I had a strange dream last night:
1915.  Early summer in Europe must look more beautiful than this.  Far off in the distance, bright yellow sunlight blankets the hills, however, here by my brother and I, it is dark overhead and the thick, potent smell of a bog permeates the fog that covers the ground–everything is tinted in a muddy green color.  We shoulder ourselves against large, colorless boulders for shelter and wait; you can almost hear the air crackle with tension.  I look down at the ground, brushing aside some dead grass and a glow catches my eye.  A quick whistle from my teeth brings my brother over and everything turns black and white.  Pictures form in the glowing object; tanks rolling through the country on the outskirts of a city, massive buildings still in flames, their white pillars turned black from soot & smoke, and a sequence that moves too fast for me to comprehend aside from noting a crescent moon and swastika in the confusion. 

My brother and I stare at each other; he holds up his index finger and I hold up my index & middle finger, both gestures symbolizing world war I and II.  The first war has ended and we have just entered the second.  Within the glow, a swastika forms again, absorbing it until no light is left.  The symbol then forms into the number  “70” and then into the head of an eagle, resting atop a shield.  It vanishes and an eagle flies overhead; we follow it s flight path to a glass box of a house a few miles ahead.  It looks about a quarter mile away from a river bank and I ask my brother how we can utilize the energy of the trees hanging over it.

Slowly, we approach the river bank, everything is in color again.  To the left is the glass house, no walls, with a man sitting in a throne-like chair in the center, motionless.  As we continue forward along the water, the ground begins to shift, slowly pulling a 180 degree turn; the house is further ahead of us now.  We walk toward where the glow had been coming from earlier, a handful of soldiers walking with my brother and I, carrying towers of ceramic dinner plates.  Without warning, a few of them break at the base, sending all of the other ones crashing to the ground in slow motion.  I quickly signal at the troops with me and we all dive further into the water, which is waist deep and has tall, dry grass growing up from the mud.

The man in the glass house stands up, walks through the glass and floats over to our location.  He opens his mouth to speak and wheat bushels grow out from his tongue and his eyes tint bright green.  He says that he cannot grow anything on his farm because of the war, that he is forbidden from feeding us.  I slowly rise from the water, making eye contact with him, planning on an attempt at negotiation.  The droplets fall from my hat in a slow drip.  His eyes narrow in on me, causing my eyes to fill with blue fire.  I grab the wheat from his mouth, telling him that he can do as he wishes, as it is his farm, and we are hungry.  Agitated, he steals the wheat back from me, balancing it on his palm and it turns to ash.  He tells me that my soldiers, brother and I have little understanding of what is happening and what the war is about.  I disagree with him, stating the specifics of what fueled the war and the desperation of Europe, causing him to close his eyes and point to the middle of the river.  My soldiers are out there, dead, in a heap.  My brother puts his hand on my shoulder and matter-of-factly states, “We will not die”.  Everything cuts to black.  I wake up.

I had a strange dream last night:

Stretched across a worn, dusty, massive plain, 2 armies, both of which number in the millions, stand opposite of each other.  A soot-colored, gargantuan mountain breathing smoke sits at the heels of the evil army.  The sky has absorbed the mood, showing off a thick mass of  rolling, low-hanging clouds, dark grey and sickly green in color.  On the horizon to the west, a faint glow breaks the doom of the ominous clouds, a pale light lingers, hugging the ground for survival.  The smell of sweat, horses, and iron fills the air around me, whereas drifting from the other side comes the smell of rot and mucus.

I unsheathe my sword slowly and can hear my heart pounding in my ears, the sound of my breath magnified by the helmet covering my head.  My horse utters a brief “neigh” and I look to the west, taking notice of the pale light reflecting off of the millions of helmets stretching out as far as the eye can see.  I hear the men clearing their throats, coughing, and shifting their feet.  All jaws are clenched as the thousand yard stare ensues, both sides contributing to the tension that you couldn’t cut with a knife if you so wished it.  Everything cuts to black.

