I may, in fact, be insane. I hope there are no psychiatrists or analysts out there reading this blog.Both of these horrible, horrible dreams are from 1997. I ran across them in an old dream journal file while transferring some stuff to my new computer from my XHD. I haven't rewritten them or polished them or anything, so they're a little rough. Apologies, but these are here for academic purposes only. Do not enjoy them.
I never used to have pleasant or neutral dreams- I had nothing but nightmares and all of them were horrific, spectacular affairs, too. I had so many awful dreams that I had just become immune to them; they barely disrupted my sleep. All were very visual, very gory and if I must say so myself, they were pretty imaginative. Some of them are horror classics.
Recently I seem to have left the nightmares behind, and have instead begun to have surreal, personal dreams full of symbolism and emotional heft. Sometimes I feel like I'd rather have the free horror movies instead.
I feel like the Crypt Keeper! So without further ado, kiddies:
Nightmare number one:
Doll Factory
I dreamt that I was the sole employee of a company that manufactured child-sized dolls. It was my job to paint these dolls’ faces, and I took to the task with gusto. Strangely, the factory was housed in a rotted-out hull of a school bus tucked away in the middle a forest. With no tires or windshield, no engine and just a little paint left on its rusting hulk, the bus looked positively evil. In the dream I either didn't notice this or I didn't care.
Some friends of mine, accompanied by my brother and my father, came out to take me away and "de-program" me. They came aboard the bus and calmly tried to convince me to leave with them. I couldn't understand why they wanted me to leave my job so badly. I was steadfast, and I tried to stand my ground as they forced me to chew strong cinnamon gum and to change my clothing.
Even though some part of me knew what was going on I resisted them. All around me the bus-factory was piled high with junk, allowing only a few slim pathways from the door, to my work station, to the filthy restroom. Some rooms in the bus are piled high with things like old rubber boots, and children's gloves, some with things like orange, rusted machine parts.
Slowly, it began to dawn on me that these weren't dolls at all, they were rotting corpses with their arms and legs cut in half. I had been painting kewpie doll faces on soggy, blackened, dead bodies!
All at once the smell in the bus became unbearable! I realized the reason they were having me wash my hair, change my clothes and chew that strong gum: it was all an attempt to get the charnel odor off of me! They knew that once they had broken the "spell" clouding my mind I would be able to see and smell everything I hadn't been able to perceive before then.
Nightmare two:
Street Luge
Please note: I had this dream before I was aware that there actually was such a thing as “street luge”.
My dream was this: I was competing in a "street luge" competition to take place on a narrow, winding mountain road that the event's organizers had unfortunately not closed to traffic, so as we sped down the highway, we were being passed by logging trucks, sports cars, pickup trucks and other everyday vehicles, sometimes missing running over us by mere inches. The competitors were riding low, flat, fiberglass sleds that each had at least a dozen wheels.
My luge roller-sled was made of graphite compounds, with chromed steel wheels and absolutely nothing in the way of safety features. I was dressed in a bright blue union suit with bright yellow piping; a nylon-backed second skin of leather with its own cooling system. I wore kevlar kneepads, elbow pads and gloves, the knuckles of the gloves covered with large, polished steel balls. As I leaned to and fro to steer the sled, my knuckles dragged on the pavement, sending up rooster tails of sparks and causing the metal balls on the gloves to begin to glow orange-hot.
We were racing down a steep hill traveling at speeds that would probably make any accident fatal. Racing alongside me was a much-despised rival racer, keeping perfect pace with me. He was hated by all of the other racers for selling out, having taken on so many corporate partners that his body and sled were literally covered with logos and advertisements. Mountain Dew, Marlboro, McDonalds, Wal-Mart- all the biggest names were in evidence. His sponsors had also outfitted him with many thousands of dollars worth of the best equipment available. He had high-tech lighter-than-air wheels, chassis and his sled sported a new, more aerodynamic design that seemed to make it impossible to beat.
Despite all of his advantages and successes, he cheated in every race. He drifted up alongside my own sled and began to vandalize my wheels. If he had succeeded he may have actually killed me, since we were traveling at such a dangerous speed and on such a dangerous road.
I sat up on my sled, temporarily sacrificing my ability to steer, and I began to beat on the guy's face. His skin was instantly torn open and blood was freely flowing, splattering all over the both of us.
He continued to try to wreck my sled throughout this assault- first the wheels and then trying to disable my steering mechanism. The cars and trucks drove past us in both directions while all the while the rushing air sprayed my rival’s blood all over the two of us. Looking through my blood-spattered face shield, I saw that his jawbone had been broken so badly that his mouth had actually flipped inside out! His tongue flapped back and forth as he gurgled curses at me. I let loose my grip on his sled and watched him slip off to the right and disappear into traffic.
Similar to the mark of which I speak.
I bought mine in a store in Ballard called "The Secret Garden", but of course Amazon carries this title as well.
