Really short, really odd ...

Part One : A whole bunch of stuff vaguely connected to the computer game American McGee's Alice (which has some memorable visuals to say the least). Exit stage left to ...

Part Two : I'm walking down the street, when who should I chance upon but Gnarl. He's leaning on some railings.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I've just come back from an art course," he replies, "say, did you ever read that book about that guy, Seamus Wainwright (I think that's what he said) who went to pathology courses although he'd never had any medical training?"

I told him No, I'd never heard of it.

"Well, there was a satirical version which is the same, except at the end you find out the guy's name is Seamus Poo Wainwright Poo. It's pretty funny."

At this point I notice the empty bottle dangling from his hand, his palid complexion and the way he's using the fence for support.

"You're drunk aren't you?"

"I may be, I may be. Yesh. But. You are listening to my words of wisdom." (at which point I woke up)

Stay outta my fucking dream!

Unusually for me, I remember 4 dreams. All very vivid.
  1. I went into a corner shop to buy a Kit Kat (a chocolate bar wrapped in foil and paper). The shopkeeper winked at me and showed me how to fold the wrapper in such a way as to conceal drugs in it. Suddenly the Kit Kat was enormous, and the wrapping was Tin foil and bubble wrap. There was a pocket big enough to hold a kitten in the wrapper. Later, when I woke up, I wanted to remember how to make that fold.

  2. A middle-aged couple were having sex in a little wooden house. Disturbingly, their teenage daughter was sitting in the corner shouting encouragement at them.
    "Go on Dad, fuck a stone off her!"

  3. My brother, my wife and I were driving a big black car around the owner's house. We couldn't make it stop. Putting it in neutral and applying the handbrake didn't help - It just kept on going. We were getting worried that we wouldn't be able to put it back in the garage without the owner noticing it was missing. Eventually, the owner's son hopped in and told us to drive it into the tennis court and turn off the engine. It stopped just before a high grass bank. Phew. As we got out, the car was actually R2-D2. The helpful boy looked at me, he was wondering if I was going to take it with me. "You keep the droid", I said kindly.

  4. I dreamed there was a wasp in my ear. No visuals, no-one else in the dream, just me and a wasp - sound and feeling. I woke up terrified. This has happened to me while awake before (though I was only 5 years old and so don't remember it well). On waking, I was panicking. The change from dreaming to being awake was slow, and I thought it was happening for real. Relief when awake enough to realise it wasn't.

Somehow my father had found the gold, the gold the nazi’s had stolen from the Jews. It was stacked in a large cabinet in the abandoned #14 Vault/??? station on the red line of the MBTA. The blocks had been formed into the shape of nintendo 64’s for some reason that I couldn’t quite fathom. The dream repeated throughout the night with a few minor variations, one time we missed our train because I had trouble running through a large cylindrical room with it’s own set of gravitational rules, once I was on my own and got lost in that same station which was one stop down the line from the gold.

In every iteration though, the basic plan remained the same. Take the T to the #15 station, run through the tunnels to the # 14, grab some of the gold and hide from any passing trains, climb through the large sewer pipe in the wall and crawl, swim, and climb my way out with the gold. The pipe led to a large sunny field far from the T station.

I was dreaming that I was at my computer talking on ICQ. Nothing really interesting physically, but I was talking to Sophie, a friend I hadn't seen since secondaire 2 (grade 8). For some reason, she had always been on my contact list (which isn't true in real life) but she just came online out of nowhere and I was very excited, because I wanted to ask a million questions. I asked her which school she went to and she said ICC (which isn't really a school, but one of those paid colleges in real life). Then I asked her what kind of music she listened to nowadays (I remember her being Punkish/Skater at the time I knew her), but apparently, she had changed her tastes and listened to Ani Difranco. I asked her what she wore and she told me a black outfit. While she was describing me her black outfit (the classy business type: two piece, long skirt, boots, jacket), I was picturing her being at her computer replying to me. She still had the short hair (although I hadn't asked about that), glasses and she had matured a great deal. I don't remember what I asked next, but the answer resulted in her describing a girl which she was best friends with. Her name was Sherona (hehe) and all she wore was Cowboy outfits. While she was describing Sherona with immense detail, I was picturing a catalogue with the Cowboy pants, shirt, hat and boots her friend wore. She commented that Sherona didn't wear anything "up-to-date", but it was nice and really fitted her style.

I don't remember the rest, but when I was picturing her room while typing at her computer, it was a small room with plants on a shelf above her computer tower. It was a very small and clean room, but had a lot of stuff in it like books. She had her legs crossed in her black outfit, short dirty blonde hair and glasses. I imagined that Sherona resembled a lot to Irvine Kinneas from Final Fantasy 8, but with dark blue jeans.

In the dream, I had asked all the questions and she hadn't asked any questions about me. I also remember during our conversation that I had forgotten how to say a specific word and I typed "neoprogesterone" instead of the "neo-something" that I meant. For some reason, she was able to format the text so that she could underline certain parts of my messages to correct me. Although I hadn't seen her for so many years, I felt as if she was my best friend and that she was "too cool", while I acted as if I was somekind of ditzy high school girl asking a multitude of questions.

