Double Jeopardy

Last night I had not one, but two dreams that I died, and both dreams ended the same way.

In one I was picking up my kid from school, and on the way home I was chased down by another driver wielding a gun. I tried speeding away, but he shot at the back of my car. I eventually made it to my childhood home, and it turned into a gun-in-the-back hostage situation where I had to pretend everything was okay. This went on for quite a while, until we were separated, and I told my mom to call 9-1-1. The gunman caught on to me immediately, and took my brother hostage in the basement. I ended up getting shot in the leg before I woke up, with my heart racing.

When I went back to bed, I had another CoD-style dream probably inspired by those n00b trailers. I was a soldier in a war trying to clear out a huge swath of the enemy on a cliff-side. I got up to the last batch, and ran out of bullets. I took a strange old fashioned gun from one of the enemies, and tried using it. I couldn’t get it to work. I was grabbed, and one of the enemy gladly showed me how to use it by emptying into my body. I woke up again, heart pounding. More than anything, I was worried about my pulse rate, which was getting fairly high. I had a nosebleed later on in the morning.

Scorpion to the face.

This morning before my alarm went off, I was dreaming about being stung repeatedly by a big black scorpion in an abandoned sewer system while chasing after John Stewart and his book-writing guest, as is my wont. It became a lot like an episode of the Deadliest Warrior where someone was doing a play-by-play of how a fight between me and a scorpion would go down. Basically: I got stung a lot, and it hurt, but you would expect it to.
It didn’t teach me much, aside from it’s best to avoid angry scorpions, but it did make me realize one thing.
The morning before, I was dreaming that I was explaining the price of a piece of merchandise to a customer, by indicating the clearly printed label directly above the object in question. They refused to believe me. Our argument went on for quite some time.
Somehow: that dream was WORSE. Yes, a glimpse of my daily life is somehow more frightening than being stung to death by scorpions in a lonely sewer.
Honestly, I’m just not enjoying myself, if I ever was.

Are You Going to Eat That?

I had a dream last night I worked at Toys’R’Us, and I was showing a customer these shelves full of construction toys like Mechano, but I kept eating them. They were made of cold, hard iron too. It was like biting into a Snickers that’d been left in the fridge. The customer was asking what’d he’d need to complete his son’s set, and I would tell him, “Well, you’d need the Klaxon set, but I ate all those. I could order more in, but then I’d only eat those ones too.”
Obviously, he was put off by my compulsive eating of inedible metals he intended to buy as presents for his begotten son, and he asked, “So why do you keep eating those?”
“Well, it’s a compulsive eating disorder, isn’t it?” I told him.
“Ah,” he seemed both satisfied with the explanation and abashed at the same time.

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I’m Tripping on Acid… Literally!

Technorati Tags: dreams,acid

LiveJournal Tags: dreams,acid

I was dreaming, and for whatever reason, the world was over. It was just fucking done. Of course, as with any good Apocalypse, there were a few rag-tag stragglers left behind and they had all converged on this house. Even though it was a crack shack, it was powered by all this nuclear science mumbo jumbo, which involved these open pits of acid. Green acid, to be precise. It starts raining, though, and these pits start to flood. It starts moving through the house, so it becomes this classic video game scenario where I was running and jumping over pits of acid. I tried to get the other people of the house, but they’re just fucking idiots. Some of them were mutants too. Like 14%. One might have been Sabertooth too, I’m not sure. Anyway, their bright idea is to barricade themselves in, using furniture. You can see how this might not work. They’re using towels under the door like they’re trying to hide pot smoke. At one point, they’re holding a door shut with a cabinet as it buckles in from being dissolved, and they’re gone. I’m running through the acid now, and my feet are melting, and it hurts like a bitch. With each passing moment, there’s fewer places to run to. I think the dream ends with me being surrounded on all sides. Delightful.

Ouchies.

I had a dream last night about a cobra biting my upper left eyelid, causing my eye to swell shut. The entire left side of my face became paralysed, and a I kept drooling because I couldn't shut my mouth properly. I had a weird awareness of the dream, and it felt like I had really injured myself in my sleep, and if I woke up I'd find drool all over my pillow. I felt fine when I did wake, however.

