I had a strange dream last night:

The humidity is rude. Rotting wood and stagnant water permeate the air around me. I notice it only slightly, so focused on this photo album I am flipping through. On each page is a portrait of something or someone with a caption stating “SAVED”, “NOT SAVED”, “YET TO BE” at the bottom of the portrait. I turn the page slowly and a warm gust blows in my face…..I stare at the picture and everything around me becomes quiet. The portrait of a young elephant is staring back at me, it’s face decorated in tribal paint. I nostalgically run my hand over it, able to feel the rough texture of it’s skin. The album floats away from my hands and hovers over the swamp. The elephant climbs out of the picture, using it’s limbs like a human would, and trots over to me, rolling onto its back. I hop down next to it and rub the elephant’s belly and it makes…….elephant noises (whatever those are called) and flails it’s trunk through the air, tickled by my rubbing of it’s stomach. It quickly rolls onto it’s legs and licks my face, which I find utterly disgusting, and it hastily stomps off into the haze ahead.

The lights flip on and I am in the bathroom of the house of 13 Lawrence Lane (where I grew up). My brother is in the kitchen, cooking breakfast but is is one o clock in the morning; I am getting ready for school, irrespective of the time. A crash erupts by the wall next to the bathroom door and the elephant charges in, laughing at the mess it made. I slam the bathroom door shut, intent on getting ready for school instead of playing with the animal but the door is crooked and there is a space of 4 inches between the bottom of the door and the frame, which the elephant slips his trunk through to rip the door from it’s hinges. We go back and forth, opening and closing the door for a good half hour and all the while, the bathroom faucet turns on and off in sync with the movement of the door. Eventually I become irritated and kick the door from it’s hinges and it lands in the kitchen. Before my very eyes, the elephant grows into an adult, rears it’s head and whistles, transporting me outside into a heavily wooded area with a large, green, sun soaked hill off in the distance.

Another animal sound grabs my attention, a guttural and chewing kind of noise. Behind me stands a baby rhinoceros, slowly moving it’s head up and down. I smile at it and run away. It makes a squeak noise and runs after me. We play a game of cat and mouse for a long time and I trick it by running around a large tree, keeping it between us. The rhinoceros becomes mildly irritated at the tactic, stops, rubs it’s little horn against the base of the tree, causing the roots to lift the tree up, allowing it to pass under. It charges at me and knocks me over, trampling over me. As it runs me over, I yell out to my brother that I am going to die. That just isn’t true, because I stand up unharmed when I am free from the peer pressure of it’s legs. The lighting in the sky changes abruptly and a loud sizzling sound precedes the sun as it slams into the ground. Everything stops moving, holding still as if a “pause” button was pressed. I wake up.

Advertisements

I had a strange dream last night:

I walked into St. Pauls–the old Methodist church I went to as a child.  My family was with me and we passed by our old pastor.  He was busy, but very surprised to see me back from the southwest after 3 years.  He motioned for my family and I to go in, signifying that he will catch up with me later.  I noticed that the ceilings were higher and the windows clear…bigger than they had been when I used to attend.  We took our seats and pastor Greg began his sermon; minutes into it, a column of smoke billowed out from the pulpit and he changed into a Pope–not THE pope, but A pope, robes and all, using the remainder of his time to rail against the Episcopalians.  I grew bored of his ranting and left, deciding to go check on my car.

Everything seemed normal and I popped the trunk, hoisting a large semi-bendable tube over my shoulder and putting the head of it to the trunk floor, pouring a watery ice cream substance onto it.  I spread it around evenly for a few minutes and my concentration was broken by laughter coming from the car next to me.  I slammed the trunk shut and found myself glaring at…..Ben Affleck.  With a smirk on his face, he told me that he is now the pastor of that church and I will not be able to stop him.  I dropped the tube to the ground and stomped one of my feet, curtly informing him that no such thing is going to take place.  Off he went, sprinting for the church and I followed suit; the chase took us to the inner section of the church and he ran into the pastor’s office to change into the robes.  I am not the pastor so I donned the assistant pastor’s robes, nervous that if people saw me in them, they would become upset, and I was angry that Ben Affleck did not care if he upset anybody who saw him in the pastor’s robes.

We took off again, Ben ran through a door and down a tunnel whose use is reserved for the head of the church.  I took a side hallway in an attempt to cut him off.  The hallway lead to a single room with green-glass windows and not much sunlight able to penetrate them.  Mr. Affleck burst through the door shortly after I did and we charged each other, tackling simultaneously and clawing at each others robes (I would like to interject here and state that this part could have been due to a possible wrestling match with my comforter while I slept).  I was able to rip some gold thread from his robe, causing him to pause momentarily and his eyes to well up with water.  He jumped through the green window, causing a bright white flash to fill the room.  Darkness followed.

