Dreams 08.22-23.08

I’ve just finished participating in some kind of organized massacre and now I’m walking down the street in front of the house where I grew up. I’m nervous because three kids are following me closely. I keep glancing back to see what they’re doing. They run in front of me and one of them throws a rock through the garage window. I grab him and hit him in the face until he’s bleeding and his friends convince me to stop because he’s hurt. I feel guilty and we walk under a big tree to talk. I tell them not to worry because I used to be a vandal, too.

Water starts seeping out from under the garage door and my friend Corinne walks over to say that she’s rehearsing a play inside. She’s holding a cigarette that’s been smoked down to the filter. She asks me if I’m going to be able to stay in France and I say that I’m not sure. She gives me a wetsuit. I try to put it on over my head but there are only holes for my arms.

* * *

I’m standing on stage watching an opera. A stack of sound equipment crashes through the curtain and all the actors stop. Julianne Moore is in the audience. We go see Ian McKellan in his dressing room cathedral. We’re mad at him and he cries on the floor and I fall on top of him and shake him by his lapels. Julianne and I drink a beer at a bar in south Tulsa. I can only remember three movies she’s been in. My brother tries to give me a shiny blue pack of cigarettes.

* * *

I’m Darth Vader but everyone in the compound must think that I’m disabled. To fool them, I ambulate with the help of a guide. We emerge from an elevator and I glide across a room and its walls, knocking robots apart with my lightsaber.

An elder in a cell warns me not to abuse my power. I go to the roof with my guide and a man with curly hair is following us in a white van. I can see that he’s planning to harm us, and he cuts the underside of his arm open to prepare for his attack. I use my power to accelerate his blood flow and it sprays violently against the interior of his windshield. My guide chastises me for disobeying the elder.


~ by ohkrapp on August 23, 2008.

3 Responses to “Dreams 08.22-23.08”

  1. I had a dream last night where I’m on a field trip and we get out of the bus the bus driver (who is in full livery) points out a licence plate. I know immediately that it is belongs to OJ Simpson and that if I take it we can finally incriminate him for his horrible abuses of justice (which go beyond murder and involve secret control of the government). The driver nods to me and I take off the plate and hide it under my shirt. We both know this is a once in a lifetime chance. Immediately Simpson’s guards (who are everywhere and who have so warped the minds of everyday citizens that anyone except the underground alliance can become an agent) know that someone has taken the plate but they don’t yet know how. There is a commotion and I walk faster. We come to a long flight of steep stairs, something like the steps of Sacré Coeur and it is there they realize it is me. All of the professional agents are behind me and there are lots of people loitering on the streets who would love to catch me for the reward. I dodge left and right and spin, I struggle upwards though I feel weak on my skinny legs. If I get caught I get killed.

    Finally I use my last strength to ascend the final steps and I’m in safe territory at the top, backstage at the Obama campaign. I personally hand the licence plate to Obama and he smiles with quiet inner joy. “This is a great thing for justice” he says. I swell with pride. I’m on the point of saying “It’s a great honor to meet you Mr. Obama,” when he turns to an aid and says, “Wait a minute, where’s the plate?”. It’s gone. Somehow Simpson’s agents slipped into Obama territory without making a sound and took it back. We’re all devastated. I sit down and say, “I need a drink”, and Obama’s campaign manager points to a glass and says, “There’s some cold whiskey”. I thank him and take a big swig, staring at the floor. Everyone is silent. Will justice ever be done?

  2. that is incredible.

    ‘this is a great thing for justice.’

  3. The strange thing about my dream is that Obama keeps his whiskey cold.

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