Car Crash

LiveJournal Tags: dreams,living

I had one of those dreams last night where you die and wake up. It'll happen every so often. In this dream, I was driving down the mountainside with my girlfriend and it was pouring down rain. You couldn't see five feet in front of your hood. The windshield wipers did nothing. The grey skies and grey asphalt all sort of blend together until you can't tell which is which. This is the sort of weather I've been driving in lately. It's been raining so much the roads have been flooding, and the sun doesn't shine all day. So I'm coming to a bend in the road, and I know it's there, but I can't tell how much it's bending. There's no lines on the road that I can see, so I over steer, and I start to spin out of control. The car glides off of the road and flies through the air, spinning as it goes. I fall hundreds of feet in the little downtown core residing beside the cliff side. I have no idea, but I have the feeling my car falls through the roof of a McDonalds. Then I wake up, and it's eight o'clock on a lazy Sunday morning. My voice feels hoarse from the screaming, although I don't utter a word in my sleep.
I spend most of the day reorganizing my bedroom, moving the desk from one side to the other and putting the old computer away in the closet. I'll have to reorganize the closet sometime soon, but I'm at a loss for how to fix the mess. I'll probably have to buy some shelves. There's more room now, and all the chairs face the television now, so there's a better focus.

Dracula R.I.P.

LiveJournal Tags: dreams

I woke up at around 4:35 a.m. from a nightmare involving Dracula's castle. Now, it's interesting fact: the Transylvanian castle commonly associated with Count Dracula, in fact has nothing to do with the historical figure of Vlad the Impaler, which relates to my dream in that it was not specifically about Dracula, but rather a much more frightening female antagonist, possibly the vampire Goddess Hectae. I can't go into many details, as they are hazy, but extra arms, talons, feathers and wings were involved.
Much like Jonathan Harker in Bram Stoker's novel, I was a prisoner of this castle, though I was not confined to my quarters. There was a creepy old man in robes who ensured I did not stray, and who held a near fanatical devotion to his vampire lady. He kept careful watch over me, ensuring me that his lady already knew of my careful indiscretions. Despite this, he kept himself to the floor above my own basement dwelling, and was seen mostly from doorways. He would never look right at me, but faced sideways as he spoke.
I was aware that others might be in the same predicament that I was, but I never saw them. The vampire lady was often away at night on hunts, and never showed herself during the day. During these absences, I would try to affect my escape. Escape was possible, but I was certain of being recaptured by the flying fiend, who would likely make me her next meal.
In time, I came to understand that the only way to escape my prison was to destroy it. Without her castle, she would have nowhere to return once the sun came up. To those ends, I discovered a cache of dynamite, which I planted in nook between the ceiling beams and the pillars supporting them. I heard warnings from the old man upstairs, but I was determined to see my plan through.
Even with the dynamite, I found I had nothing with which to light it. I had only one match, which went out before I could bring it to the string. By holding the head of the match to the wire, I was able only to scorch it a little. I made a desperate search for another source of flame. I tried scratching two rusty nails together to try and produce a spark, but it wouldn't work. I tried a flint and tinder set, but again to no avail. I had a feeling my time was growing short, and that the vampire would soon learn of my deeds when I was able to procure a small flame from a candle. Lighting this, I made a mad dash upstairs, where the old man shouted profusely at me.
Fearing the dynamite was wet, I set about a second plan. On the floor above the old man, I began to set furniture on fire, hoping to burn the castle down if I couldn't blow it up.
That's roughly where the dream ends...

FIRECAT!

