Potatocide/T1J, Ticks, & emigranTs/An Alkie, Drunk/Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said: The Motion Picture

Monica Lewinsky was walking along a rocky mountain path all by herself, carrying in her arms an enormous Yukon Gold potato, when a man with a machete-sized butcher knife leapt out and attacked her. He tried stabbing her through the potato, but it got stuck in the tuber. After failing to pull it free, he ran away.

* * *

It was the early '90s. The YouTuber T1J

took his dog for a stroll through a boggy grassland. Walking through the long, moist grass, the dog picked up a number of ticks.

Back in town, T1J ran into a Haitian emigrant who spoke little English. The Haitian cleaned T1J's dog free of ticks, free of charge.

The Haitian worked as a cook at a "greasy spoon" diner owned by Vera Miles.

Dilapidated and unsanitary, the diner was failing.

* * *

The end times were upon us. A species of flying, biting insectoids of unknown origin appeared in massive swarms, attacking and draining of life-force all beings they encountered — even ghosts.

One of my sister's drunking buddies, having run out of booze, left the safety of the enclosed shelters to procure more. Contact with him soon ceased, phone and text messages going unanswered. My sister went into a frenzy, intent on venturing out to find him. We were forced to restrain her, heedless of her desperate pleas.

* * *

In the '70s, my mother wrote an adapted screenplay of Philip K. Dick's Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said. It was an adaptation in name only; the plot and characters were wholly original. The screenplay was picked up by a major studio and made into a movie starring Yaphet Kotto and Leslie Nielsen.

Kotto's character was the primary antagonist, a hitman hired to eliminate a number of different people. Nielsen's was the decoy protagonist, a detective tasked with apprehending the hitman.

At some point in the film, the hitman sent the detective sliding down the side of a skyscraper to his doom.

High School Polyamory/Retconned Death/幽靈海灘/Star Wars: Dune

I was a teenager, standing with my girlfriend in a school hallway by some lockers, making out passionately.

As we stopped to take a breath, a lovely girl approached us. She was clearly attracted to my girlfriend, and my girlfriend to her, so they French kissed right in front of me.

I wasn't angry or jealous; I only wanted my turn at kissing this girl. But when I leaned in, she stopped me, making it clear she wasn't interested in my tongue. Respecting her bounds, I took an amicable step back.

My girlfriend and I were soon approached by another girl.

(She resembled an older, bespectacled, brunette version of Ponyo from the eponymous anime.)

She wanted a kiss from me. I didn't find her attractive, but I didn't want to leave her dejected, so I slipped her some tongue.

* * *

My father showed up, alive. Though I knew he was supposed to be dead, no one else remembered his death.

I don't often have bad dreams, but this was certainly one of them.

* * *

I visited my local food bank to receive a hamper. Unlike in reality, the food bank was the size of a hotel. Thousands of people had come to receive food, but there wasn't enough staff to serve them in a timely manner, so tempers began to rise, with visitors cursing out the workers, some of whom began suffering nervous breakdowns from the abuse heaped on them.

The dream then shifted focus. It was the '80s, and a boy was standing over a cliff overlooking a large lake. A prepubescent white kid, he was dressed only in swimming trunks. He either jumped or fell in, dashing his head against the rocks on the way down. With a bleeding head wound, he floated onto the shore of a local beach, where he was spotted and dragged in by beachgoers. This boy, who was white, suddenly was black, and his head was missing. It was implied his head was eaten by the ghosts haunting the beach.

This beach belonged to a small park only a couple acres in size. Prior to the 1920s, it had been used as a graveyard for Chinese immigrants, though by the 1930s, it had ceased to be used as a burial ground; only a pair of turn-of-the-last-century cremation ovens left outside to rust and a handful of water-eroded graves stood as testament to the original purpose for this plot. All this was related to me by the ghost of a Chinese woman who had died in a fire; her burns diminished as she told me the story.

* * *

When Denis Villeneuve said his Dune would be Star Wars for adults, he meant that literally; the script for his movie placed Dune inside the SW Universe. The Bene Gesserit were an all-female Jedi splinter group; Duke Leto and Poe Dameron were one-and-the-same character; the Harkonnens had a fleet of TIE fighters.

