Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Ride On Through the Night

So I just woke up from a dream where I went to my parent's summer house deep in the country to babysit it while they're on vacation somewhere or something, they left a bunch of numbers to call by the phone if I needed 'em, 'cause you know how mom's are.

The place is all fulla rich-intellectual-people furnishings and its all sterile and lavish and everything is like a museum.

On my first walk through the place, I find a little group of scuzzy looking kids partying with their girlfriends in the back.

Which is pretty much what I expected to find, so I tell them to get the heck out of there so I can lock the place up and relax, 'cause its pretty late at night.

Then I hear a noise coming from another room, and I know there's even more people inside the house than I first thought there was.

So I demand that one of the scuzzy kids tell me exactly what the hell is going on.

And they say they're actually FBI agents working undercover or something, and they show me their badges.

And then twenty more FBI agents come out of the woodwork.

And I'm all like, what the hell are you guys doing here? Bugging the place or something?

And they won't really give me a good answer, but I can't make 'em leave.

They're really obnoxious and worthless people that belong in office cubicles, and not cool secret agent types or anything, and they're milling around aimlessly and eating all my parent's food and they're extremely jealous of how nice the house is (even though I sorta hate the house 'cause its so fake and uncomfortable-looking) and there starts to be this long line at the doorway to the bathroom 'cause about half of them are women and the wait is insufferable.

So I decide to leave the place and go for a ride through the fresh night air of the country-side in dreamland on an old pogo-stick in a trenchcoat.

But I get tired as I'm riding along, 'cause the scenery in the countryside is boring and repetitive, y'know, and somehow I drift off and fall asleep while driving the pogo-stick, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up sorta sitting on one of the footrests as the pogo-stick is hopping along by itself, Alice in Wonderland Style, and I stand up and take control of it without falling over, and I find myself cruising down some weird street deep in the woods that I've never seen before, totally lost.

Boy am I ever lucky that the pogo-stick didn't go spinning out of control and crashing into the woods or something while I was taking a nap on the footrest!

So I'm bouncing along down the road through the night, trying to find my way back to my house fulla FBI agent losers before they totally wreck the place, and I see a bunch of people having a huge party up ahead.

And as luck would have it, my awesome magic pogo-stick finally decides to crap out and fall apart just as I get near the place.

So I'm picking up the pieces of my pogo-stick, worrying that I'm gonna miss an important magical piece in the dark grass, and I'm trying to screw it back together again, 'cause it ain't really broken, it just sorta came loose and fell apart from too much use, y'know.

And a kid my age comes over and starts to help, all friendly-like.

We've just about got the pogo-stick back together again, when a bunch of hot women start coming over and flirting with me.

I notice the kid really likes this, 'cause he ain't popular enough around here to draw crowds of high-powered chicks like this on his own.

And since he helped me, I figured I'd help him back, y'know, so I sorta play along with the ladies and tickle their fancies and shit.

And surprise, surprise, one of them is sorta funny, even.

And she has cute eyes.

And so we get invited inside this giant party mansion in the company of all these women.

Now, my pogo-stick still isn't operational, I still got a nasty little piece leftover that seems like its gonna require me to take the whole damn thing apart again to insert it or something.

But this party house is huge, there's hundreds and hundreds of people partying inside this gigantic mansion, all sorts of people, big ones, little ones, gay ones, straight ones, young ones, old ones, yellow ones, green ones.

So I do the nice guy routine and I make friends with everybody.

And everybody is really glad I showed up, 'cause apparently each and every one of them is really bored with everybody else at the party.

And everywhere I go, I notice that this huge superman-looking black dude with burn scars on his face is watching me from a corner of the room, not malevolently, exactly, 'cause I'd be able to detect that instantly, but I can tell he's gonna wanna say something to me at some point, so I'm sorta steeling myself up for the burning face story versus charming guy interaction I know I got coming.

And the girls keep coming by and flirting with me.

And its all fun and interesting and everything, there's no real good reason to get into the way all these dream people tell me their life stories and stuff, even thought that's interesting to me, it'd be sorta distracting and it'd make this damn thing I'm writing even longer than it is already.

But everywhere I go, people keep messing me up just as I'm about to finally fix my pogo-stick, and I have to start all over.

Finally the smart and funny girl with the cute eyes comes over, and she's got a question she wants to ask me, and she wants to know if it'd be okay to ask me it.

So I'm like, mmm, I guess.

And she's like, "you like, like me, right?"

And I'm all like, mmm, I guess (I'm still trying to put the pogo-stick back together, y'know, so I can get the hell out of this Hotel California nightmare, and I've realized that the only way I'm ever gonna be able to do that is if I quit letting people distract me before I finish).

