My sister, my best friend and I were all sitting in my room. Something about someone trying to kill us... we weren't sure who, and then we realized that it was the nice old grandmotherly lady down the street who would always bake us pies. We knew we needed to get out of the house, since she was sitting in my closet, waiting to ambush us. The closet door opens... And I'm reading it all out of a book, a manual telling me how to flee from psycho old ladies. Especially shape-shifting ones who are good at taking on the identity of the people in the room. Cheli and I run downstairs, followed by my sister, and we all decide that if we go out to get the turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, we'll all be safe. My sister stops in the kitchen though, claims she needs milk, since she's pregnant and all. She's taking forever, and I certainly don't want to get killed because she can't down that freakin glass of milk. "Suzette Marie Palmer!" I scream, stamping my foot. "You're in the barbecue now!" She turns to me, milk sliding down her chin, eyes evil, a huge smile on her face. "Candy?" she asks. "Or cookies?"

Umm... it seemed to make sense in my head at the time I was having it...
cold and dark. cold and i shiver, dark and i can't see. anything. i'm in a cylindrical room. i can't tell by seeing or touching -- i know this by instinct. i can somehow feel, with my mind, the roundness of the room. to my hand, the wall feels flat, but that is only because the room is huge.

there is something, in the middle, revolving. and it extends all the way to the wall. it is like being stuck in a huge revolving door.

it's not moving fast. i can easily stay ahead of it at a fairly slow walk. but i know that i am stuck in this round room and that i cannot walk forever, not even at such a slow pace.

this slowly revolving wall is suddenly the most horrifyingly awful thing i have ever encountered. at some point i will have to stop walking and i will be crushed into jam by the wall. it seems so inoccuous, moving so slow, but then the overall implication becomes clear. it is death.

walk, or just lie down?

...I have to get to class, and as I head up the hill on Main Ave. from the Swift Court corner house, why walk when I can fly? I don’t know what happened to my car, but this is too urgent – I snarl up traffic when I latch onto a motorcycle. The woman rider isn’t very happy about this. Windy, stormy skies. I just need a strong gust to get some lift. Wandering in, mid-afternoon, it’s sunny and the air is fresh. Purple glass chunks, like large 8-sided dice, scattered in the dead grass. Are they for sale? I inquire at the counter, they don’t know the price, so they need to put them in one of the orange bags. The young woman cashier asks me to go the other store to get bags. Is my watch still an hour off? The college is now the mall, and as I chat with the cashier at the other store (I've seen you around...), Manson’s gang moves in to take hostages. Again? Late afternoon. Out in the parking lots, by the railroad tracks, we know the drill – lay down, face down and don’t move. Manson coerces a blowjob from one of the fellows, I guess I’m spared the indignity. (This is when, looking back from later in the dream, I must have taken the Metamucil.) I ask one of his flunkies, Don’t you sometimes feel like it’s all going to come down bad on you one time? Sunset. They make us go into the cave where the tracks end, but the gay man determines there is a bear, maybe a sloth, living in the cave, and we crawl out with all due haste. Night. The earthen floor hinges up like an alligator’s jaw, closes one of the hostages in the cave, but someone else will take care of it; we have been rescued.
The gay man’s home: several of us are celebrating our narrow escape. He takes me to bed. Shortly after midnight, and he’s still serving coffee or whatever. The Metamucil (and maybe an excess of cofee) has, by now, instilled some urgency. I scout out the bathroom and lock myself in. One switch turns on the hotplate, which starts the teakettle whistling (probably sounds of my flatmate reaching ionto the dream), the stereo (the dance mix of Ministry’s Filth Pig), and the lights. Very cozy, to have all that at hand when you’re rousing to get to work in the morning, I suppose. The bowel movement is violent and watery, and I’m concerned that I will overflow the toilet. I clean up and exit and we are all out on the lawn, where I neck and pet with one of the women. Her nipples are uncommonly long. She says either "I love how you rub me" (which would be fine) or "I love when you rub me" (which would indicate she wants more genital focus). While I try to figure what to make of this, she says "Shut your mouth". Well, we wouldn’t want to look like a slack-jawed moron, would we? I feel somewhat slighted, but the crinkly stiffening of her nipple starts to spread over her whole breast, and I wake.

