, and leaning forward counted them aloud.

"There are seven of you?" I asked with a grin.
"Yes, we're septuplets," said one, "two triplets and a singlet."

And we all laughed, and as I sank back into my seat, I knew that everything was going to be okay.

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