Dream Log: July 6, 2000

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I was driving through some country roads, being chased by distant, unloved relatives.

I was driving a left hand drive car, which is strange because I live in the UK. The car had cool touch screen controls for all functions, and a thumb wheel accelerator on the side of the steering wheel.

Every so often, the car would disappear and I would be walking. This would happen when I drove into a crowded village.

It seemed quite sunny - normally weather doesn't figure highly in dreams...

My relatives caught up with me in a town square with a fountain. I tried to escape through a tunnel, but gave up when they were waiting for me at the other end. They admonished me for running away, then left.

_-=discontinuity=-_

Dream Girl was standing before me, in Ripley style military trousers and vest top. She had her hair in a bun, but when I looked closer, a scorpion climbed over her head towards me. I backed away, terrified. Dream Girl couldn't understand what was the matter.

I woke up, frantically trying to squash the spider that was in my hair...

Tonight I have dreamed again about her.
I was in the outskirts of the city, I knew it because of the great avenues illuminated by phosphorus amber lights, and the stream of cars that went to the entrails of a dark tunnel.
I had already seen a cab when suddenly, I saw a firetruck full of beautiful young people . The faces passed by in slow motion, half a meter of me. Then I saw her. Her expression was of tiredness. We saw each other and we extended our hands, in a second we went from the resignation of loosing the moment to stopping the time, to freezing the dream around us.
She came next to me, with sadness in her face. We touched ourselves knowing that we had to separate, that the encounter was not possible.
Kisses at the end of the skin, neck and a terrible sadness.

I am not going to continue with this dream, because I am not sure of what happened afterwards. I just know that I have waken up with the desire to write a low node.

I saw you in the window. You had already drawn a huge crowd, they almost obscured you. You looked happy but I was far away and I couldn't run out to meet you even though I had to warn you.

They were everywhere suddenly. They swarmed the building, black faceless things I don't think they were human. They communicated somehow, not through speech but it was all very organized. All the people panicking, terrified but these black things had an agenda.

I saw the bomb skitter across the floor.

I dove down covering my head. I felt the floor shake, the heat, the bits of glass and metal swirling around me. I felt warm sticky something all over my skin, but no pain.

The window was fogged with smoke, but I knew you were not there. There was nothing outside anymore.

In my dream, my little sister is handicaped. For some reason, she can't talk, but still she's not technically mute. Whenever she opens her mouth, she twitters like a bird. This bothers my parents, my Dad in particular, who goes out and buys her a magic balloon that lets her fly; like the balloon is like the ones in the Miracle Man comic book. When Dad showed her the balloon, my sister clapped her hands was giggled happily. So she takes the balloon and flies away and my Dad starts crying, "That's not what I meant, that's not what I meant!" I guess he thought that my sister thought that he was trying to get rid of her.

It was very sad.

Then the phone rang and I answered it and it was my sister who was laughing and twittering into it and, for the first time, I could understand her bird-talk and she said that she loved me and I was happy.

Alright, here we go. My dream started out with me being invited to a party a sorta-friend of mine, Chris Brown, was throwing. The party was being thrown in a sort of half-arcade, half-abode type place, with lots of people hanging out, being bubbly and all that jazz. So there I am, just kind of "being" there, when someone starts playing an arcade game. I don't know what the game was, or don't even recall any of the action, but I know that I soon walked up to the game and started playing, and before long, I was beating everyone in the place at it. So, eventually my exploits gain the attention of Chris, and he invites me "into the back", which is actually up some stairs that are in the back of the main room. So we go up to this "private party" and I begin doing lots of coke with the other people there. I drink a few more beers and before long I blank out.

At this time in real life, I awaken and go to the bathroom, then go back to bed, where the dream the continues (Does this ever happen to anyone else?)

I awaken in a jail cell, and standing up, begin hollaring for someone to get me out of here. Aparently, I had known that I blacked out at the party and somehow the cops picked me up. Eventually, I found out I was to be sentenced to 30 days at some juvenille prison, which is odd, because I kept thinking "I shouldn't be sent there, I'm an adult". So eventually I'm put into some white coveralls and dumped out on the street somewhere around 72nd and Hosmer (I know, I know, you people don't know where I live, so this is meaningless). I thought it odd that I was released to be free, but I knew that I had to get back to the prison, because I'd be in big trouble if I didn't return. I remember thorought the dream, looking down at my chest and seeing the numbers "37015" stenciled on the jumpsuit, aparently it was my number. I knew where I was, but I -didn't- know where to go, per se. I wandered about the landscape for what seemed like forever, just trying to get to the prison. Eventually, I came upon a bunch of old, burned out buildings I must have thought were the prison, so I approached them. I searched all of the buildings for my number, but couldnt find the one which matched "37015", and after awhile, I saw an old farmer, and I asked him the way. He told me I needed to head down 72nd street all the to "Old Mueller Road", which i could follow all the way to the prison. I thanked him and was on my way. Along the way, I came across a crowd of fellow inmates, who were also wandering aimlessly about the countryside, and singled one of them out whom I recognized. It was a kid named adam, and I don't know why, but I started talking shit to him, and he eventually did the whole "throw your arms up in the air" wanting to fight thing. So i just laughed and chided him, and he slung insults back at me. Eventually I shouted something like "shut up bitch, you're just talking shit because you don't want to get your ass beat by a short guy!" and everyone laughed at him. (btw I'm about 5'8" and I think he's around 6'0" even). So i continued on the way and eventually happened upon a friend of mine, Chrispin. Chrispin was NOT clad in an inmates uniform, but he agreed to acompany me to the prison. So we continued up 72nd street for awhile (it should be noted that 72nd is a main arterial street where I live, with somethin like two lanes on each side, plus the middle turning lane). Eventually, 72nd mutated into a country road, with pastures all around, and then into a heavily forested logging road. When we came to "Old Mueller Road", the roads kind of end and veared off in all sorts of odd directions. And I asked "Is that the one?" Pointing at a road, and the old farmer appeared and said "Yes, just go that way boy". And I gave him my thanks again and Chrispin and I continued on that road. Eventually we came upon a bluff that overlooked the prison (which I must add looked disturbingly like my old highschool). So I bid farewell to my companion Chrispin and journeyed down to the prison. When I reached the courtyard, there were a number of prisoners and a few adults standing in rank there. One of the adults commanded everyone to produce their papers. After I just stood there for awhile, trying to get the attention of an adult, one of them pointed at me and said "You too". So I dug into my pocket to produce my papers, finally feeling a sense of ease at having made it to the prison. It was really odd, for every pocket I dug into, I produced a piece of paper. At about this time, I awoke and tried to return to sleep, I wanted to see the rest of the dream out.

It was depressing, to understate. I was a sad pro wrestler, past my prime a la Jake "the Snake" Roberts, desperately wanting out of the biz but not having enough to retire and with no other marketable skills to get a job doing anything else.

And I was wrestling a giant man with a shaved head who had once been a Joe, a piping contractor or house painter or something like that and he was now a WRESTLER, and it was what he wanted to be more than anything in the world

and because he reminded me of my shattered dreams I was trying to destroy him more than anything else, piledrivers and backbreakers but the moves weren't working; the ropes were too springy, the floor too bouncy, myself incapable of bringing myself to inflict real pain on anything, I lowered his torso to my knee rather than slamming it down.

Though he had passion for his craft, because I was a named performer, I won the match, holding my fist up in triumph for the packed stadium.

Then I went backstage and threw up so hard the convulsions caused me to shit my spangled wrestler underwear, waking up with dry heaves.

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