a very strange dream
This morning (01/10/2001), I had what was quite possibly one of the strangest dreams ever. The beginning, of course, is shrouded in the vague cloudiness of my bad memory, but as we'll find out, the whole first half or so of my dream was a veritable sham anyway. My recollection found me in a rickety older house with several other people (none of whom are familiar), one named Tom. Evidently Tom's 'people' were being oppressed and he was a refugee or perhaps a fugitive from those unseen oppressors. Tom could have been a Native American or a Communist--it doesn't matter, as it turns out--Communism was just a red herring.
Back to my part in this dream. I was the protagonist of the dream, but the person I was wasn't me. Got it? I was in this house and there on a trip (some sort of vacation?) to help Tom. Who then ran off and I was conftronted by evn more unfamiliar people. They revealed to me that I was not there to help Tom and company out at all, but the whole situation was crafted spefically to torment me. As proof, they showed me that there was not one but two rickety older houses: one "good" and one "evil" and the two were connected by a movie-cliche secret passage revolving wall. I leapt into the turning wall and was back with my fellow compatriates of Tom. Now paranoid and party to the oppressed, we decided to hide. In the kitchen. I climbed into the cubby-hole above some cabinets, just large enough to conceal Tom when he showed up. And then everything got weird.
Looking across the kitchen ceiling to an opening on the other side, I noticed a cartoon-y cute insect thing that was colorful and harmless-looking, about the size of my shoe. Like the bugs from that game "Cooties", except real and alive and much too close for comfort. I asked the others hiding with me what it was, but they dodged my question and it snuck away. I'm not sure if they were "in on it" as it turned out, so I let it slide. Then across the top of the wall came a bunch of furry yellow fist-sized things little more than a pair of menacing eyes and a sharp-toothed mouth. Headed toward me, they looked positively demented. They started biting at me and sucking out my energy, my will to live. Somehow. I say somehow since they never actually bit me but instead chomped at me from a distance, as though in a horror video game. The video game comparison becomes stronger as there were life bars or some sort of glowing bars at the edges of my view that were diminishing with each bite. Scared by the evil tribbles-with-teeth and also by the video game stuff creeping into my dreams, I ran. I ran so far away.
Well, not so far, but through a lot of the house. Other than being evil it was a pretty nice house, the sort you see the upper middle class families living in, in movies. I found myself outside the house through the garage and in a cul-de-sac or an alleyway. It had a claustrophobic feel to it and seemed put together to do exactly that, as though it were a movie set built to look bigger than it actually was. Except in this case the illusion only served to make it feel oppressively smaller. That was one of the strange things about this alley. The other two were the large quantity of (music) drums strewn about, and a creepy, chubby old guy standing next to them. This guy was grotesquely fat, a fact I became aware of through a rather revolting close-up of his arm. The 'camera' actually zoomed up to his arm, filling my view with every liverspot, throbbing artery, hair and acne scar. It was not a pretty sight.
Ignoring the pudgy codger, I guess I decided a little more background was in order. Looking over at the another nearby drum set, I muttered, "I wish I'd never taken this trip in the first place." Evidently I had won or earned the opportunity to be here in some fashion, and now I definitely regretted it. Then the man spoke. He was my [the person's] band director, and quite ugly at that. Leering, he asked, "You know how you know that this isn't real?" He widened his leer. "If this were real these snare drums wouldn't be here!" He chuckled and muttered, "One of these things is not like the other... one of these does not belong."
Hearing this, I got a little agitated and asked him why he was here, what he was doing. He answered saying he was here for the punishment of the people therein. Including me, he added. With a wicked gleam in his eye, an ice bucket and a bottle of wine in one hand and a crowbar in the other, he took a clumsy swing at me and a cheesy fight scene took place. I'm not much of a fighter, but he was out of shape and not very coordinated. During the scuffle, it became apparent that we were not alone in the alley, but joined by a guy in a black t-shirt and holding something long and pointy, looking like a javelin but clearly not anything an Olympian would ever hurl. And he looked a little angry. I could only suppose he was there to help the director fight me. Things were getting pretty bad for me.
Ironically detached from my predicament, I mused out loud, "What if you threw that at him [the director] and it went through his head, cyclops-style?" The sudden violent suggestion suprised us all, but what happened next did even more so. The guy in the black shirt chucked the pointy thing and as I had wondered, skewered the fat man right through his eye. He flailed his nasty mottled chubby arms around and fell over, dead, with the pointy thing sticking up like a flagpole.
I ran, to get as far away from that gruesome sight as I could, making sure to dispatch the other fellow with a "What if I stabbed you with his crowbar and killed you" and the aforementioned weapon, dropped by the fat guy. Normally my dreams aren't nearly this violent. So I ran down some streets and ended up on a highway, alone on the road and attacked from above by more of the furry creatures flying and diving at me. Realizing that I was in control of my environment, I wished them away with a "What if" and they were gone. Until the next batch showed up. Evidently this was bat country. This latest group I also wished away, but the whole thing was becoming tedious and the running tiresome.
I went over to some train tracks nearby, which soon lead to my being chased by a freight train. Well, one "what if the tracks got wider?" and the train was no longer a concern. I stopped running and got into a car, but since cars don't drive very well on railroad tracks and ties I wondered "What if this car could drive on these tracks?" and suddenly the car had grooved wheels instead of the tires. There was only one problem: the car was too narrow for the now very wide tracks. So I "what if"'d them closer together, but then too close. I was still new to this mind over matter stuff, after all. After more adjustment I got it right and drove on the tracks for a while, discarding the car when it was apparent I was being chased again. This time my assailant was some sort of wagon, but I didn't get a good look as I ran to a nearby fence. Looking at the ground I picked up a CD (it looked like death metal) which I threw at some people loitering around. One of them had a black eye, and before I could get a better look at them the renegade train car backed into me and I woke up very very confused.
Thinking about it, it seems very much like a bad, bad movie. It had
- little or no exposition, though very much was necessary
- two unseen and unexplained villanous forces
- no regard for the laws of physics or nature
- elaborately convoluted plans for torture and torment
- gratuitous violence and an unnecessary, cheesy fight scene
- sudden, unexplained changes in tone and scenery
- a bad, anticlimatic ending that seemed hastily tacked on
- highly merchandisable, cute evil creatures
So what is the moral of the story? No more cheesy movies and video games for me after midnight. Or something like that.