A thousand “clangs” mix with a great roar and, as if opening my eyes, I can see again.  I am on my horse, sweeping across the battle field & shouting orders, cutting down my enemies all the while.  A white flag splattered in blood surges up from the thick of soldiers under attack.  I give my steed a light kick and run full speed into the group, plowing my way to the middle, and grab the flag.  A scream erupts behind me and a grotesque captain from the opposite side charges me.  I wait.  Everything moves in real time around me but the enemy captain and I are stuck in slow motion.  The ground rumbles beneath his clumsy, large feet.  My horse bull snorts and steps forward, eager to take him on, it seems.  I hold the flag over my shoulder and my focus narrows.  Beads of sweat fill my peripheral vision and slide off to the sides of my helmet.  A tingling feeling fills my groin.  The adrenaline.  Fear mixed with excitement.  A feeling of dominance surges through me, insistent that I overpower this thing that is easily twice my size.  A mere 20 feet from me, enraged, out of control, swinging his oversized axe behind his waist, nobody stops him.  15 feet.  With all of my strength, I launch the pole-end of the blood-splattered flag at him and, within the blink of an eye he stops dead in his tracks.  I hear him coughing, gasping for air over the clamor of war.  Blood bubbles up his throat and leaks from his mouth and he stares at me blankly.  My horse half-turns back and forth, raising its head up and down and the captain collapses to the ground with an earth-quaking thud.

A raucous chant splits through the plain, grabbing my attention.  Tens of thousands of unarmed, but well armored soldiers called “bullies” march toward us.  Swords are useless, as are spears.  I take off to the east side of the battle, calling out for the archers in the middle and rear of the formations to take aim and fire on my command.  Word spreads like wildfire through the ranks as the bullies march closer and in unison, the sound of stress from the twine and the wood sound off .  Upon screaming out “UNLEASH!!”, the whittling and spitting noise of tens of thousands of arrows tearing through the air seems to dwarf all other noises.  A second volley of arrows only slow the bullies down.  I quickly realize the futility of another attack and speed further east, booming out for the immediate formation of the cavalry.

Thunder shakes the earth as they line up, coming out from a passageway that leads deep into the eastern mountains.  I cannot count them due to the greatness of their numbers and they are clad in deep, richly colored gold robes with lightweight silver armor plating.  Their helmets are rounded with small, silver wings covering the ears and short plumes of white and black on the top.  The eye pieces are slanted to give an angry and intimidating appearance.  These men are not to be challenged.  I point forward and “CHARGE!” reverberates from the mountain behind us and speeds ahead.  Right as the bullies approach the front lines of my comrades, we hit the first “thick” of them, plowing through them to the end  of their numbers on the western side with relentless determination, confusing, separating, and trampling them.  It serves as enough of a punch that the swordsmen/spearmen charge in to cut them down as they scramble to realign/reform themselves.

With the bullies broken, I ride to the eastern mountain passage to meet with a few hundred elite soldiers.  They arm themselves as they see fit, each specializing in their own art of killing that compliments the others.  I adjust my breastplate as I await their readyness and glance back at the carnage.  Two thirds of my brothers in arms, are being slowly overwhelmed.  None of the special forces before me seem concerned, so confident they are that their actions on the field will turn the tide back in our favor.  A bush rustles behind me and as the figure emerges, I immediately recognize him.  It is Gandhi.  He hobbles to my horse and asks me how I think he would handle this situation.  I pause to consider the meaning of his question and then ask him to back up.  He smiles and does so.  Refusing to bow to or use nonviolent means against the evil we are fighting, I make a speech to the men present (the full contents of which I cannot recall so will not post) and every time I end a sentence with inspiration, the last word appears in the air in front of me in large, bold, white letters, followed by an exclamation point.  The men chant each of those words back to me in unison.  At the end of my speech, I give each of the men a look of confidence; at the last one, several elementary schoolmates of mine appear, smirking & shaking their heads, thinking I am being overly dramatic in my speech.  I ignore them, seeing the successful effect my speech has on the men and understanding that my classmates knew me as a child but not as the leader I was becoming.

