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.

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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.

Amnesiac Liam Neeson

December 30, 2010

I had a strange dream last night:

The muffled roar of a small airplane engine fills the cabin while I hold eye contact with an African girl.  Her mother is sitting behind her and we are all facing each other trying to pick out the right kind of glasses for her to wear.  We find a suitable pair and the noise of the small engine mutes out; it almost feels like zero gravity.  The girl starts to tremble, her eyes well up with water and she whispers to me,

“The vampire, the one that plays the piano, is looking for you.”

I ask her to explain but before she can offer one, the plane rocks and begins a plummet to the ground.  Three quarters of the way there, an elderly man appears outside of the plane door, opens it, smiles in at us, pushes off and 2 other men appear close by and their parachutes open.  I yell out to the girl and her mother that we do not need to worry about crashing, we can just jump out and use our parachutes.  However, there is a slight problem: we do not have parachutes.  One hundred feet from impact, I jump from the plane into the river below; the impact sends my body reeling with pain.  I hold my breath and kick my legs but am sucked further down and out by the sinking plane.  I clap my hands together under the water and it sends shockwaves in every direction, catapulting me to the surface.

The water is only thigh-deep for some reason and the ground under it is very smooth and rubbery.  A dog appears close by and barks at me to get my attention so I will follow it.  I ignore it and notice that another hundred feet or so to my left, the plane that had supposedly thunderously crashed into the water and sank, was peacefully skimming the surface and heading to the shore to be tied up to the dock.

The coast is thick with trees and rising out of the water are towers made of wood and grand staircases.  I ascend one of them and make my way to the back room.  The room is bare with the exception of a bed made of rock.  I piece of wood with a copper wire threaded through the left tip slowly appears in my arms and I carefully lay it on the stone slab, causing a chunk to fall from it and the wire to loosen itself.  A child and young adult male appear next to it; their faces plastered with a look of worry.  Liam Neeson flickers into place on the stone slab, apparently the father of the two lads.  He does not respond to my words and so I lift up his eyelid only to see thick clouds in place of where a human eye should be.

After a few hours pass, he turns back into the piece of wood and I try threading the copper wire back through the original holes.  Liam Neeson again appears, this time walking up the stairs and into the back room I am sitting in with his sons.  He has amnesia and does not remember who his sons are.  I sit him down on the slab and recite pivotal moments of his life in an attempt to jar his memory but I am unsuccessful.  Darkness takes over the room and swallows up the two children, stopping at that point, and leaving the light alone coming from my oil lantern.  I leave the room, descend the stairs and, walking on the water of the river, reach the shore.  I head into one of the stone buildings and am greeted by a few guards who direct me to the eighth floor

Trees all along the coast with wooden buildings sitting on the water–towers.  I climb the stairs of one and pick up a tattered piece of wood.  There is copper wire that was threaded through the end section and as I got it back to the way it was, a piece of wood fell off, leaving the “head” exposed.  Two young men walk up to where I am, with tear-stained faces.  Liam Neeson appears on the piece of wood, which has multiplied in size.  I am trying to rouse him, but I can see through his eyelids and his eyes are cloudy.  He had been in the plane wreck as well.  His younger son tries rousing him desperately and I put a hand on his shoulder and motion for him to keep his voice down and I gently repeat Liam’s name.  Eventually, I look up and a square window grows into view and through it, I see him walking toward us.  When he arrives, his body that is laid out disappears.  He has amnesia.  His lain body reappears and it merges with the walking one and I tell him that he has amnesia and try mentioning memorable parts of his life.  His sons are crying and I leave.

Heading down the stairs, a dog comes up to me but I ignore it as an elderly gentleman tells me what is going on off the coast. It is utter chaos.  I am transported inside one of the buildings-concrete, moist, and very quiet.  Everyone is rushing about and talking but I hear no noise.  I want the dog that had been trying to get my attention but it isnt there now and so I inquire about it and a man points me to floor “, which is downstairs.  One level down and I walk along the walkway–cages on both sides filled with animals rescued from the plane crash.  They are all housed in large, metal crates and barking, chirping, meowing, and roaring.  It is like a depressing Noah’s Ark and I feel pity for all of these abandoned animals.  People are rushing about as I make my way around the corner to a doorway.  Above it, painted in white is the word “Eighth”.  The door cracks numerous times and slowly splinters into a thousand pieces.  I walk through the door and wake up.

