Dream Log: October 15, 2000

Amount of workers unions had doubled and they were fighting amongs themselves. One of the classical examples those everyone knew around there was that building had burned down because two groups of firemen had started fighting about which one shall put the fire down. Anyway, as the dream started, I was in a trailer camp, and there was again a large battle going on for some stupid thing.. I dont know what I did there, but somehow my fingernail broke. Thats not normally such a big problem, but my thumbnail was split into two pieces, and the head of my thumb was split as well! There wasnt any blood or bones, as the crack between the pieces of my thumb looked like split wax model. It still hurt, and I was horrified by noticing that I had had a round empty space under the nail for my lifetime. I knew I'd have to keep the pieces together so they wont grow separated, so I demanded tape from someone who just happened to be nearby. He was serbian and didnt understand finnish, but I managed to somehow explain what I needed. He had an almost empty roll of electric tape, and I rolled it around my thumb to hold it together. My nail pieces werent connected straight yet, so I asked if he had more tape. He didnt, so I headed through the field of people fighting with everything from baseball bats and fistcuffs to swords and axes to my equipment box. It was like a long toolbox with leather insides, but when I didnt find any tape withing the tools, I pulled the skin off my healthy hand like it would be a glove, revealing my shiny mechanical skeleton. I struck my fingers into holes on the leather surface and pulled it off to look under it, not caring about the light vulcan cannon I had integrated to my arm. I didnt find any from there either, so I shouted to fighting people if they had tape, but naturally they didnt pay attention. I sweared at them and shot a long burst across the area, killing several of them and getting rest of them to stop their fighting and drop on their knees with hands behind their heads for surrendering. I shouted at them and DEMANDED to know if they had any tape, but when after a long silence one of them said that no one had, I was so pissed that I shot them all. I dropped the empty gun and walked straight into some fine restaurant, shouting if they had tape, but everyone was just scared of me so I walked on to find some myself. As I was entering the kitchen, one of the waiters rushed to stop me, but I hit him into stomach and threw him against a table that chrashed from his weight. Behind the doors a cook came to stop me, but he had seen what I did so he stood aside peacefully. Another cook in the kitchen tried to attack me with frying pan, so I beated him to the ground and continued to a staircase on the other side of the kitchen. Stairs led to a perfectly cube-shaped room that was painted all blue, and in the middle of it was a dimensional gate a la town portal from Diablo. I looked at my thumb, and it seemed to hold together somewhat, but I still kept the tape around it and stepped into the portal. It got me to a small temple at some alien planet with red sand and cliffs around the small opening. I stepped outside, and another traveler came from the portal. It was a large dark armored figure with glowing sharp-edged wings on his back, and he introduced himself as an arch-angel that has come to destroy me. He wielded two swords, which both had two blades separating from the handle. To make the match fair, he tossed me a normal sword, and I because my thumb would most likely hold on, I accepted the challenge, and woke up..

I looked at the clock. It was 10:00pm. Outside, my dad was starting a barbecue. I looked at the clock again. It was 8:00pm. Shit. I brought my hand to my chest. My heart was leaking. A vein in my heart exploded. Blood was leaking out of it. I ran downstairs to my dad.

"My heart is bleeding," I told him frantically. He threw his steaks into the barbecue and we were in his truck. I kept holding my chest. I could feel it leaking. I could feel the blood spurting out of it.

He was driving fast. He almost sped off the road. The tires kept screeching. We had to make it to the hospital. I told him it was okay. I could last a while longer. My dad kept mumbling that he never drives this bad, as he nearly slid off the road again.

I have insomnia. I've had insomnia for months. Usually, I will get three or four hours of sleep each night. After four to five days of this, my body is near collapse and I end up sleeping for twelve to fifteen hours. Obviously this isn't something I want or enjoy, but that's how it is. I've found that when I have these long periods of sleep my dreams are more vivid, less likely to be remembered, and more emotionally profound. On normal nights, my dreams are fleeting and not very fulfulling.

