Dream: I am a Victim, Murderer, and Maybe Myself

I am a woman, who would be one of the most preciously beautiful woman on Earth, if it weren't for the abuse she took from her husband constantly. I am recollecting memories, and when I see myself at first, I am pale, and though I am young, my face sags like something has been dragging it down. I start telling the story of how he used to bring me to an 'English Sex Motel,' a place where you could bring someone to have sex with them in obscure ways. It happens regularly. He puts me underneath of the bed, or couch, so he doesn't have to look at me. He throws me around and beats me and scraps my face on the under part of the couch. I see myself, crying and bleeding, and then I am suddenly in the woman, seeing in first person the blood drip off my face onto my shaking hands. I am telling the story to someone who is at my book release and signing. There are a lot of people in small groups, each drinking wine, and listening to the saxophone player in the background of other people talking. It is at this point, when the present presents itself, that I am no longer the victim of this story. I am maybe myself, above the party in the upstairs of the house that has revealed itself slowly to be my cousin's house (the McFadden's house appears in my dreams often.) The living room is empty of normal furniture; empty folding chairs are set up facing a podium for the woman's official talk on her experience. Moving up the stairs I find myself in a bedroom, watching my neighbor trying to jump between the roofs of porches on the next house over and the one I am in. He makes it going to the next house over but he does not try the uphill jump coming back my way. The woman's speech starts downstairs and my view is brought to the back of the crowd. The chairs are full, requiring some to stand in the back and listen. I cannot see the woman because I am looking from behind those standing and my view is low to the ground. The credits start rolling over this scene as if it were the triumphant resolve to a movie. The view moves over the crowd, but before it can reach the woman saying her peace about her life, there is a bang on the door. The credits stop rolling the view quickly moves through the door and shows the husband in a very angry stance, his face only a few centimeters from the door. He is finally shown as being shorter and stout, with a half bald forehead and black hair poofing out like Einstein's (only a little shorter) covering the rest of his head. He has a small knife in his hand and is in an orange prison jumpsuit. Behind him is a prison van, pulled right up on the lawn in front of the entrance. There are police in swat gear standing all around the van, seemingly supporting the efforts of this madman. I am the only one who knows that he has murdered all of the police, manipulated their bodies, and set them up outside of the van, to add authority to his demand to be let inside. On the other side of the door some people had stayed behind to create a human blockade, almost everyone else retreated further into the house. The man yells and bangs on the door once more. The saxophone player voices, with disgust in his voice, that the man will never get in, and then leans over by the door handle. There is a tube coming out of his saxophone. He puts a lighter up to it and blows. A dissonant sound and a concise tube of fire shoot out of the saxophone. The notes are met with the murderers screams, as the fire shoots through the keyhole and burns his crotch. With the rage of fighting dog, just let out of the cage, the murderer punches his knife and hand right through the deadbolt and the door! As the door swings open, I am now the murderer! I am pissed off. So focused that I don't even bother with the puny man that set fire to my crotch or any of the other guests standing around. "Where are the Publishers!?" I demand. I see my mom and my aunt among the guests who lingered in the reception room. With a threatening wave of my knife I demand again. "THE PUBLISHERS!!" An unidentifiable guests points me in the direction of the basement. I rush to the basement, knife in hand, and make it halfway down the steps before I realize I am in complete darkness. Then, there is a creak, and light shines through the cracks of an old wooden door and around its slightly opened edges. A voice starts from behind the door, but stops before any discernible sounds are emitted. I say "Don't worry it is just me, Colin." I am not sure if it is me, nor do I know if my intention is to hide, or murder the people inside. As the door opens, I wake up.