I had a strange dream last night:

I cannot tell if the sun is rising or setting early. Either way, I’ve never seen such a blend of contrasting pastels around the sun. To my left is a fenced in area with bleachers packed to bursting with spectators. I walk onto what I assumed was the stage, but it was unlike one I had ever seen. It was like an elongated hill–a curved rectangle that sloped downward on the front and back. Two great square, red walls anchored each side. I walked to the center and looked behind me at the sun. Light blues swirled with pastel orange, pink, and golden yellow but never mixed. The sun was beating like a heart, becoming brighter each time it expanded, and dimmer each time it contracted.

Every time I walked the length of the stage, everyone cheered; there must have been tens of thousands of people in the bleachers. I felt like I was auditioning for something but I had already gotten it, due to the condition of the sky. After the sixth time, water oozed onto the stage area. It covered the ground slowly at first but with every surge it rose a little higher, getting my shoes wet and causing me to curse at it. The sound of rushing water filled my ears and the water rose to my waist, but was not touching me, only the splashes of the crashing waves splashed small amounts onto my clothing. I quickly walked to the right end of the stage and as I reached the ground below, I looked behind me and saw Coldplay coming out from behind the red wall and out on the stage, to the cheers of everybody. I ran toward the first fence and hopped it, worried that everyone would see me, and then did the same for the second fence until I reached the parking lot. I opened my car door and hit the car next to me. The black window rolled down and the man in the drivers seat told me not to worry about it. I woke up.

I had a strange dream last night:

Free falling through the sky and fast approaching the ground….right before impact, a massive amount of water swells up over the dirt.  I grip a torso-sized 2 inch thick piece of wood paneling, press it to my chest and slam onto the surface, causing a small tidal wave to roar off in the opposite direction.  The water is quite warm but I am nervous about having my legs in it since I cannot see to the bottom.  I kick my legs in the direction of a cluster of pavilions floating on the water ahead of me causing a small number of waves to come crashing down around me, though I am able to keep my head above water while I use my breath to lift the wood panel from the water and toss me in the right direction.

Finally, I reach the dock area and it is populated with indigenous looking people, all of them smiling at me.  I find a table to sit at and patiently wait, though I am not sure for what.  A floating hand eases it’s way over to me, holding a plate full of cooked oysters and clams, and drops it in front of me and gestures a smile at me.  I am skeptical of the meal in front of me but, hungry from my earlier battle with the water so I dig in.  As my fork is about to pierce one of the clams, the shells separate from the meat and arrange themselves into the pattern marked on the inside of their hard tops.  I look up at the folk watching me and they all chuckle.  The plate disappears and I jump back into the water, resting my arms on the bench while making conversation with the people there.

A few minutes in, I am overcome with worry about an anaconda coming after me from under the water and I vocalize my concern.  I am told that there is an anaconda close by but it is in a fenced off area of the lake.  I look under the water and the fence does not go to the ground and I panic, jumping out of the water in anticipation of an assault.  They point to the area where the snake is being held and my relief is short lived, as it breaks down the fence and heads right at me.  It is only about a foot and a half long, white with a thick yellow stripe going down it’s back, 2 thin black stripes decorating the sides, and puffs its head up to twice the normal size when it opens it’s enormous mouth to attack; it has no teeth.  A loud hiss precedes it’s clamp down onto my arm.  I wave about, trying to throw it from me but it has a tight grip.  Nobody helps me with the exception of one fellow, who lassos some sort of humming device around the snakes neck, thinning it down to one third of the snake’s normal girth when it is calm.  Free of the anaconda, I run on the surface of the water to the front doors of a home sitting close by.  Within a meere couple feet form the entrance, the anaconda latches onto me again, only this time I throw myself on the ground, confusing it, an am able to get inside.