I'm struck by the impact that dreams can actually have on us. I know for myself, at least, I've had some of my most brief and intense emotional moments upon waking from dreams. I just thought I'd mention that.

Last night I don't remember that about which I dreamt in detail. It was a dream with a recurring theme: an old flame that burns now, assuredly, alone. The last time I wrote a dream log it was roughly the same as this one: there was an inscrutable white mist that hung vivaciously in the air; the sun outside was more omnipresent than a source; the woman in question had just left me.

In this dream, however, there was a darkness that seemed to hang about. The formerly bright haze was noticably less alive. I could feel the hard lump of pain in my throat and the burning of my eyes. The light indoors was weak and ineffective. The clothing of the woman in question was a black sweater with black pants. My own clothes were dark green pants and a sweater. Everywhere I looked, details were obscured by darkness where darkness should not have been: the dresser and hanging clothes in the closet melted into each other in black; the television and its stand were a single dark column at the edge of my vision; the bed clothes were a dark blue; the door was dark green on the inside and outside, not just the outside as it is in reality. I could sense the darkness in the dream, but the quiet, nagging feeling at the back of my mind was overshadowed by the stronger emotions of the dream.

It seemed to be hours long, and the time traversed was days at least, but I'm sure the period of time in reality was only several twenty minute spans. The story is the same: she tells me she cannot be with me. I, distraught and lost, return to my old apartment after having moved in with her several months earlier. The next day, she comes to me and asks for forgiveness. I accept and trepidatiously, but happily, return to my life with her. She acts as though everything is all right, and the needs of my life now are fulfilled in the dream of then. That's all this dream is, essentially; it is the manifestation of my own emotional wants and needs of the present in something I desperately wanted in the past. I no longer love this woman the way I once did. I no longer desire her or a relationship with her.

I do not want her. I do not want what she has. I do not want what she can give. I do not want the dreams of her.

All these dreams do is give me pain. Every night I live and die. Every night I love and lose, twice. I awaken and cry to myself in my bed.

I have insomnia, and I am made more tired by this rest. I need sleep.

This was a good one. Brought to you by an extremely hot room and cheddar cheese before bedtime:

I'm in the process of moving house. As is often the case in my dreams, loads of people I know are peripherally present. I'm trying to pack boxes full of my stuff. (This reminds me of when I moved out of the flat in Wapping ... I hate fucking packing.) My Dad is telling me to hurry up. We keep getting interrupted by something. Also, I stop a couple of times to change my clothes for some reason.

Anyway, we finally get to where we're moving to, and I'm looking out the car window. There's a load of people outside. Brawling bikers. Someone tells me one of the hell's angels has the car keys. I see him. I call out the window for him to give the keys back. Then, I shout, slowly and deliberately : "GIVE. ME. THE. FUCKING. CAR. KEYS." Everyone is silent and the guy comes up to the car window. He hands over the keys, and explains that his biker gang are on our side (they're going to help move the boxes) but another biker gang is here trying to stop them. I think he has the car keys to stop us running off or calling the cops or not paying them or all of the above. (Oh, and the biker gangs are called, excellently, Gang X and Gang Y. Get a load of that, Freud.) Um, then I woke up. Cool dream.

I found myself in high school, signing up for classes. On the first day of class, our music teacher chose to take us to the auditorium where Roger Waters was hanging out. I persuaded him to sing "Comfortably Numb" and he did some other pink floyd songs also. A.P. Biology somehow involved getting on a cruiseliner, where all my usual friends could be found. Also on board were Andreea and the guy she was seeing now, I was supposed to share a cabin with them. He was running around outside making a complete ass of himself, and I asked Andreea what she saw in him - she said that it was because of his status...

When I entered the cabin, I noticed that their beds were moved together and claimed (stuff on top of them), wherein mine was moved into the corner of the room. Disillusioned from what I thought we still had, I left the cabin and walked around.