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.


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.

     I work a job as a movie-theatre audience-watcher - basically I sit by the audience and watch the movie with them. My boss gets up in front of the people and decides to talk to me, blocking the screen, no one says anything because after all, he is the boss. After work, a friend and I try to get into an exchange box in the parking lot, but there are cop cars around so we wait. Some drunken bastard pulls up beside us with a bottle of Bombay Saphire and some beer - breaks both bottles and proceeds to spraypaint the window of my mom's car with pictures of buildings. I jump on him and try to get him to stop, but then the cops show up.
     I find myself in line for electrocution, all the people enque seem pacific about it. I strike up a conversation with the girl ahead of me and completely forget why we're here. The building looks like a train station, high ceilings, two lines of people and confession booths in front of them. But then I see it. A young, charred body being carried by two guards out of the door. I am to die, right now. And, judging by the guards at the door, there is no way out. Hoping it is a dream, I still don't wake up. I am to die, right now and I accept this. Then I wake 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.

I am invited to a party and we are all standing around waiting for something to happen. Steve Burns (of Blue’s Clues) is the main attraction, a for hire male stripper. He comes in looking distracted with a mini boom box and long trench coat. Underneath, sure enough, are the trademark green stripped underpants. I look around at the other women and think, “I am hanging out with a bunch of nerds.”. Then it occurs to me that they are not really nerdy it’s just that they have open faces, too bright eyes, no malaise brewing under the surface. Suddenly I am jealous.

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.

That guy is sitting in my living room with me and a couple of other people. I am looking at an art book, and commenting on one of the photographs when we all hear a loud banging outside. I run to the window to look out, and there is a clown standing on my deck. Thinking nothing of it, we all look out the other window, and see tons and tons of clowns gathering outside. There's a friggin' clown convention right in my backyard! The guy turns to me, eyes shining, and says "Can I go, mommy? Can I??" Uhhhh...

I am outside now, at a street festival, and I'm stringing up dozens of christmas lights. Someone nearby says something about needing to cook, IMMEDIATELY, and out of nowhere, they just whip up some sort of weird salmon pasta dish. I don't like it, so I start flinging linguini everywhere and end up being interrogated by some passing food police.

And then I'm giving someone a blow job like my life depends on it. I don't know, maybe it did...
It starts off normal (see: nekkid things running about me and acidently hitting Lt. Uppy) - then it becomes odd.

I see my mother being chased by a dark thing, somthing I cannot explain or describe. The only thing I really realize is that its dark with wisps of hair (also dark) comming from it. I'm in some kind of hall, watching it in horror. The are doors randomly placed in this (what seems to be) infinate hall way. Somehow I come to the realziation that there of no value, as if I KNOW there locked, or that whats in them is of little value.

Anyway, my mother is running from this dark thing, yet I cannot help but nottice the dark thing and her also dont seem to be really moving. That is, there moving, yet I'm not, but yet there always in my vision.

Perhaps there not moving, Perhaps its the hall thats moving.

My mother fears this dark thing, and I fear for her - but I just stay where I am (wherever I am) - I care, yet I dont move.

Suddenly, the hall changes to a room. An odd hearim(spl?)-like room. A $20 is burning in my mothers hand, which is down by her side. Her other arm is waving in front of the dark person who I then realize to be my father galivanting without his shirt on.

My mother and father are screaming at each other, and the room apears to be dieing. The bill is still burning in her hand. They yell louder and louder, and the room dies more and more. Its slowly collaposing around me. Outside of the room is a sunny vally with white tullips. My mother grabs my hand and pulls me out of the room (which, was more of a building in reflection).

I feel young

My emotions are conflicted, I look at my father, the burning $20 now by his feet the the rubble. I look at my mother (who for some reason is wearing the Leave it to beaver's mother's garb).

I wake up; there is yelling again. I'm in my bed - my OLD bed. I see my parrents in the kitchen, there discussing everything that could be dremt of. My mother has a bag of somthing, she walks out the door and throws it into the snow with a THUMP. She then walks up stains. My father yells "Dont play games with me girl!", and walks out to get the unknown bag. I lock the doors out of fear, but dont recal him having an existance (I diddent feel he existed in my dream any futher).

I woke again - this time hoping I was in the real world.
Hardware Heart Of Darkness

  • I'm with my dad, step-mom and friend, Mario, on a car trip to an outdoor festival of some sort. We arrive at our destination: a wilderness/wetlands area. My dad temporarily parks the car in a field while he finds out where the gathering is taking place. Mario and I find an amplifier and microphone in the field so Mario brings out his bass and we jam a little. I make strange noises with the mic and feedback while Mario lays down the bassline. After a while my dad returns and tells us the meeting is out on a rocky hill we can see nearby. We get in the car and drive over there to discover that the hill has become an island due to recent flooding. My dad is determined, however, and makes an attempt at fording the moat. The attempt fails, of course, and we abandon the car for our own sturdy feet. The other attendees greet us and explain that the meeting will continue several miles deep inside the forest. Since the whole area is flooded, my dad hires a man with a boat to take us down the newly-formed river to our destination.

    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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