LiveJournal Tags: dreams,celebrities,peeing,sex

Ever notice how when you're rudely awakened, like say by the radio alarm clock going off at 5:00, it's always in the middle of an f'in sweet dream?
So here's the scenario: I was enjoying the last rays of Summer camping down by the ocean in my dad's old truck and camper and there were a few familiar faces, like the two ugliest, most religious girls from high school. In other words: unboneable. So instead of bothering with them, I go down to the shore. It's dark out, and I see this giant metal cougar hovering above the waves, with it's paws extended towards me. I try to hide behind a grassy mound, but I can still feel it's eyes on me. I peek out, and I realize what I'd seen is just an elaborate animatronic statue for tourists to gawk at as their ferry docks. It's designed to come up out of the waves from the top of a submarine. It's glistening silver. At the end of one of it's paws is a flamethrower. It blows flames towards me and I can feel the heat from behind the relative safety of my mound. It dips it's other paw in the water to splash the tourists leaning over the back of the ferry, and I subsequently doused by the spray.
The other part of the dream involves an Angelina Jolie movie on cable. Now she's appeared nude in several movies, but she's full-on hardcore porno-fucking in this one. Only the cable keeps cutting out, saying that I've lost transmission or some such nonsense. There's one scene where she's on her back on a piano and she has he ass so far up in the air she's nearly doubled over. Then it cuts out. Still, frustrated with the cable, I keep watching, and not just for the porn scenes. During the rest of the movie she's killing everyone around her, but she's perfectly calm and collected right up until the moment she slits their throats with a knife she pulls from her hair. It reminded me of those weird foreign films that are supposed to be all hoity-toity, but the only reason that anyone watches them is for brief glimpses of nudity and debauched sex late at night. I give this movie two thumbs up... my own ass.
The other night I had a dream I had to go out behind a bar and pee in these elaborately decorative bushes for an inordinate amount of time after walking in on two retail outlet store employees fucking in a bathtub. I'm seriously pissing for like seven minutes. Plus I'm actually asleep while I'm doing this, so in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "I hope I'm not pissing the bed." As luck would have it, I wasn't, and when I woke up I took a wicked piss.

Eating Away at Me From the Inside

LiveJournal Tags: dreams,life

So most people have nightmares, but how many people wake up in a fit of rage for reasons other than their alarm clocks? I woke up at around six this morning, livid from a dream I had. For some reason, I was taking a shower in my parent's basement inside of a modified laundry washer. I had to squat under a short hose that was dangling above me. Suddenly, through the door window leading out of the laundry room, I could see someone walking up to the fence outside. They began digging through a few piece of scrap wood that had been lying next to the fence, but unsatisfied with what they found they, they ripped off the top of the gate and began walking away.
Enraged by their theft and destruction of my gate, I bounded outside naked and wet and ran after them. "What the hell do you think your doing?" I demanded.
"This was just lying back there in the scrap pile, so I took it," the person lied.
"The hell you did, you tore that off of our gate. Now go put it back," I demanded.
"No, I need it," the said.
"What the hell are you talking about, 'You need it?' It's ours, it's a part of our gate, now go put it back," I insisted.
"I need it for my gate. It's the right size," they kept arguing.
It was fairly obvious at this point that this was a dream about work. I deal with human scavengers on a daily basis who waste vast quantities of my time and patience by wanting to know the prices of little bits of wood they find lying about. They come carrying them to me like pack rats, saying, "It's just the size I need." Should there be no wood for them, they'll fall into a deep depression. Meanwhile, it becomes increasingly difficult to mask my disgust with them. I sell wood. I don't give wood out as presents to underdeveloped rodent people. If they want wood for free they should try the forest.
The thief asks to speak with the manager in a no-nonsense tone. Even though this is my parent's house, one shows up, and I become the target of a heated debate. No one seems to mind I'm naked and wet. The general semblance to the argument is that I am wrong, and that this person should get there way like a spoiled child because they want to. As usual, with all arguments involving anyone I speak to, the other person provides no compelling statements, or evidence to support any claim, besides a basic, "Gimmie gimmie gimmie! Wah wah wah!"
I'm an English Major, which means I had to spend a large portion of my life developing professionally-worded arguments to support my statements in essay after essay after essay. I was judged on the merit of my logic and my carefully researched references. Then I entered into a world of fools who presume the righteousness of their petty causes is enough to persuade anyone. I'm expected to go along with whatever ridiculousness my opponents conjure up. Any attempt to break down their defences is met with, "Are you calling me a liar?" I of course, am, but I am unable to admit it for reasons of employment, or else a lack of heart.
After six years of so of this lifestyle, however, it begins to chip away at your reason. Tempers begin to shorten. I'm actually repulsed by most of the people who greet me nowadays, as unconsciously I can guess at their intent. Their quivering, greasy moustaches belie their childish logic.
There's many situations I encounter which I deem unfair, or unjust. I'm no different from anyone else in that regard. My reaction to a no-win situation involving something so miniscule and bizarre, might even be the same, but as the dream ended, all I was left with was rage.