Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Zero Five

Here's another one where I was myself.
And I was on vacation again.

Dream: 05
Date: June 20th, 2009

It started at an average-sized, single-story motel in Mexico.
Or rather, it was in Guatemala.
Well.... it was like this:

My mother and a girl-friend of hers had one room,
and myself and my roommate had another room.
The motel was situated such that it was split between the two countries.
My mother's room was in Mexico....
and mine was in Guatemala.
Weird, but there you have it.

But, that's not the really weird part....

My roommate was Fidel Castro!

(Let that soak in for a few seconds)

For some reason, he was being given a new identity and a chance to move to the United States. And for some reason, he was with me.
I was being nice to him, but he was kind of grouchy about the whole thing.
He wouldn't let me place my suitcase on his bed, which was next to the dresser, so that I could unpack my clothes easier.
Actually, he wasn't much of a roommate.

Later on....

We were all going out for some lunch and stopped at a buffet. Since we were in Mexico, it featured Spanish food.
I was going to choose the items which would allow me to make my own burritos.
I happen to love burritos.
The line was congested and so we got at the tail end of it, Fidel and I.
It was then I noticed that the restaurant had a guest book to sign.
I noticed that Fidel hadn't signed it....
for some reason he was going under the name of Buddy....
and I reminded him that he had to sign it using his alias.
Fidel said:
"I'm not signing that."
I guess he didn't like the name that had been chosen as his alias.

We finally got through the line and just as I was about to....
assemble my burritos....
a loud vehicle went past my house and woke me up.

I never did get to find out what Fidel thought of the restaurant!
And, then when I woke up, I had a craving for burritos.
Go figure!

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Zero Four

I was a traveller in a foreign country.
On a vacation.
It went just like this....

Dream: 04
Date: February 9th, 2005

I was travelling in a foreign country, most likely a Pan -American country.
They had a military dictator-type leader
He arrested me and 20 or 30 other tourists.
We were sent by train to a prison.
It was located in the interior of the country.
We had to ride along on tracks that were raised off the ground


bordered the edge of a big river.
It must have been an automated train, because there weren’t any guards to watch over us.

We couldn’t open the doors to escape.

Well, I had the idea to leap out the windows and land in safety in the river.
I convinced everyone else to follow me.
We did so and got away.
From then on, we started to survive and built a small community along the river’s banks.
We must have chosen a place too far along the river to jump,
for just around the bend from where we were located,
there was a huge building on the banks of the river.

It was 6 or 7 massive stories high and turned out to be some kind of government building.
There was a post office inside it with


of people native to the country going in and out it.
I devised some kind of plan to go in it which involved
catching a wild turkey,
plucking it’s feathers,
and finding some way to make it look like it had been mailed to me, by stamping it with ink.
(Or what appeared to be ink.)
Everyone with me swam a lot in the river.

I swam across the river and went inside the post office.
I tried to convince somebody inside the building that I had been mailed the turkey.
(Why, I don’t know.)
Something happened....
I was recognized as an escaped prisoner

The people started running wild and taking all the packages for themselves.

I was trying to say I’d received the turkey wrongly
I was trying to exchange it for another package
one that would help us escapees to survive better.
But, when I went to the bin where they kept the packages,
by the time I got there,
they had all been taken by the fleeing peasants.

I dived for the water and headed back to where my fellow escaped tourist companions awaited.

It was there that I woke up.

There is no complaint department to ask where I come up with these strange and somewhat ridiculous, (at times), dreams.
But, if you leave a comment, I'll try to answer specific points....
Such as what might have caused the dream....

If possible.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Zero Three

I was just a spectator to this dream.
It unfolded just like a movie.
Get some popcorn, sit back and enjoy the show.

Dream: 03
Date: December 10th, 2007

Southern Arizona, in the desert near some mountains that weren’t too tall.
A husband and wife in their late-30's ran a school for blind kids.
Their over-weight daughter of about 18 years of age was among the students.
The school had a marching band.
The blind kids could play their instruments and march
down a big, wide, flat dirt road, where there were no obstacles to hit or trip over.

Their daughter played a big, worn brass tuba.
it’s a heavy instrument and she could carry it better than the other, younger kids.

The couple had a small Chihuahua dog

They fed it some kind of kibbles and bits that didn’t require refrigeration.
They took out the little inch-long sausages that were in the dog food and threw them into a huge five-gallon earthenware pot that was light gray in color.
It had white edges.
They gave the dog the rest of each package - the long, skinny pieces.

Two bearded men on motorcycles in their twenties came rolling in and stayed for a few days
The couple took them in and fed them.
(The first one was at least 27 and the second one was younger, around 24 or so.)

The older of the two bikers made fun of the blind kids and left after only a few days.
The second one started to hang out with the over-weight daughter.
They talked a lot about serious things.
The parents knew it was going on, but permitted it to happen.

The over-weight daughter started falling in love with the biker.
(Or, so she thought.)
But he wasn't in love with her.
He was just passing through.

The wife had a thing for the biker, too, and she decided to leave with him.
(Or so she mistakenly thought was going to happen.)

She was waiting for him, just up the road in a roadside cafe at a four-way intersection.
The biker came speeding through on his way out of town.
She looked out the window and saw him and that he was leaving without her.
Just at that moment, he came roaring straight up to the intersection, facing toward you and I, the viewers, with the cafe on the left facing the road that ran left and right.
The biker turned to go to the right at the intersection, but was

hit and killed by a big, old truck

that was coming from his left and our right.
It killed him immediately.

The husband heard the accident and came up to check on it.
He saw his wife there and knew what her intentions had been.
Nothing was said about it, but they went back home to lead their lives.
Both knowing that she had wanted to leave him behind:
(indent)with the cares of the blind school,
(indent)their daughter and their old life,
(indent)while she left with the young kid and a new life.

The blind kids were marching down the dirt road, practicing.
The parents were waiting for their daughter to finish and get back home
before they told her about the accident.
There the dream ended.
What a great story for a movie, huh?

The credits could scroll upward,
over the blind kids marching and playing in their very unpolished manner.
Hello, Hollywood?

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.