The house is enormous inside and extravagantly decorated, reminding me of a wealthy collector’s house.  Most of the hallways are filled with dim, indirect light and it smells musty and old.  Eventually I enter a grand hallway, three times as large as the others, with a shimmering white/blue light pouring in through the crystal windows running along the sides and ceiling.  I hear another hiss and the anaconda is back.  It barges at me full speed, I take off, and a full speed chase ensues.  For ten minutes we go room to room, always returning to the grand hallway before entering another set of ornate rooms.  After some more time passes and I am running through the grand hallways, I scream out to the snake that I hate it and a heavy door panel falls from the ceiling and lands with a clatter at my feet.  I quickly lift it up and haul it back, while the pursuing reptile charges at me.  With all of my strength I swing it forward, slamming it into the face of the anaconda creature, resulting in a cracking noise that not only sends it flying backwards, but splits the crystal ceiling in two.  From that point forward, the anaconda cowers around me and slithers off if I get too close.  I tell it to go to the double doors of the entrance and it eagerly obeys.  The ceiling is cracked, and I stare at it, wondering how it happened but am snapped out of my thoughtfulness by the hissing and chirping of the anaconda at the doors, warning me of an intruder.  I wake up.

I had a strange dream last night:

I had been in and out of my resort room a few times already.  The cleaning staff had begun to resent me for interrupting their cleaning everytime I barged back into my room.  This time I was packing my things up in a hurry, unsure of why I was leaving in such a rush.  I switched awareness every now and then as I packed, from myself in first person, to third person outside in the pouring rain, watching the Escalade that Brandon & Justine were sitting in, waiting for me.

Inside, a Carib woman and a young Asian man who had just been hired were hastily arranging my room.  My suitcase was packed and I had to change.  Realizing the urgency of the situation I stripped in front of them to put on a new pair of briefs and some jeans with a tshirt.  They didn’t notice, instead speaking to each other in their native languages.  How they understood one another was beyond me.  I ran out the door and into the torrential rain to the Escalade, throwing my suitcase in and then myself.  Brandon pulled off and there was not much conversation on the way to our destination.  Everything cut to black.

When I came to, I was outside of a 4 story adobe styled building with a beautiful staircase running along its side and palm trees everywhere.  Shaquille O Neil was shooting a commercial of some sort and was surrounded by hundreds of fans, all blowing into duck whistles and waving around long, red balloons.  The screech of tires snapped me out of my curiosity and Brandon yelled out that we had to get out of there immediately (apparently I had wandered into the wrong dream?).

Back in the SUV and speeding down a stretch of highway, I took in the cliche surroundings of green hills & plains dotted by a few trees, covered by a clear, beautiful blue sky.  It would have made for a relaxing drive if the sense of emergency was not infecting the atmosphere.  In the blink of an eye, the Escalade was airborne….upside down and engulfed in flames.  I watched the asphalt of the road get closer from the window on my side but right before we collided with the ground, we were all transported out of the vehicle to the shoulder of the road some 10 feet in front of the SUV.  Upon contact with the ground, it exploded, sending chrome covered marbles rolling up the road.

Brandon had disappeared and Justine and I were now far into the grassy plains standing outside of a concrete shack.  She stared ahead, frozen in fear, not responding to me when I called her name.  I looked ahead and running at us was a strange wolf creature of some sort.  It had a mane like a lion, hooves for feet, and a thick yellow stripe going down it’s back.  Aside from those usual wolf-like attributes, there was nothing distinct about it.  Oh, and it’s teeth were encrusted in some strange diamond substance (Lemme see ya grill?)

I told Justine not to worry and ran toward the wolf, expecting that my courage was enough to slay a mythical beast.  Wrong.  It crashed into me, knocking me off my feet, reared its head back, roared, and dove toward my neck to feast on me.  Without thinking I quickly grabbed it by the neck and squeezed, causing a pop noise to send it into the embrace of death.  I rolled over, pushing its deadweight form from my body and ran over to Justine to check on her.  Tears ran down her cheeks but she didn’t make any noise.  As I brushed myself off, I said,

“See, Justice?  You just need to exhibit some aggression in life and send a message.”