One absurd image from the dream has stayed clear in my mind: a TIE fighter, chained to the moon, desperately trying to take off but failing, repeatedly chipping its panels against the stony ground. No, not the moon of Arrakis or any other world from Dune — Earth's moon; the big blue marble hung right up there in the sable sky.

Limited Flexibility/Who's That Homeless Man Goose-Stepping Across My Mother's Bed?/Tales of Mystery and Imagination: Deluxe Edition/So I Grabbed Dina Meyer's Sweet Can

The following's a fragment of a larger dream I no longer remember.

I met a girl. She was big — tall, taller than I, and voluptuous.

(With a huge, round pussy.)

Unfortunately for me, she was homosexual/homoflexible.

(She was using deliberately obscurant metaphors, so I couldn't figure out which.)

In either case, her attraction to the opposite sex was marginal and her attraction to me nonexistent.

* * *

This dream was incredibly short. It lasted fifteen seconds at most.

My mother and I were standing at our kitchen window, looking outside. That's when we saw a homeless man cut across our front yard. He resembled a young(er) Harry Dean Stanton, wore a red-&-white baseball cap over longish hair, and was pushing a shopping cart, goose-stepping all the while. She and I exchanged glances; she was mortified/bewildered by this man's presence and desperately wanted to know who he was. Then we both turned to the living room. The man was suddenly there; he goose-stepped across her bed, air-gripping the handles of the shopping cart he no longer had.

* * *

I bought/received/found a copy of The Alan Parsons Project's Tales of Mystery and Imagination on vinyl.

It was a deluxe edition which included three records.

* * *

The following's a fragment of a larger dream I no longer remember.

I was in a buffet, helping myself to eight slices of toasted French bread — four with just butter, four with dark plum jam. Beside me in the line was a young Dina Meyer.

She let me grab her sweet can.

From the Dream Archives: This Dream Is Fuckin' RAW!

I honestly thought I'd finished delving into the Dream Archives, but while browsing through old posts on a forum I frequent, I came across a transcript of a dream I had had on the morning of that date. It's from 2013, predating the first dream from the Dream Archives I shared on this blog by almost a year.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 12 AUGUST 2013)

I had the weirdest dream this morning. Very, very weird.

I dreamed I went to some pristine white auditorium/kitchen to get some tutoring in math from Gordon Ramsay, who then happily had a fancy cappuccino with a large, layered cake floating in the middle of it made up for me. When I informed him I hadn't actually paid for the course and couldn't due to other commitments, he got angry and had other people eat/drink my cappuccino cake until only an inverted pyramid covered in silver foil was left sitting in the bowl.

Then some weird semi-sexual crap happened involving some '50s-type song playing in the air, Laura Dern trying to land some role in a play while wearing surgical gloves, and me sneaking past glass rooms full of exercise equipment in a slo-mo search for an exit while an unseen married couple conversed.

From there, I left the auditorium/kitchen, and then was chased by a pack of police dogs for crossing some layers of dried mud rings inexplicably called an aqueduct, escaping only when they were distracted by other police dogs chasing an alternate version of me. I then ran up a steep ramp/flight of stairs, found an exercise machine sitting there at the top, and asked myself "Who needs to use a machine like this after climbing this monster?"

And then I woke up.

4th Anniversary Special!

Today is the fourth anniversary of Dreams of a Randy Git-Fiend's existence. I neglected posting the last three anniversaries, so this one's been a long time coming, Luckily, I have a nice, full dream to report.

* * *

I struck up a conversation with a girl I had just met. She wore blue jeans and a pale gray t-shirt with dark red lettering on the front. She was quite lovely, a couple years older than I, with long waist-length black/dark brown hair.

(She looked quite a bit like Crystal Gayle, though her eyebrows weren't quite so arched and her eyes a less intense blue.)

She was new in town, and she inquired about good colleges/universities in the area. Sheepish, I admitted I had no post-secondary education and so wasn't the most knowledgeable on the subject. She smiled and told me I was cute. I was touched, as no girl has ever complimented me on my looks.

