I had a strange dream last night:

A low humming sound adds to the “spacey” ambiance of the room I become aware of.  There are two others sitting at the rectangular table with me.  In the center, some kind of chrome plated sphere hovers in the air, slowly bobbing up and down.  It almost sounds as if that is the source of the humming.  I scratch my head and look down at the black stone tablet, thin as paper and easy to crumple, but unfolds itself into it’s original shape if tampered with.  Printed on the tablet are white numbers, encased in two dimensional white-outlined squares.  A large celestial map sits in front of me, the contents of which alternate between the heavens, colored in indigo’s and deep blues, and an old world map, colored in brown and parchment tones.  I look at the others sitting at the table with me and they are hard at work trying to decipher the have similar tablets in front of them.  I touch the exact middle square with my finger and the chrome plated sphere emits an extremely high pitched whining, hydraulic sound and blinds me with a bright flash.

When I “come to”, I am in a desert, though the color palette of the terrain looks very washed out.  I am by myself for awhile and not sure where to go, as nothing is in sight aside from more desert and some mountains off in the distance.  Soon enough, a bus comes barreling down the dusty road and pulls over as it nears me.  A few small, one story buildings grow up from the ground as well as a stable filled with people in hospital gowns with shaved heads.  The atmosphere becomes malicious.  A man in uniform approaches me and states that I have been selected to work at a high-end, secret facility for cracking the code on the tablet.  My gut screams at me not to trust him, but having no other options, I board the bus in order to bide time.

We ride for hours and the landscape never seems to change, it only looks like the same few shrubs are placed in different areas off the side of the road.  A line of shuffling feet cuts into my anxious thinking and up come a group of identically dressed, shaved-headed individuals, holding their arms in such a way as if they were holding invisible rifles.  They look like they are in an extreme amount of pain & discomfort but cannot fight back or do anything about their current circumstances.  Intuitively, I am told that they are being trained to oversee the other people being taken to the facility, that they are being broken & brainwashed.  That put fear into me and heightened my senses; I go over ways to escape.

The bus is turned into a boxcar and all goes dark.  The door is rolled back and the sunlight slams into the wall behind me, rattling the walls and floor.  One by one, we are all taken to the ground and directed to one of the brainwashed individuals.  I am the last one; they grab me and throw me to the ground and kick me in my sides to rough me up and intimidate me.  It hurts but I am not intimidated, just pissed off now and more determined than ever to escape.  I approach my “overseer” and he looks insane, his eyes are wild and seems that the only thing that is holding him together is serious PTSD from his “re-education”.  He cradles his arms and bends his knees, sticking out his tongue and slobbering everywhere, yipping at me to jump into his arms.  What a balanced fella.  I run and jump into his arms two times and fall, making him laugh hysterically.  On the third attempt, he tries to stick something into my back to control me but I flip over his head, gripping it with both hands and, as hard & quick as possible, twist it, breaking his neck.  He crumples to the ground and the boxcars disappear along with everybody else and some more one story buildings grow up from the ground.

As fast as I can and barefoot, I take off to a shed sitting by itself on the far side of the road.  Inside are more guns than most people would know what to do with.  I know sure as hell what I am going to do with them.  Shots ring off in the distance followed by orders being yelled out; they are coming for me.  I strap myself like a one man army and kick the door open.  I run in the opposite direction of the shouts, desperate to get away to warn others of this place but ready to fight.  A bright flash whites everything out.  I wake up.

I had a strange dream last night: 

It feels nostalgic outside, the energy reminds me of my childhood. Bags packed, I walk across a side street to an abandoned gas station, curious of the fact that it is abandoned but everything in it and around it is brand new. The air is cooling from evening setting in and it smells like grass that has been cut a few days ago. In the shade that tints everything in a cool blue color and slowly envelops everything around me, I look back and reminisce about my time at the old wooden building I just left. The outside is splintered and weathered–more grey than any other color but the inside was so warm, so symmetrical and comforting. The lighting inside is soft but has no direct source.

The crunching of rubber on gravel snaps me out of my reverie and to my surprise, the cab from the intro of “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air”–cabbie and all, is sitting in front of me, engine idling. I throw my bags in the back seat and smush my pillows on top of them. As I open the door, the cab driver asks if I’m ready to go and I pause. I remember that there had been nobody in that wooden building and I should go back to find someone. I pull my bags and pillows from the back seat and tell him that he has to go without me, that I will call him when I am ready. He smiles and drives away and I make my way back into the structure that seems so weary and sad on the outside but is so serene and warm on the inside.

Right after stepping foot inside, the door seals itself shut with a thin, almost translucent light around the frame and it disappears. A long hallway runs on forever but it somehow contains a number of rooms in it that I can see simultaneously. The walls are a deep, rich, cherrywood color, the floor is tan, unreflective and seems heated from below. Before I am through my second step, a long wooden table grows up from the ground before me–chairs included, and the seats are occupied by cancer patients. The aroma of the food on the table is tantalizing, even for my picky tastes, and I walk to the head of it.

Half of the guests are wearing hospital robes and the other half are wearing some ancient looking, but plain robes. I ask them who they are but they are silent. With their thoughts they tell me that they are on the verge of dying and I am overcome with sadness-nothing dramatic, but very deep and slow. They smile at me and proceed to enjoy their last meal together. I want to ask them where they are from, who they represent, and one thousand other questions but I know they will not give me an answer so I take hold of an unassuming chalice, buffed so well that it seemed to be emanating it’s own light source, raise it to my eye level and say something in a language I have never heard before. In unison, everybody else repeats it, causing the light in the room to glow brighter and everything goes completely dark with a low rumble.