About Sophie
In Secondaire 2, Sophie had to change schools, because her best friend, Nathalie, convinced all her friends to hate her. I was friends with both of them, but I didn't choose sides. In secondaire 3 (grade9), she had gone to another school in PAT and I hadn't seen her since. She was a really kind and gentle person and I felt sorry that she had to change schools. btw I searched for her name on ICQ and two results popped out. One of them, I'm not sure while the other one could suggest that it's her, because the birth year is one year older than mine, which could be possible. I don't know whether I should message those people or not, because in real life, she would probably not even remember me.

Medieval knight asked me to arrange a marriage for him with a friend of mine. Quite haughty and aristocratic fellow.

I found his request very odd since I knew he was a eunuch.

I was standing at the summit of an incredibly high, snow-covered mountain with a few members of my family. As I watched, both my parents parachuted off the mountain into a mist-filled crevasse. This is odd, because my mother in real life has a paralysing fear of heights. Anyhow, I got the idea that I was expected to jump too, but as I was in mid-air, I suddenly panicked and changed my mind. I found myself hanging off the edge of the cliff, and someone had to pull me back up. The rest of the dream was spent sort of aimlessly sitting at the top of the mountain, waiting to hear whether or not my parents were alright. No one else seemed worried, for some reason, even though I was completely horrified at the idea of them jumping off a cliff. Even now, as I write this, I am completely spooked.

Don't normally remember my dreams but this left an impression.

I went away to the west of Ireland to go climbing, sleeping in Liam Reinhart car. Connor Burns and Ed Wheelan, old climbing partners there too.

Dirk Carstens might have been with us. Scene shifts from the cliff tops to the inside of a house, leaning out the window in the evening, looking out along the top of the cliffs, American Stealth Bombers are destroying everything, I think I can see fifty maybey a hundrerd circiling in the sky, they approach us, we know we are going to die. As they get closer it becomes apparent to all of us that someone is trying to destroy all of mankind. There is one hope of escape, they invaders are not killing some special people, the reason is unclear.

We crawl through the window, someone in our group is recognised as being special and we are not killed but we begin to turn into the aliens. Our heads swell, large bulgin eyes, fish like skin, spherical heads, very odd.

With everyone turned into aliens the aliens and ourselves now assume humn form. They have come to replace humans ?

We are now walking along the streets of Dublin, but the streets are waterlogged, it is like Venice, the footpaths are narrow, passsing others is not possible.

A fight ensues, much acrobatics, not resolved,

Later in a living room sitting around, who are aliens who are real people?, the aliens begin saying that their plan is succsesfull, they have destroyed all the Jews, this disturbs me, I don't understand why. A pill is passed around those who are aliens who eat retake their original form, then a human eats it and dosen't change, there is dismay amongst the aliens, this person is Jewish. It becomes clear that the aliens cannot keep a human form in the presence of a jewish person. The aliens covet the human form as theirs is plain ugly and this was the motivation for killing the Jews.

Then the dream turns to a guided tour of somewhere, on a plank, plastic trinkets, Elizabeth Taylor's shoes.

For at least part of my dream, a few of us were going to a Chinese restaurant. It wasn't far, so we were walking. We were supposed to meet others there. When we got to the restaurant (which I think was where the Alpha Phi house stands on Warring & Bancroft in meatspace, but it was really dark) we found it to be surprisingly elegant and expensive. The floors were shiny marble and pillars of deep green and magenta with gold detail rose just to the ceiling here and there. The restaurant was very busy, but the hostess immediately recognized us and began leading us to our table where the rest of our party already awaited.
When we got to Dodger Stadium, the game was underway. We took our box seats and enjoyed a spectacular game. After it was over, we noticed something strange -- there were extra random baseballs scattered about the outfield. They must have been there the whole time; somebody must have been cheating. We didn't think much of it, and jumped onto the field to grab them as souvenirs. We got split up, as other people started filling the field as well.

On my way back to the car, I ran into my older brother, who insisted that some random rental RV was the vehicle we had arrived in. I knew this to be false (we did come in an RV, just not that particular one). We got separated again, and I presume he made it to his car and headed home. There were at least 3 separate cars there -- his car plus 2 filled with my friends (one of them was the RV). I got there first, and found nobody there. I didn't have the keys, so I just waited. People were still streaming out of the stadium and my friends were bound to arrive shortly.

I went over to the side wall of the parking structure on whose top level we were parked. From here I looked down over the parking lot and front entrance to the stadium, with crowds of people milling about everywhere. A man sporting blue jeans, a flannel shirt, a baseball cap and a crazy big mustache approached me and struck up conversation.

After a bit, he told me my friends had left without me. When I looked back the RV was gone, along with every other car that had been parked there before. The man found this endlessly amusing, and decided to have some more fun by rocking the entire parking structure somehow. The structure flexed easily, flinging around side to side and up and down. I asked him to cut it out, but he only made it stronger. I started screaming "STOP!" at the top of my lungs, until my voice eventually gave out. I escaped by leaping over the side wall once the structure swung low to the ground. The crazy guy started hurling random scraps of sheet metal at me, but I ducked and jumped and dodged them. He started to chase me.