“Yea…..you are aggressive, Alec.” she responded.

I was taken aback by her comment, as it sounded more like constructive criticism than a compliment.

Off in the distance we saw a shepherd walking a pack of his wolf creatures and approached him warily.  He assured us we would not be attacked again and explained to us where we were.  He pointed west, to a gargantuan electrical grid and disappeared along with Justine.  I stared at the structure for a few minutes, watching the jolts of electricity rise up between the antennae and could hear the hum of it.  I decided against going into the building, as I had a bad feeling about it.

To the east of the grid was the outline of a very old car, 3 times the size of a normal automobile.  The thought of being next to it transported me there and I circled it curiously, wondering why someone would build a vehicle this large and what it was meant for.  It had the Volkswagen logo on the back.  I hopped inside to check things out and Brandon approached the car, following suit.  After a few minutes of study, we realized nothing could be done with it so left through the front end.

As we were about to exit, Brandon noticed an old yellow button sitting atop a voltage reader on the drivers side of the car.  Before I could say anything, he pushed it and the needle  evaporated.  A humming sound filled the air and our hairs stood on end.  We were both lifted off our feet as tens of thousands of volts of electricity tore through our bodies.  Brandon’s face was strained & contorted and he grit his teeth while screaming through them.  I imagine my face looked similar, though I noticed he had far more electricity burning through his body since he was the one that pushed the button.  I tried to scream his name to get his attention but it was too overwhelming for him.  His body began to smoke and all I could think about was wanting a pair of rubber gloves to touch the door handle with so we could escape.  I woke up.

 

 

I had a strange dream last night:

The warm, but dying glow of old librarian lamps meekly filled the darkness surrounding the desktops spread out across each side of the tracks.  This was an abandoned underground train station that had been halfway transformed into a makeshift library of sorts.  Worn shelves that had been exposed to more chaos than they were meant for lined the walls.  It was somewhat tranquil, surprisingly.  The sounds paralleled that of a grand library–the echoes of a cough, pages turning, and books thudding on the tables.

I set a small pile of books I had picked out on the desk and walked toward the tracks to cross to the other side.  A strong wind blew in from the southern tunnel and the lamp on my desk went out with the noise of a popping lightbulb.  An eerie energy emanated from the wind, giving me goosebumps.

I heard a scream on the next wind gust that came right at me; it was not audible, but I could hear it in my mind.  I stumbled back as the gust collided with me, carrying something with it that went into my body.  Whatever it was, it must have knocked me from myself as I was now watching myself in third person.  I collapsed onto my knees, covering my head and laughing slightly, my muscles twitching.  Someone approached me to see if I was alright and I shot to my feet, boring into their eyes with mine and lifting each foot alternately.  They screamed and ran toward the desks, causing others to look up at me and scream as well.

A dark green mist exploded from my body in every direction and I began to levitate, palms facing the dirty, concrete floor.  My body shook back and forth at such a speed that my outline became somewhat of a blur and my eyes lost the white and black of the pupil in them, turning completely blue.

A train horn sounded in the distance in the midst of people running in a panicked state and others hiding wherever they could.  A laugh escaped my throat that sounded like crumpled paper rubbing up against a piece of sandpaper.  The train came barging down the tracks through the tunnel and slammed into me.  Everything stopped for a second, filling the air with the sound of crunching metal, shattering glass and more people screaming.  It resumed in slow motion with sparks flying from the train wheels, the train cars jack-knifing, and stacks of books and papers on the desks bursting outward in every direction.  I slammed my fist into the front of the train and time resumed its normal speed.  It stopped dead in it’s tracks and went as limp as a locomotive can go when suddenly stopped after hitting an object at over 100mph.

Still levitating and feeling stretched very tight, I looked up at the faces staring at me–expressionless.  The desk that had my books on it earlier was in flames and I could not move.  I was terrified and could not will my body to do anything, as it was not in my possession anymore.  I woke up.