The specialists pull out their battle horns and the largest one is handed to me.  We line up at the exit of the passageway and take a few seconds to observe the sight in front of us.  It is so dramatic.  Poetic.  Historic.  Beautiful & tragic.  The forces at the foot of that terrible black mountain have no idea that we are about to unleash absolute hell on them and chase them until every single one of them is lying motionless in their own blood.  I look back at the men one more time, then to the west, whose dying light is rapidly becoming brighter.  My horse rears on it’s hind legs and I blow into my horn, sending a crack up the side of the black mountain to the north; it is echoed by the hundreds of horns behind me.  We roar ahead, chanting together as loud as our voices permit, causing another crack to split the ground a few hundred feet ahead of us, out of which, a spring of water bubbles up.  The blinding light fully breaks in the west, causing a great flash.  I wake up.

The demon of Somalia

October 18, 2010

I had a strange dream last night:

The sun is at its highest in the sky and relentlessly pounding the dirt with a blistering heat. Before me are the sights of a run down, broken desert city, in the midst of ruin. Shanties crowd for space along the narrow streets. Needless to say, there is a lack of curb appeal here. Gun shots pop off about a mile away, followed by return gunfire and some shouting. A stranger runs into my line of sight and I stomp my foot into the ground, bringing up the crosshairs of a reticle. At the bottom of this scope are a list of weapons I may use. I blink at the one in the middle and hear the whooshing sound of a small rocket leaving me overhead and it slams into the frantic stranger, leveling him in an instant. 

I take off running through this maze of a city and suddenly there are hundreds of people running about, shooting at each other, beating each other in some desperate fight for survival. I am able to remain somewhat unnoticed and take down person after person in my crosshairs. There is an alley to my right that I squeeze into, hiding momentarily before rushing back out into the street to kill a group of four. I peer down the dirt road about a half mile and fire a barrage of small swords and knock another from his motorcycle, immediately appearing next to it, hopping on, and taking off. The bike is palm-sized but I am able to ride it nonetheless. A boy grows out from the grime of the side of a building and speaks to me in a guttural, strained voice. Fighting the urge to invite such a seemingly friendly demon for coffee, I pulled on the throttle to get away from it/him as quickly as possible but every half mile or so, he would appear off to the side of me and laugh first, then try and swipe at me to knock me off my micromachine crotch rocket.

I steer off a hill, catching a lot of airtime before crashing to the ground. My entire body feels like it is on fire. The boy devil approaches me, taking his time and I look at the bike, which is now in flames and I panic, knowing I have to get up and get away. There was little distance between us now and I yell something inaudible at the kid, somehow causing the bike to be “pulled” over to me and attach itself between my legs. It sits up, with me on it, and hits full throttle. I was gone from the bottom of that hill, making my way, full speed, on a bike that was now in flames. Every shanty and hut I drove past, the people would pour out from with the same face as that devil that had been pursuing me. Up ahead I noticed a long stretch of concrete road and as I approached it, everything went black.

I had a strange dream last night:

I was at work at Petsmart and the sky outside the window was dark and stormy. After some time, someone has yelled out something i couldn’t understand since i was not paying attention but i went over to them and they were pointing out the window. My jaw dropped. Outside, maybe a mile or two away, were 3 twisters, 2 of which seemed to be dancing around each other. I yelled out “sisters!” and two more tornadoes appeared on the opposite side. The skies grew even darker and the phone rang. I answered it; it was someone wanting to make an appointment but i couldn’t understand here because the line kept cutting out. The lights went out in the store but everyone was still trying to go about their business. After maybe ten minutes, there were a great many people in the grooming salon all staring out the window. The tornado was only 50 feet away and i hung up the phone, scrambling to get to the door away from the window. People were screaming to take cover and huddle up by the wall. I became frightened at this point, as i saw the huge twister come into view, shattering the glass. I thought to myself “how is it that i am going to fucking die from a tornado….in ARIZONA!?” 

