Dream Log: February 22, 2002

I was a detective, and the mood of the dream was something between eXistenZ, Magic Carpet and Max Payne.. I dont remember what my mission was, but as I got to one drug scientists hut in the slums, I had to make an ethical choise. Though the doctor was cooperative, I knew he was hiding something, so I waited untill the friendly old doctor crouched over to pick something up, and hit him in the back of his neck with a long metal stick with a lump of iron on its head (I had used this iten yesterday at the sandpits.). He fell on the ground, but as I started looking around his drawers, I noticed that he was undead! Apparently he had been a well-preserved zombie all the time, but now I had angered him and he wielded a big weapon with two orange canisters of gas on each side of it. I somehow escaped to a light aircraft with some people in it, but soon after the takeoff the zombie shot the plane and we had to make a crash landing. Fortunately we had gotten far enough so I wasnt followed, but police and firefighters that came to secure the plane forced us to stay inside because this would make great material for the tv news. A man with a camera got in, but I really didnt like the way people were forced to stay in the plane just for the news, so when the camera got to me, I took the cameraman hostage. He seemed to think this was romantic, so I prodded the camera against his head to get him serious, and dragged him outside. Then, I dont remember what happened..

Next thing I remember is the final battle against the syndicate. I prepared to meet the leader of the syndicate by making a battle plan behind a mountain cottage with the gang that had hired me. It wasnt exactly much of a plan, since we just attacked the leader's bodyguards standing in the yard of the cottage. I managed to kill most of the bodyguards with the large weapon I had gotten from the zombie doctor at some point, but for my suprise, the gang had disappeared somewhere during my firefight. The leader who was still standing laughed at me, and soon I noticed why he was laughing as two floating stone faces rose over the edge of the yard, shooting bolts of lightning all around. The leader of the syndicate escaped with a rope track, and I had to escape down the hillside as the stone faces hovered after me. As I got down to a road spiraling around the mountain, I soon located a manhole I had used before, and got down into a secret storage room. The leader of the syndicate didnt know I had gotten there, and got into the room through an underground passage. He called in a Shai-Hulud that dug a tunnel through the floor of the room, but then I suprised him and struck him with a baseball bat straight on the side of his head, falling him down to the mouth of the Shai-Hulud that devoured him immediately.

I would not normally dream log, but this was so scary and weird that I had to.

I was in hospital, visiting a very good friend of mine, who was dying (note, none of my friends are currently dying, this is an invention of my sick mind). I stayed there for what felt like hours until finally they died. Now, I cannot quite remember the circumstances, but I had to have an operation while I was in the hospital. I was taken from my dead friend and made to lie on a hospital bed where a nurse came to give me the anaesthetic. I could feel myself falling unconscious, and as my eyes finally closed in my dream I woke up.

I lay in the dark for several minutes wondering where I was, and was I dreaming or awake. It took me five minutes to rationalise in my mind that no-one was dead, and I was ok.

scary

• I was on my way to the US embassy in Dublin with Lindsay to get her an Irish Visa, together with an American couple we had met on the way. We were a little lost, but Lindsay spotted the strange interlocking windows of the embassy and we headed towards them. I stopped on the way to say hello to an old schoolmate of mine called Philip, who was waiting for a bus. He said that he had just become a father. I congratulated him and then followed the others.

  We entered the embassy by the back door, and Lindsay and the others walked all the way around to the front to get in the queue for registration. I waited in a small room that people kept passing through on their way to and from registration - they stared at me as if I shouldn't be there. Eventually Lindsay came back and said that we had the wrong kind of paperwork and would have to come back another day. She didn't seem too worried though, because there were no other problems.

• On our way out we passed through a strange downstairs room with some odd-looking people talking quietly. It seemed to be like an Amsterdam coffee house, with drug menus on the walls. SUddenly I remembered that we were on our way to a party, and I had to score! I was looking at a menu of "herbal highs", unable to decide if I wanted to try one. There was a herbal ecstasy concoction that was advertised as "Super Stoned!" but someone had scrawled beside it in biro, "Do not buy! It doesn't last."

  A bouncer at the door was annoying me, trying to get me to stand back from the entrance, so I told him to get his hands off me. I wandered over to one of the tables in the coffee house, where John, my old drug dealer from Leeds, was sitting. I asked if he could set me up with some grass, and he said no problem. I followed him into a back room where his son and daughter were playing with their pants off. The scene had shifted slightly, so that we were no longer in the coffee house, but at the party itself, in the house of a friend of mine.

  John's son had pissed all over the floor. While John was weighing out my grass, I got kitchen paper and a towel and I started to mop up the piss. For some reason I didn't mind doing this, though the smell was very heavy, and I started to retch. I wrung out the towel in a small white sink and came back, finding it hard to believe that one small boy could piss so much. Dave handed me my drugs, and I left the room with the cleaning job half-done.

If one can imagine the appearance of Mexican mimes, that one is far more creative than I. That is, until my latest dream.

As I stroll down the nameless street- busy with cars and SUVs rushing by. Save a rust-brown van. The contents of which could not be guessed in aeons.

It slowly crept shortly behind me. Conspicuously, yet not threateningly. I stopped and faced its headlights- a pseudo-staring contest. It returned the defiance by sliding its door wide open.

Out spilled a throng of pale-faced hispanic mutes. To my surprise, they did not stalk me, but simply stared back- blankly as though they were aliens awaiting me to take them to my leader. Then they sprang into action.

They chased me down the street, stopping only because I cunningly ducked into a side alley. They all rushed past like salmon waiting to spawn.

One of the mimes had guessed my trick, however. He slowly slinked into my hiding spot. I immediately spotted him and stumbled forward. What did he want? I knew that he could not grant me my request. I hesitated not, grabbing my pursuer by the throat- Mexican Mime: Death by Asphyxiation.

The remainder of my dream was spent outrunning the coppers and ducking from his henchmen. I awoke with the same guilt sloshing in my stomach as I originally felt after choking my first murder victim to death. A feeling that will stay with me for ages.