 

 

I had a strange dream last night:

I roll over and grope my cordless box thing I use to make phone calls. 10:46 am. Shit. I am late for work. I stare at the phone a bit longer and the following appears on the screen: “10:46 am. Shit. I am late for work.” Apparently I have a super power of some kind involving a deep telepathic bond with cell phones. After backflipping out of bed into a set of 10 jumping jacks while giving myself my usual “Your job NEEDS you!” pep talk, a pep talk that is completely untrue, I run down the stairs and out the door to my…….bicycle? Where the hell is my car? It’s my dream and I demand an Infiniti G35!

The sun is at high morning posture, a yoga position that it is in the process of patenting. I am at 54 Dover Road, my childhood house. The day is crisp & mild with a slight breeze to break up the monotony of perfect. The sound of a jackhammer, a bobcat, and other construction monsters cut through the serene aura of birds chirping. I roll my eyes at the tactlessness of the construction cult for working so early in the morning (to those of us that don’t wake until noon) and notice that my bike has gone missing. I approach the construction worker and over the sound of the jackhammer jacking, yelling like an obnoxious American tourist at a foreigner in their home country, demand to speak with their supervisor. The yellow hat-wearing worker (who has a handsome late 80’s mustache) points into the garage. As I near the supervisor, I see my bike stuck between two planks of boundary wood in a garden. I rip my bike out with some effort and hop on.

Not long into my ride, I notice that the handbrakes are missing. Not only the handbrakes, but the wire that connects them to the brakes, the chain and….the tires. How I managed to ride a bike with no tires is something that would take another whole sentence to explain. I refuse to do that. I clamorously drag my bicycle to the house having the work done on its front yard and right before yelling at the men working, I look up in the sky and see 2 dots on the edge of a cloud. I peer closer at it and everything goes dark for a split second, making me feel like I have been knocked off my feet.

When I open my eyes, I am up in the sky with my girlfriend, whose code name will be “bandia”, which is Gaelic for “goddess”. She and I are debating who would win in a fight: The god of fire, or the god of water. She sides with the Matchbox 20 wannabe and I vouch for the wrath of a thousand squirt guns. They both look like Zeus to me. We look down onto the land beneath us and take in a beautiful sight: 2 temples rise from the beautiful, square pools that remind me of the rectangular one at the Taj Mahal. The one belonging to the flamer is surrounded in pyroclast and steam, its foundation stained in soot. The other temple is surrounded in a rushing torrent of water and an aura of mist. The battle ensues.

By the end of it, the god of water lay dead on the ground, his body still sizzling, charred, and broken, his trident still in his hand. Codename “bandia” starts giving me crap for being wrong and so I hold up my hand and tell her I will be right back. I focus on the god of fire and scream through the sky, landing on my feet next to the god of water with a loud boom. I take the trident from his hand, offended by the smell of burning flesh and fresh blood and aim it at the god of fire, who is too busy standing proudly with his chest out on his temple steps to notice me. I take aim and throw the trident at him and it makes contact, piercing his chest and going through his back; his heart sticking to the two inner pikes. A look of shock crosses over his face and he clumsily stumbles down the steps, taking his last breath before landing on his face. I look back up in the sky at codename bandia and laugh a little, yelling up to her, “I guess that makes me the god now!” I wake up.

Meanwhile, back in Africa…

November 26, 2010

I had a strange dream last night:

Impressive in their size and not built to excess, cream-colored pillars decorate the torch-lit walkway I find myself walking down. I look up at the sky and the moon is full and bright, muting the glow of the stars closest to it. I turn right to an unimpressive & bland gated area, and realizing I don’t have the access required to pass through them, I turn around and am greeted by a smiling, dark-skinned lad. He signals for me to follow him to the end of the walkway; we stop at a large double gate and he slides the key into the lock and opens it for me, inviting me to walk through.

As soon as both of my feet are on the opposite side of the gate, as if in a literal blink of an eye, my surroundings change and I am in what looks like the wilderness of Africa. I hear a loud pop followed by a small explosion and a slight shimmer in the distance catches my eye, like it is winking at me. I take three steps in it’s direction and am next to it. At a closer look, it has tiny grooves of similar pattern at the base and tip and is emitting a low humming noise. I reach out to touch it but before I can wrap my hand around it, the screaming of children assaults my ears. Coming at me is a platoon of African child soldiers, guns firing and grenades exploding a few feet in front of me. In such circumstances I would usually raise my arms and roar/go akimbo and bang some pots and pans together to scare them off but I was caught quite off guard this time. And I was in Africa for some reason. Naturally I did not have my usual composure about me.

