Friday, November 9, 2007

Zero Two

Sometimes I am me in my dreams. Sometimes I am not.
This was one of those times when I was seeing through the eyes of someone else.

Dream: 02
Date: December 3rd, 1995

The person who I inhabited went to see a baseball game at Busch Stadium, in St. Louis.
Standing in a long line to enter.
V.I.P. in "their" office called me in and asked if I/not I could make a lemon chiffon cake for "them."
It was for a special occasion and I/not I had 20 minutes. Could I/not I do it?
I/not I said yes.
"They" took me to a fully stocked and functional kitchen inside the stadium.
I/not I got to work.

There was a door marked Bent Space.

Through this door, which led to another place in the universe, I/not I found a cake already made.
A blue chiffon cake.
I/not I took it back to "them" and they liked it even more than a lemon chiffon cake.
End of dream.
It was at this moment that my alarm went off.
I wonder what happened to the cake?

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Zero One

You're here now. Read on.
I have had many curious dreams. The subconscious mind is not understood.
As the Wellingtons said all those years ago:
"Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip."
It is with some reluctance I relate these dreams, all from the deep recesses of my unconscious mind.
So, don't blame me.

Dream: 01
Date: 1995

Michael works in a realtor's office in Boston.
He receives a strange package in the mail.
It turns out to be a small reel of movie film.
He wants to marry his girlfriend Carole.
She is a teacher with access to projectors.
Michael visits Carole at her school, hoping to see his unknown film.
Carole has one of her students wheel a projector into an unused classroom.
The student prepares the projector for them.
The boy pulled a screen down over the blackboard and stood by the lightswitch. On Carole's signal, he turned off the lights and crossed by in front of them to the projector in back of them. He twisted a switch two clicks to the left and adjusted another one in case there was sound and a patina of gray began to coat the screen.
The film starts:
After the film's leader had passed the lamp, a grainy roadway came into view. It had been a highway he had seen, thought Michael. The student, named David, pulled the focus in better. Silent images travelled left and right across the canvas; cars and trucks on an open highway. The boy behind them broke in and said, "Looks like there's no sound." Michael nodded before he realized the boy probably couldn't see his actions in the darkness. He returned his attention back to the screen, where Carole's had never left.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I have no idea, but it looks old. Look at the cars. They're all from the sixties and seventies."
"Who would send you something like this? Could it be home movies from some of your relatives?"
"I don't think so. I don't recognize the location. I'm sure I would remember it if I'd ever been there."
The vehicles passed by the camera which had been at a stationary point just off the side of the road. Suddenly, the image began to shake and they realized why. The camera was, itself, in a car, and that car had just pulled onto the narrow highway. They watched in fascination as it drove along. Far ahead of it in the distance, was an older, though probably new at the time, station wagon. The space between the two vehicles began to close imperceptibly.
Carole pointed at the glowing screen. "Wasn't that the ocean?"
"Yes, it was. It must be the Pacific. And the road seems to be slowly climbing up and away from it."
The setting was indeed moving to a higher level. The road became more twisting and winding and showed distinct edges over which the ocean could be glimpsed far below. Seagulls began to fly around, backlit by the sunny day. The traffic had thinned out now. Soon, except for the occasional eighteen wheeler, the only other vehicle to be seen was the station wagon. They continued to watch in silence, entranced by the passing scenery. Or maybe it was something else. What was it exactly? Carole was the first to notice the change in Michael, even before he noticed it himself. It manifested itself in the grip his hand had on holding hers. She leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear.
"Is something wrong?"
"I don't.... know." His eyes were transfixed on the screen.
"Michael.... you're hurting my hand. What is it?"
"That car. I think it's my parent's."
"How could it be?"
"No, back before they were.... when they were still alive." She felt his hand growing moist, as it began to sweat profusely. She'd never seen him like this before. He was beginning to frighten her.
"Then, this must be some old home movies."
"I don't think so." He relaxed his grip, but said nothing more. The camera's field of vision had moved right up on the back of the other car. So close, in fact, that the two cars could have touched. Whoever had been operating the camera had been a passenger in thetrailing car. Through it's dirty windshield they could discern two figures in the wagon. One, the driver,was taller than the passenger. 'Was it Michael's mother and father?' she thought to herself.
"Is it....?" She left the question unasked, but her meaning was quite clear.
His voice low, he answered, "I think so."
"Oh, my God, Michael. What is this?"
The camera suddenly jerked. All at once they knew what was happening. The trailing car had rammed into the one in front, causing everything to rock violently. It happened again. And again. And again.
"Michael, they're going to...."
The shorter figure in the lead car turned around to look right into the lens of the camera. As the camera zoomed in on the figure, Carole recognized it as Michael's late mother from old pictures he had shown her. The woman was screaming something at the driver, her words unvocalized and lost forever. Because of the force being unleashed upon the bumper of the station wagon, it began to veer wildly and swerve between both lanes of the open road. A particularly sharp and menacing curve sprang up and the car ahead chose that moment to lose control of it's forward progress. It slammed to the left and plowed into a guardrail, whose purpose was to supposedly prevent runaway cars such as this from plunging into the ocean below. In this, it failed. At a nearby riveted joint, the metal of the rail ripped loose and clawed high into the sky. The long car careened through the now-opened hole and dived toward the ocean below, suddenly the only thing in it's immediate path. The following car rocked to a stop, the camera momentarily showed a view of a darkened floorboard, and then the screen burst into a blossoming white square of sky as the iris readjusted itself to the bright sunlight once again. It's operator exited the motionless car and reaimed it's lense over the cliff below. A black mushroom cloud was growing on the beach, slowly turning to red. They both watched, unable to speak, as the station wagon bloomed into a ball of red and yellow and white smoke and fire. It's occupants were surely dead.
"Oh, Michael. It's so horrible. Was it.... was it your parents?"
His grip went slack; his voice all but gone.
"Yes...." he whispered.
The film reached it's abrupt conclusion and the screen went white.
End of dream.
And then I woke up in a sweat.
The detail was all in my dream, I didn't embellish it.
Who can say they understand the machinations of a mind at rest?
Not me.
There will be more dreams soon.