There was nobody around anywhere. I headed straight for the stadium, hoping to lose him in the corridors. I was faster than him, and evaded him for a long time but I could always hear him yelling at me, cackling maniacally as he announced that he would find me no matter where I hid. I expected to see some grounds crew or security staff somewhere, but nobody was around. I tried to yell for help but my voice was still hoarse. I ended up in the outfield bleacher seats, which were rickety old wooden benches stacked high among buildings to the outside like at Wrigley Field.

I managed to climb up to the scoreboard, where I finally found somebody to help me. He was pretty clueless, but he asked why I was terrified and out of breath. I explained it to him, and he decided to call 911. Just then I realized he was in cahoots with the older guy, and was just trying to stall me there until he would show up.

I got to my feet and started running again, and headed straight back for the main gate and ran outside the stadium into the parking lot. The sun was blinding as I exited the dark stadium corridors, and the asphalt was hot and smelled of tar. As far as I could see through my squints in all directions was schlering over pavement, and I felt defeated.

That's all I remember.

Every night I would go outside and sleep in the car. I'd put on my sweats that were cut off at the ends and too short, and my Scooby Doo socks, and walk outside across the street from a house and sleep in there. I'd go back inside the house on a regular basis through the night, though, I'm not sure for what. It was best I sleep outside - at least there I could smoke cigarettes without bothering anyone.

It was a special car, fully automated. I didn't understand the controls, and it ended up resembling a scooter sometimes. The dashboard had all these controls, fully automated, and the car stopped and started purely by the tension of my muscles. It took some getting used to, though, as I drove the streets of Boston and the traffic sped by me too fast. All the cars were honking and I began to get paranoid, unable to move my car at any faster rate. "You're slouching," he said, and I sat up straight and began to get some speed.

I'm inside my parent's bedroom and there's a large stereo set upon a chair or table. I'm burning a CD of Frente!, but my favorite song is missing. I remember it's in the other directory, but I can't find it, as I rummage through the assorted hairspray bottles and perfumes on the bathroom counter. I figure it's okay, and I set it aside, promising to finish it later.

I glance in the mirror on my way outside to get the mail, and adjust my scarf. I'm barefoot but the ice on the steps doesn't bother me, nor does the gravel in the driveway. Our mailbox isn't at the end of the driveway but halfway up, attached to a tree. I check to see if any of the mail is addressed to me, and only two letters are. I promptly throw all of them in the snow, because it's suddenly very important that I go for a bike ride.

The barn door is much lighter than usual, I open it easily. There's nothing in there but the bike which is presumably mine. It's oversized; the wheels are probably 75cm in diameter. In place of my neighbor's yard there stands an office building, with a large empty parking lot. I jog over there and begin riding, very slowly.

The snow is still falling but it's not very deep yet. It's night, and I can see the stars very well. They're exaggerated, though: large round spots of white that look as though they've been cut out and glued there. There are several lampposts, and I am fascinated by the shadows the spokes of the wheels make. The tire tracks of the bike diverge every time I make a turn, looking like the outline of a ribbon.

A man comes out of the building. He's smoking, and his voice is scratchy. He looks at me, and I back at him. "You are not allowed here." His inflection is odd, it reminds me of my grandparents and so I think English is not his first language.

I try to say something, but my voice isn't loud enough for him to hear me. I decide that I don't care, and sit down in the snow. I'm trying to read what the bike tracks say- the ribbon-like pattern is actually script. I can't understand it, though. I can hear the man behind me, laughing. I stand up to glare at him.

"How unladylike," he says, now seriously angry with me, "You know that it is against the rules!" He says something else, too, but his strange accent is distracting and I'm not really listening.

I want to answer, but I still can't speak. I pick up my bike, and some black-and-white photographs which seem to have spontaneously appeared.

...Then I wake up and yank the alarm's cord out of the wall since I can't find it but I do know exactly where it's plugged in. It really wasn't supposed to go off at three thirty. I'm pretty pissed because I wanted to finish that dream. Now I have to take it apart and find out what's wrong with it...

Not too long ago I had one of those incredibly detailed dreams. The kind of dream when you wake up you are not quite sure if it was reality or not. My family has a yearly gathering where we all get together and catch up on life. My dream took place at such a gathering. Unfortunately during the height of our little party we were suddenly attacked by land sharks. They should really be called ground sharks since they travel through the soil, but you still have that trademark fin that sticks out of the dirt so you know when one is coming. Everyone was running and trying to find a good place to escape from the deadly creatures, but uncle Bob got eaten as well as a few other relatives and family pets. Fortunately the sharks couldn't get close to me since I was under a large Oak tree and the roots were just too dense. It was really a rather frightening dream, but the humor came when I told the story to a friend of mine (a doctoral student no less). After I was finished speaking she took a moment then looked at me and said "Are there really land sharks?". "No" I replied. "It was just my dream."

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