At some point in the dream, I was either playing Star Fox on the SNES or was physically in the game. Either way, a variant of the "Out of this Dimension" stage was involved.

At another point in the dream, I was in the auditorium of a local college/university. Seated on the stage were two girls. One was a very tall, broad-shouldered, quite attractive redhead who wore her hair up. Beside her was a shorter, more slender blonde who wore her frizzy hair loose. I recognized both as students from my high school, both in grades higher than mine, who I was familiar with but had never actually been introduced to.

I was walking home when I came across a pack of apes and ape/dog hybrids who were smuggling loaves of bread. They attacked, latching onto and biting me.

 (The bites were painful, though they didn't manage to break the skin.)

As I lurched through the doorstep of my home, I found my parents entertaining guests, who just so happened to be the masters of these animals. Using a combination of whistles and sign language, they tried calling them off, to not effect. I soon freed myself of the brutes. One of the guests apologized for the creatures' behaviour. In a foul mood, I basically told him to go fuck himself.

As this was going down, Jordan Peterson was present, holding a lecture in my home. Still surly, of no mind to passively absorb his reactionary tripe, I essentially called him a double-talkin' jive motherfucker. Insulted, he left.

Back to the Eighties

I travelled back in time to 1981. Somehow, my arrival caused a retrograde ripple effect, 'cause I found the 1981 I was in different from the one of the history books. Return of the Jedi had already been filmed and released; Pepsi came in bulbous, peanut-shaped bottles; and global warming had already reached 2020-level severity. For some reason, my physical form kept oscillating between that of Marty and Lorraine McFly.

The dream realigned. I was still in 1981, but I was in my own body and my mother was with me. We were walking through the crowded streets of a big city like Vancouver or Toronto, followed by an Indian woman who was literally just a head with two feet.

We tried to lose the walking head in the crowd, but she kept right behind us. She demanded my mother give her her clothes, so my mother kept stripping off articles of clothing and tossing them behind her.

The dream realigned again. Now I was now in my hometown, in the late '80s/early '90s. The landmarks were different, in keeping with me being in the past, though the architecture recalled the '50s rather than the '80s, with lots of neon-fronted shops.

Then I slipped further back in time, to the 1880s. The landmarks were really different now, the architecture looking straight out of Oz, with emerald green buildings. A train station stood where the local high school would stand inside a century. Beyond the station, where there are trees/hills in real life, was a sprawling sea.

Mommy, Would You Like Some Sausage?/There Will Be Mermaids

A confession: I don't know how much longer this blog will continue. With my father's death, my mother's chronic hospitalization, my sister's breakup with her boyfriend, four months with a terrible roommate, and ongoing financial difficulties, 2019 was a terrible year for me. My ability to recall dreams has gone to shit this past year, no doubt due to all this stress. It's been over a month since I last recalled a dream in any detail, and even then it was hazy.

What follows are the last dreams I've had worth sharing. Unless my dream recollection improves, they may be the last ones you'll get to read for a long while.

* * *

I was standing in a room with a woman. The white walls were empty, blank save for blue light which created a gradient effect upon them. The woman was a lovely brunette, with long hair which trailed down her back. She was wearing a gray bathrobe. Loosening her robe, she let it down about her shoulders, exposing them to me. Leaning in close, I began kissing her graceful back and shoulders, slowly, tenderly.

Then I was suddenly in my basement. A man I didn't recognize was putting a damp, sausage-shaped pillow up on a line to dry. He told me the pillow represented loneliness and longing.

* * *

What follows is a fragment from a larger dream which, true to my luck, is mostly a blur now.

I was watching a deleted scene from There Will Be Blood. Daniel Plainview had sent his son, H. W., down into a great deep lake without diving gear to build his lung capacity. At the bottom of the lake was a submerged palace. While exploring inside, the kid encountered a mermaid. She was about his age, friendly, with black hair and a pretty smile. I think she had dark brown, almost black eyes and webbed hands, but I may be misremembering.