Before i knew it, we were all being lifted into it and i tried holding onto the arms of someone but the force was too strong and i was thrown up into the air with everyone/thing else. I opened my eyes and the inside was gorgeous–a tiny, luminescent funnel seemed to be what kept the twister going. After only a few minutes inside of it, it vanished and the roof of Petmart was missing, along with almost everything else aside from a few tables and a bed that somehow got there. I walked over to it, sat down, and wondered aloud if a tank was heavy enough to remain on the ground during a tornado. Two of my coworkers told me that it could.

I “woke up” in my bedroom, my computer on Facebook, where i had just posted on my wall that i had been in an actual tornado. I was laying in the middle of my floor and an African man, a leader of the R.U.F. was there, installing a cage panel over the door. For some reason i helped put it in and then went back to the floor. I could hear the news in the backround and saw a giant map appear in front of me. The United States had launched a nuclear attack in response to the tornados and the nuke hit India and western China. There were color grids showing the damage, fallout, and radiation and the parts that had been incinerated.

I had a strange dream last night:

I took a trip to Howell, Michigan and was walking around the town. I walked into Jen’s old place and just kinda zoned out while i stared at one of the walls. A wave of sadness came crashing down onto my chest. I left. Stepping outside i noticed i was carrying a package but wasn’t sure what it was. I headed down West Grand River but it looked different. A few minutes into my walk i noticed Jen on the other side of the street and she was with her friend Mike. Shock was my reaction and it was followed by another wave of heavy sadness. I was wondering what she was doing here and found out that she lived here again. I ignored her and turned the corner, not wanting to talk with her because it hurt too much. I don’t know why but i felt so sorry for her. 

Walking along the other side of that block, i passed 3 men at an outside table at a bar who were drinking and laughing. One made a joke to me as i passed so i stopped and responded with a smart-ass reply, making them laugh. I told them that i didn’t know why i was here and it hurt. They pulled a chair out for me and i took a seat. They ordered me some kind of drink-something with whiskey. At that moment, Jen and Mike came from around the corner i was headed to before being seated. I tried ignoring them but they came right up to us. I don’t remember what we were all talking about but Jen started flirting with the guy next to me and looked at me while she did it, trying to get a reaction out of me. I kept my cool and ignored it. After 5 minutes or so the guy got up and started leaving with Jen, he was going to go fuck her. That pissed me off-the dude was a total loser. Jen didn’t care, she knew it bothered me. I wanted to hit him but they left too soon and the guy texted me telling me to “back off i’m gonna have some fun with this one”. My skin turned red when i read that and i slammed my 2 fists onto the table i was standing by, shattering it into thousands of pieces. The other 2 guys and Mike looked at me and shifted uneasily. I swore i would find that guy and beat him into the ground. Everything went black.

When i could see again i was 8 blocks south of that location and the town was destroyed. I walked over to a side street where there was a wounded man sitting by himself. I asked what happened but he had no voice and tried using only his lips to explain it to me. I was overcome with regret and walked out into the main road and stumbled into a house that was missing its back half. I heard gunshots in the distance and ran to the paneless window to see what was happening. There were a few soldiers running to the house and they saw me. I ran out of the house and up the street, passing them, and met up with my friend Rizzle. He and i both strapped ourselves on the 2nd story of another blown out building and waited, watching as a group of 200+ soldiers charged our building. I slammed my fist onto the floor and a red shiled symbol appeared where i had struck. I looked out the front of the building and all of the soldiers screamed in pain and i watched them all either burst into flames or melt right on the spot. Riz and i left the building, running back down that main street. Woke up.