I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear distant footsteps and my own breathing.  A quick flash enabled me to see again, and Ben ran into the back of the sanctuary, paused, and slowly walked up the left side of the aisle.  I waited patiently by the door and as he passed, opened it, grabbed him, and threw him to the ground, quickly closing it to avoid any attention.  He ran toward the rear back doors but I managed to leap on him at the last second, preventing him from escaping.  He threw me off and we stood, squaring up on each other and begun our fist fight finally.  He hit me twice in the jaw, which made me furious; I racked his head with my bare knuckles, hitting him everywhere, especially in his eyes.

After ten minutes of fighting, he stumbled to the side and I grabbed him by his shirt collar, raising my fist for the finishing strike.  Just then, Beth appeared at my side, the double doors burst open and a wealthy family walked through.  On the arm of the gentleman leading the group was Beth.  I looked at Beth next to me and then the one at the side of the wealthy fellow and stood back to think about the likely hood of her having a twin.  Beth #2 walked to the Beth by my side and leaned forward to kiss her.  Woke up.

I had a strange dream last night:

It smells warm out here.  It should, I suppose, since I am in the evening desert.  The sun is beginning it’s descent and the far reaches of the sky in the east are colored in purple & indigos.  I look up at the concrete, 80 story high-rise apartment building next to me, trying to see into the 77th window, where my friend Olivia is living.  She is the only one in this building and there are no other buildings in sight.  For an hour we “hang out”, though she is in her apartment the whole time and I am outside by a grouping of oak trees, oak trees whose branches twist and corkscrew and whose roots loop up out of the ground.  I take a hit of the joint in my hand and she does the same; my old friend Mike appears.  He and I walk around the perimeter to the back yard and take shelter under a shady grove of trees and he disappears.  A fat fella struts across the yard with his pet “Ostrich mini”, sets up a card table, places his little friend on it, pulls out his pellet gun, and begins target practice.

I tell Olivia that I am going to get rid of the heavy lad and put an end to his mildly disturbing hobby of shooting midget birds.  I yell out to her that I just experienced deja vu and she says goodbye.  I approach the gunman and his body odor assaults my nostrils, making me resent him for not taking care of his hygiene.  I casually inform them that he will stop shooting his bird and he turns around to face me but has no face.  The sun burns out and the sky turns to night with stars overhead pulsating to a rhythm I cannot hear.  He points his pellet gun at me, causing me to laugh at the absurdity of his threat, but, at that moment, the sound of heavy boots hitting the ground fill the air and I hear soldiers yelling orders & swearing in German.  I snap my head to the left and see Nazi’s fast approaching.  The same thing occurs on my right and then in front of me.

Erratically and quickly, a hole is torn through the space in front of me.  I peer as deep as I can into it, noting the dot of light at the end of the tunnel.  The walls are lined in stone and I can hear the sound of rushing wind.  The Nazi soldiers stop marching and begin what seems like an incantation of sorts.  I feel a disturbance in the air above me and look up: go-karts are falling from the sky.  Olivia reappears as the karts hit the ground.  A small crowd of people appear immediately afterwards and we hop in, buckle up, and hit the gas, driving as fast as we can toward the end of the tunnel and away from the Nazi’s.  Each time we get halfway through the tunnel, we appear back at the start and the Nazi’s fire their weapons into the air.  After a few tries, we all become so determined to make it to the end of the tunnel that we drive over each other.  Everything begins to shake and vibrate and the Nazi soldiers crumble like sand.  Black.

I am now in front of the house that my friend Jesse’s grew up in, asking him to come outside.  He steps out from the front door and points behind me at an enormous rocket.  We laugh and grab the tail end of it and it takes off into space with us holding on.  Within seconds it crashes into the moon and throws us into a crater.  We spend what feels like the next few hours running all over the moon, taking pictures and performing zero-gravity stunts.  From the bowels of this rock, comes a booming voice that yells “Enough” and I appear in Washington D.C. in some sort of archive/intelligence center to explain what I was doing on the moon.  Having the pictures and video handy would be convenient but I am not able to find any of it aside from one blurry and beat-up picture to present as proof that I have been to the moon.  All of the computers in the room shut down and I throw the picture at the sole individual in the room with me, an old man.  It freezes in mid air and everything goes black.  I wake up.