I am outside again and this time in front of a more modern looking building waiting to have the door opened for me. I notice that I am carrying a small Bichon Frise in my arm and immediately regret leaving my boxer, Thane, at home. I am walked inside and given a tour of the facility, finally led into the room where I am to take part in a dog grooming competition. The area is setup like a computer lab of sorts–each person has their own cubicle that becomes invisible when they wish to speak with others. I set my dog on the table and notice it’s body is missing; there is nothing amiss about it, and the dog seems quite content. I proceed with the hair cut of the dog head and finish quickly. The results are announced as soon as I am finished and I did not win. I’m not upset because I am told I have something waiting for me downstairs. As I walk toward the door to descend, everything slowly evaporates in front of me and I “wake up” in a desert.

Everything is black & white and all around me are broken, wooden rails and blown out stone columns like an old set of ruins. A fair skinned, dark haired woman is standing at the far end where the exit is. She is motionless as I approach her, my cloak billowing in the strong wind gusts. She pulls out the hilt of a sword and it makes the familiar sound of a lightsaber as the blade extends from it. I hold my palm out to face her and mine flips up from my belt into my hand and lights up in a bright red. We engage each other in combat relentlessly for what seems to be an hour. She pulls a second saber from her belt and I dramatically bellow something at her; that phrase turns my blade into a long saber-whip. The fight that ensued seems choreographed; nonetheless, I am very impressed with how I handle it so naturally. After defeating her, she states that the only reason I won was because of my whip-like lightsaber so I close my eyes and focus momentarily, turning it back into a blade and point it at her neck, keeping her from moving. She slowly steps aside and tells me that I have succeeded and may now go. 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.

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 was on the border that separates Mexico and the United States. The sun was highest in the sky but i felt no heat. I’m not sure how i got there or what i was doing but i was hanging out with my friend Dana. We saw 4 people approaching on the horizon from the south, traveling at an incredible speed on foot. They arrived within seconds and when they approached us, they were quite dirty, disheveled and looked frightened. I felt very sorry for them and asked their names but they could only speak Spanish. They were pointing ahead of us and talking fast and appeared very nervous. 

Within minutes 2 black choppers flew in from the northern sky. They both half-circled around us and one, while trying to land, exploded into flames causing the second helicopter to take off and circle again. It landed and as they approached the 4 Spaniards, 2 disappeared and the other 2, a man and a woman, were arrested. I was informed that they were immigrants trying to sneak across the border. Now i felt conflicted. Given their state, i still felt sorry for them but i also felt a little resentment toward them. The rock they were sitting on turned into a black truck and they were put in the back and taken south again.

Dana and i just stared at each other and didn’t say much. We thought what just happened was a bit out of the ordinary. Cause hanging out on the border is so ordinary, right? Anyway, a giant butte rose up at my feet and i shouted with glee because i watched it grow from a thought form into a full and beautiful butte of the southwest. I definitely did not have that reaction but a butte did grow up right in front of me. Dana moved to the right side of it and i to it’s left. I watched a lion and 2 lionesses approach on Dana’s side. If i hadn’t been scared shitless i would have laughed at the absurdity of such creatures roaming America. “This is not Africa” i thought to myself. I later confirmed that America was definitely not in Africa.

One lioness faded away and another took her place right in front of the butte Dana and i were standing behind. The lion stood maybe 50 feet away from us. She and i gathered at the middle of the butte and discussed how we were supposed to get past this butte with that lioness there. The only option was to just try and walk past it. Now, i like to live my life on the edge but that seemed too boring for me. I did not like that idea because it’s likely she or i would be mauled and turned into a human Raggedy Anne doll within minutes. She told me that she would go first, which, for some reason, i was ok with. It was an altruistic decision on her part.

When it was settled, i noticed that the ground had sprouted some grass. I told Dana about it and she looked and we both watched in puzzlement as grass sprouted up everywhere behind this butte and at a very fast rate. She went around the right side and began her walk into the desert, heading north, past the lioness. I heard the wailing of a post-fetal youngling 25 feet from where i was and ran over to it. There in the grass, was a baby wrapped in white cloth. Totally normal, happens all the time, right? I picked the baby up and he seemed ok, i tickled his nose with my finger and named him, “Optimus Babyness”.

Looking up from the baby i noticed the lion pacing back and forth by the butte where Dana and i had been. Dana had gained some distance ahead of me and whispered for me to hurry up. I took one step forward and the lion was at my side. I was scared but wondered if this lion was going to protect me as my loyal companion for the rest of Dana and mine’s journey back to civilization. Nope. So wrong. I took another step forward and the lion slapped my side with his claw and then stood on his hind legs and bit down on my forearm-the same forearm holding Optimus Babyness (say that in a deep ominous voice-its awesome). I screamed for the lion to unhand me but he bit down harder. This time when i screamed, it sounded half like a lion’s roar. He shook my forearm in his mouth and this time i turned around to put my face in his and roared louder and just like an angry lion. I tried tearing my arm from it’s mouth and the baby vanished, all that was left was the white cloth, which i used to wrap around my forearm.

The lion was gone now, as was the butte and the lioness. I don’t know where Dana scampered off to but she was gone as well. I looked up and there were the red rocks of Sedona around me but nothing else. No houses or civilization. I woke up.