I am at an art gallery. I have a big piece of posterboard. One one side the words "This is a telephone" are written. The other side is blank. I dip a telephone into a nearby bucket of paint and write "This is a telephone" on the other side with the telephone. Then this big goth guy at my school sees my art and is obviously enraged by it. "This is crap!" he exclaims. "This is the kind of stuff that makes bears devour their children!" Then I am at some swamp house on the bayou and my sex-ed teacher is there and we are learning about breasts. She pulls out some statistic that southern girls' breasts are bigger on average than those on girls from other regions. But she called them "boobs."

Then I wake up and discover that I have ten minutes to get ready for school.

Had a weird dream where I killed my sister and had to throw her in a ditch. This is how it went:

I walk into my room and notice all these metal rods that make up some sort of device. On one end crumbled up pieces of paper were being added into this machine, and on the other end bricks of weed were coming out. I shrug and sit on my computer.
When I look into the monitor, I am all of a sudden looking out the window of my aunt's car. We're driving down this creepy road and we hear a bang. She stops her car and gets out to see if a tire blew out. The doors lock in the car. I try to get out but it's pointless. I sit there and wait. All of a sudden a see a figure slam into the front hood. I make the figure out and realize it's my aunt. She screams, " HELP ME! SHE ALREADY KILLED JOE!" (I really don't know a joe) I try to get out of the car. I can't. I see a figure behind my aunt, my sister.
She grabs my aunt by the throat. I close my eyes and when I open them my aunt is sitting in the driver's seat screaming, "WHAT DO WE DO?" (This all happened so fast and it was so confusing) I look around and see my sister standing in front of the car with a man in her hands. "SHE"S GOT JOE," screamed my aunt. Joe was my husband to be. My sister then grabs a knife and slits his throat. He falls to the floor. My aunt then appears next to him and my sister is next to me. I have a gun in my hand and my sister a knife. I see Joe dead on the floor and look into my sister's eyes. I don't know what to do. my sister tries to stab me and I move back. I look into her eyes and shoot. She doesn't die instead she cuts my hand. I shoot her again and again. I step out of the car.
I look down and I'm wearing a wedding dress red with blood. My aunt has my sister's body and asks me for help to throw the body off into a ditch. I walk towards my sister's body. I give her a kiss on her hand and throw it in the ditch. As soon as it hits ground, I wake up.

I woke up very confused and exhausted.

The dream started with me sitting in a hotel room. There was a very attractive man in the room, sitting on one of the two beds and I very much wanted to experience him. I stepped forward into the room and said, "Can I kiss you?" Then I stepped forward again and I was in a car with my friend Nicole. We were driving to some extraordinarily important military function really really fast along these insanely designed highways made of condensed sand. They were absolutely gorgeous in their bizarre complexity, though terrifying to drive along. We finally arrived at this huge silver building with many windows. I stepped out the car and then I was stepping into another car, my car, back where I used to live in Chicago. It was pouring rain and as I moved under a familiar viaduct I heard a voice in my head saying, sadly, "It is a shame that man is to be used as an instrument in the war of gods." This was a sign to me that I was experiencing the apocolypse. A few dream-seconds after I saw plumes of smoke pouring out a factory turning into thick clouds and the rain came down harder, and the sky was split apart by flashes of lightning. I found myself, then, on a rowboat on a forever twilight ocean where I could see only the tops of houses. The man from earlier in the dream, the one I desired, was sitting just across from me in the boat. He smiled, meeting my eyes, and asked, "Why aren't you kissing me?" I was happy, and then I awoke.

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