The go-kart escape from Nazi’s to the moon.

January 16, 2011

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.

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