And she's all like "would you suffer the fate of the damned to be with me, like Vincent Price did for the girl he loved in that one Hammer Film movie, whatever-its-called?"

And in the dream, suddenly the Gaudy Technicolor Trailer for this Vincent Price Movie starts to play in my mind's eye, and its really pretty corny-looking, y'know, Vincent Price is all dressed up in a poomfy purple outfit with tights and a huge pink feather in his hat, and he's riding a horse at break-neck speed to his True Love through the shadowy autumn woods as the sun is setting ominously in the background.

But there's definitely one thing that storta turns it all around and makes in not corny at all, and that is that patented expression of Ultimate Defiance on Vincent Price's face that He and He Alone ever truly mastered, y'know, even Spock is like some kinda weak sister in that department 'cause Spock just wasn't confident enough to pull it off without looking a little inquisitive.

And so I look at her, and I'm all like, "ah, you're joking with me, you don't actually like Vincent Price movies."

And she's all laughing at her own stupid joke that didn't make any sense with her cute eyes all sparkling and stuff.

She didn't mean it to be insulting or nasty, she was actually trying to impress me and make me laugh or something.

But I immediately woke up and ended the dream anyways, after making sure that she knew that Vincent Price was the man.

Anybody that can suffer riding around in a big poomfy purple outfit like that and still keep his cool is the man.

So not only are women not funny, they don't have any frickin' taste in movies, either.

2 comments:

W.Churchill said...

lol damn isnt that always the case with crazy ass dreams like that. Seems like your about to close the deal with a hot chick then you wake up. I hate that!

Besdes that, that was one hell of a dream. I get weird dreams like that but I gotta take a bunch of Benadryl before I got to bed.

Oh and I've tried that lucid dreaming shit before but could never get it to work so I think those people are full of shit when it comes to controlling your dreams and stuff

Ole Bald Angus the Monk said...

"Sorry baby there's only room for one on my pogo-stick and I'm getting OUTTA here" heh.

I used to have SORTA lucid dreams when I was younger, where I knew I was dreaming and I was totally in control of myself and I could wake up any time I wanted, that didn't mean I was in control of the dream, like, I didn't feel responsible for the environment around me and the situation I was chucked into, I could make things change, but I couldn't control HOW they changed, there was still a lot of external physics and processes to everything that was beyond my immediate control, I could do a lot of amazing stuff (like get shot thirty times and keep running) but I couldn't just fly around like superman all willy nilly (or fix the bullet holes with awesome mental powers) 'cause stuff like that never made any sense to me or something I guess.

That sorta evolved (through a series of dreams that sorta trained me to do things a different way) into the dreams I have now, where I'm exactly the same guy I am when I'm awake, with basically the same thought processes and personality and everything, and I might even know that I'm dreaming on some unconscious sorta level, 'cause I can almost always turn the damn things off any time I get sick of 'em, but I play it cool and I don't interrupt the flow of things with thoughts about the fact that I'm dreaming and I just sorta quietly go wherever the dream wants me to and see whatever it wants to show me and try to solve whatever puzzles it has prepared without getting too messed up, even though I'm not really afraid of anything, I can still be grossed-out or have one of my limbs ripped off or even killed for all intents and purposes if the planet explodes or something.

I'm not sure if that's lucid or not, but that's what I got, I'm in control of ME, I can wake up any time I want, and I'm pretty hard to kill, 'cause I can suffer some pretty impossible injuries without even getting slowed down, but that's about it.

I dunno anything about tricks to making your dreams work like that or anything, I can't even imagine how there could be some trick you could use in the waking world that'd carry over to the other side, but I guess you might be able to make a deal with the unconscious part of your brain that makes up shit like this goofy pogo-stick thing, which I woulda NEVER picked deliberately, even though it turned out to be pretty fun (once I got past the intentionally embarassing nature of it, my brain is such a little bastard) 'cause it was a pretty freakin' awesome pogo-stick and it could really haul ass and shit heh.

I dunno if I'd wanna be superman anyways, I think if I could just paint whatever I wanted (like I can in the waking world when I day-dream) and the environment and situations weren't automatic, I'd be TIRED when I woke up, I think the reason I tend to go-with-the-flow is because I know I'm supposed to be RESTING my brain on some level and not putting it through any shit that takes too much conscious energy or anything, I'll usually wake up and start over if a dream is making me do anything that'd tire me out mentally if I was awake.

The weirdest thing to me is the way they fade when you wake up, if I don't get a handle on them fast enough, they get to a point where trying to remember 'em makes me actually FORGET them faster, I guess that they're only stored in short-term memory and your waking brain tends to overwrite them 'cause it has no respect for their file allocation tables or something.