Dream: Improbable Incidents in Open Spaces

I am in a minor league ballpark. I am not sure if it is as large as a major league park, but it is definitely more wide open; possibly because of a lack of seating. The lack of seating may also be the reason I am standing in the middle of the outfield instead of watching the game from the stands. I am definitely not playing in the game, so I start moving toward the dug-outs to exit the field. The game goes on, I am not interfering with the game, but have now become a part of it. Players from the outfield start throwing high, arching baseballs in attempts to land on on top of my head. The baseballs explode into the ground, getting buried in the field. Grass clumps fly up around me. The baseballs land sporadically around me like cannonballs missing a ship in open water. As i get off the field I notice the pitcher, no actually all the other players are my friend from high school and college, Jabari. Jabari left out of nowhere one day to go to Ohio for love. I ask him what he is doing playing baseball and a speech bubble protrudes from his (the pitcher one's) mouth, telling me that it is the easiest class to pass. Turning and exiting the dug-out is exiting a cave, on vacation with the rest of my friends from the main crew. Crene, Jared, Courtney and Joe lay with me and talk out side of some ancient ruin. There are statues embedded in the side of the wall and I throw a rock at one, not thinking about whether it will damage the relic. The form seems fine and it is seen as a normal action by everyone else. It is time for me to be going so I take the train up to New Hampshire, but the scenery looks more like the south of France; not that I've been there. There are beautiful floral lakes and fields all around me and no sound whatsoever; it is completely silent. I end up on a lake with pink, dish-shaped flowers on lily pads that is more like a bog in Florida than a lake in SoFra. I am on my back, relaxing, looking up through the foliage at a hazy white-blue sky, and i am movin, and I mean movin! A jet ski behind me is pulling me through the bog and I am loving it. I am completely trusting of whoever the driver is and where we are going. I am unconcerned, that is, until I turn around. Facing forward I become increasingly anxious about the route we are taking. All of a sudden in a small section of the bog, isolated by two sharp turns in the waterway and the thick foliage of the surrounding land, the driver stops, leaving me floating, almost motionless 200 feet away. I am being drawn toward the driver, but there is an interruption. Coming from around the bend we just travelled, Sabrina shows up on the cruise-ship of jet skis. She does a few amazing little maneuvers that expose the bottom of her vessel, and she comes to a rest right next to me. She is followed by Katy and Allyssa, in a similar triple-stacked, double-wide jetski. They seem not to pick up on my nervousness even though when they ask how I am doing, my throat is too tight to allow an answer to pass through. They continue on their way and I continue to be pulled, faster this time toward my driver. As I come closer I notice his form, small and hunched, standing waist deep in the water next to his 'Jesus Saves' Monster Truck Jet Ski. He has the clothing of a high school algebra teacher: an old button up shirt that may have been white at one point, but is now the color of cedar water, even though it is dry. His tie is plain-brown and tight. He is waist deep in the water but his pants are hiked up over the water line. Along with his slouching, and being dwarfed by the jet ski, his high pantline makes him look smaller than me. It is not until I stand right next to him that the cause of my subconious angst is revealed. The water instantly fills the entire atmosphere. It bubbles and its colors alternate columns of green and purple waves, reminicent of a cartoon nuclear poison. I am drowning next to the man, who is now fat and scruffy. I don't even try to get away, there is nowhere to go. I am less afrraid now even though a new danger has presented itself: Death Spikes, metal skulls on the ends of taught chains move toward me at a steady even pace; they are not fast, they are not slow. The skulls have long metal spikes around them. Inexplicably, I know I am going to be ok. I wake up, wound up and have trouble falling back to sleep. When I do I am in the middle of the ocean one jumb away from a horseshoe island in the middle of the ocean. The island is made up of connected blocks, on which apes stand with primitively fastend spears. My girlfriend Renae is already on the island and warns me of the nature of it. There is a giant squid, she telepathically communicates to me, that feeds on the fish in the middle of the island. When an ape notices the squid he warns the others by smacking his spear on the water, letting them know that although there is a lot of fish action, they should not risk going after them, because of the deadly squid. I let myself slowly fall onto an empty block around the island and it falters a little. At the exact moment I am in the air, the ape to the block next to me smacks the water with his spear. The squid is present and it is right next to my block, which is now steady. Renae again telepathically warns me of the squid. She is a presence in the dream, but is no longer on the island. I try to tell her I will be okay as I stare down and contemplate the squid next to my block. I partially do not believe myself and I am not sure if Renae heard me, she is no longer present. I take the dive anyway, 30 feet straight down next to the squid. As soon as I land in the water my momentum continues, only it is horizontal. The squid pushes me with its big squid head, trying to position me for snacking on, but my feet stay steady. I actually adjust so that the squid pushes me down further. I arch up as we gain momentum. I am now headed straight for the surface at super-squid speeds. I breech the surface and push off as hard as I can from the killer squid. I know that his mouth will be waiting for me on my way down. At the point in mid-air that I should begin my decent I decide I am just going to keep going up instead. I watch, the spear-bearing apes, the thin-horseshoe island, the killer squid, shrink as the ocean becomes more vast in my view. I must've made it to space. I wake up feeling like I am floating.

Dream: Japan is a Roller Rink with Candy

The people of Japan don't want us there but we are coming anyway. My 8th
grade class is going to Japan and we are walking down a long boardwalk
over the water to get there. There is candy down the entire stretch of
the boardwalk. I can sense the end coming soon and haven't taken any
candy yet, so I try to sneakily grab a sour apple Blo Pop sticking up
from the cracks in the boards. I fall like an idiot an everyone knows
what I am doing anyway. Japan is a Rollerskating Rink with candy on the
walls. I climb a cubby to grab Hilary an oversize chocolate bar. I do
this for her because I have known her almost all my life. We went to
prom together but I have never got her chocolate. After the task of the
chocolate is complete, I do some showing off of my rollerskating
skills. I move with the music. Perfect beats of Jap pop and early 90's rink music cause me to dive to the ground and roll through my skating path. I tap dance on wheels. Even Samy, the marathon runner and fellow disco dancer is impressed; I see a
wowed look on his face. The after party is at my dad's house. It is
night and now my college friends replace friends from the past. There
is weird graffiti on the front steps. Two words are filled in rainbow
colors and the third has not been finished; it is just letters of silver
outline. The next morning I am on the front porch. It is nice and
bright. I have a boner underneath of my pants and am talking to Leslie
and Jen. Leslie is an ex-lover and I have no reason to hide anything
from her, and I was only bashful in front of Jen once and that streak
remains through this episode. So I let it hang out there cause its
natural and under my pants, (what can you do,) but Ryan walks out of
the door. He is oblivious, carrying something that completely blocks
the view by his feet. I am relieved and then I wake up.