They all stopped moving and firing within a few feet of me and lined up. They parted a gap in the middle of the line and a slightly taller young fellow passed them and slowly approached me. Within arms reach, his eyes turned jet black (eerily like the demonic senior from last night’s dream) and his teeth sharpened right before my eyes. He snickered and continued toward me. I whipped out a small, ornate sawed off shotgun and fired off a round at his chest. He stumbled back, stunned a bit but shook it off and continued toward me. We went through this for what seemed too long of a time and each time he became more persistent than the last. I felt a magnetic sensation around my head and eyes, which I was sure was coming from him trying to hold my gaze (a fancy way of trying to put me in a staring contest against my will). The shells would slam into his body and face but he was not wounded by them, only forced back. Eventually I began to wonder what I would do once I ran out of ammo or became bored with the repetition of this possible stalemate of good vs. evil in the desert (could this represent a possible move toward amoralism within myself?? Ooooo, deep!).

I hear the rushing of wind above me and looking up, see a floorless hangar/warehouse type building coming right at me. The child in front of me snarls his lip and turns his back to me right as the building lands around me (thank god for the angels of Industrialism and their shield-buildings). This building had a row of dusty windows on each wall at the top; aside from that it was empty and had light pouring in through the windows, forming rays that were exaggerated by the dirt and dust on the panes. I heard a knocking sound on the far end of the building and as I approached, the ground around me cracked and shattered, it’s particles being thrown into the air in slow motion. I woke up.

I had a strange dream last night:

I am casually walking around an extremely ornate and beautiful room. Wood floors, gold leaf paint covering the lighting fixtures, and lion claw feet on the furniture. A grand chandelier hangs above, illuminating the room and filling it with an aura that exudes warmth and wealth. A handful of my friends are there and we are planning our trip back to the Dominican Republic, all of us very excited. Time flashes forward to the night of departure and I realize that I had been misinformed concerning the expenses for my trip. A check-in agent comes over to me with her laptop and says that I need $776 dollars if I wish to go tonight. I scoff and tell her that I have no more than $200 in my account and ask what my options are. She informs me that I may cancel my trip and I do so, quite upset about it. 

Brandon, Rob, and Justine board the plane by disappearing from the room. Around the room are people I have never met but cannot see clearly either. Their forms are not unlike a crowd of grey silhouettes, no personalities, murmuring amongst themselves more than speaking. Right then, at the foot of the bed in a fancy chair, an elderly woman fades into view. I am more curious than fearful and I approach her. Suddenly a brief, but loud rumbling fills the room and the lady’s eyes turn jet black. Her arms turn the same color and take on the qualities of elastic doused in liquid. Her arms drive into the ground, expanding and stretching as they rip through the wood; black tears streaming down her cheeks.

I am a pretty mellow lad and there isn’t too much that phases me, but as this happened I became a bit unsettled. She snaps her head in my direction and sneers at me. I look away. Her voice changes and has lost it’s feminine charm that it likely had before she turned “super demon” on me. She is insistent that I look at her, and so I do. She laughs, though, it has the echo of a hundred wails and it fills the room along with the rumbling. As the entire room shakes around me, I can feel an almost physical sensation around my head that she is responsible for emitting, trying to hold my gaze. I become extremely frightened at this point at look away toward the door. She grunts repeatedly and continues to speak to me; I cannot recall what it was she was talking about, though. Her arms continue to relentlessly rip into the floor as she tries to make me look into her eyes.

Unexpectedly, I look right at her, taking a deep breath and, leaning forward, let out what sounds like 10 lion’s roaring simultaneously, causing her to scream and wail back at me. The room begins to fill with shadows and rays of light, both of which seem to be jostling for supremacy. Everything freezes…nothing moves at all…and I wake up.