Dream: Bowling for Peace

My cousins have a new house. I want there old one, it is like a mansion, but Tommy tells me it is only standing because of the newspaper in the basement. I still consider living there. I am at a family part for my cousin Mike’s birthday at my mom’s new house. I search the house and find my mom on the lower level, by her new in-ground indoor swimming pool. I leave the family party without saying goodbye. I enter a huge bowling alley that is literally an alley outside on the street. This is some high tech shit. The game of bowling has changed a little for the purpose of survival. I am deadlocked in a tie score with Jeff Daniels. This match has been going on for so long the crowd is more tense than I am; I just want this to be over, but not bad enough to throw the game. Now, when there is a tie in bowling, the two opposing players must stand with their feet directly next to each other, hold each others' hand and lean out to form a V-shape. The pins are set up in a seven-ten split and the bowler who misses when the other knocks his pin down wins. My bowling ball is in my left hand on this turn. I know we have been switching sides because I know I shouldn't be bowling left handed. I make a huge mistake. I bowl early. I was lost in thought and completely forgot I had to wait for the official's signal to throw the ball. I miss the pin but it wouldn't matter anyway, it is more personally disappointing than a relevant issue. My opponent, who is no longer Jeff Daniels and now a scruffier slicker man, now gets a free throw at his pin. I cannot believe what his is about to do, but I already know it is his only course. With hundreds of people now watching on the street, he throws right into the gutter. He says to me: "Let's play this one out," but as my ball comes back, I do not react. I am not going to bowl. My ball is rolling straight for a small child, so I go and pick up the ball and become distracted by the kid's enchanting single mother. She hands me a newspaper clipping that is torn and faded like it is a hundred years old but the date is today. THE DEMOCRATS HAVE TAKEN OVER GERMANY. The picture shows sad army tanks being chased out of the ruined city. Behind them are people waving goodbye and a flatscreen TV two times the size of the tanks broadcasting the news of the war being over. I look around and see hundreds of people and think that I should turn the bowling alley into a voters' information center. Wooden walls go up all around me. In front of me there is a huge pantry with three large shelves, separated in the middle, creating two lanes with three levels each; The game of bowling has changed again. Now I am throwing a glass bowl at foodstuffs that are lined up in the pantry. On my first throw I decide to shoot for the middle shelf. I follow through, but don’t let go of the bowl. I end up flat on my face. As I protest that the throw should not to count, my friends become forgiving and let me try again. This time, I nail it. There is a loud pop as a huge jar of pesto bursts into a million pieces and almost disappears into space. My friend Jarrett runs up to me and is disappointed. I hadn’t noticed yet but I cracked his Pyrex bowling bowl on the throw. I tell him I will buy him a new one but he is still upset with me. I ignorantly throw the bowl again, out of turn, and at no shelf in particular. The bowl sails over the cans and packages lined up on the shelf and smashes itself into the back wall. I turn away and I wake up.

Dream: Afro Pete and the Foot-Stabbing Booger Spider

There are weird smelling bugs in my dining room. They resemble Termites with an extra Thorax. As I murder them ruthlessly, a strange sweet smell emanates from the black smudge in my hands. As I enter the next room to advise my housemate, Reid, of this issue, I see a strange spider retreat to the legs of our wooden chair in the kitchen. Its web is uncommonly thick, and its legs look like the teeth of a saw, until they come to an extra smooth and hard point, like a candy cane that has been converted into a shank by sucking it sharp. I wonder if the spider can solve the problem of the black bugs, but there are more in the kitchen, and none in its web. Due to the troubling look of the spider, I move in to murder it, but it is quick. Moving back, dodging my foot, the spider simultaneously came down on my sneaker with its foreleg. My shoe was not pierced but i thought it should have been. I was then shot in the nose by the coagulative web that the spider is uniquely capable of weaving. I pick my nose. I know the spider is not after my eyes, it is not a mistake that the sticky blob hit my nose. This is a skilled spider. I am very afraid. My heart races as I decide to retaliate, using the stomping method again, this time with my left foot. He is waiting for me to attack again. The Booger Spider once again stabs at my shoe. One more attack on either shoe and the spike of the spider will definitely go through. Now the spider has me cornered. I back my self into the bathroom and grab hold of the towel rails on both sides of me. The spider waits. I move in with my feet, one last time. It is going to be me or the Booger Spider, we cannot coexist. As the spider raises its mighty Cephalothorax, I raise both of my sneaker-shielded feet into the air. Sensing the new danger of a hoovering enemy, the Booger Spider retreats into the warm hands of its newly revealed master; Afro Pete! I cannot believe it! Pete thinks I am doing well with my new spider; one he bought me for my Birthday! He says I am finally getting the hang of the footwork, and lets the now tame spider walk out of his hands to go frolic about the kitchen. Before I can drop kick him, or ask him for an explanation of the facts I know to be true but almost unimaginable, Afro Pete looks at me with a consoling smile and beady puppy-dog eyes, and I Wake Up.