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.

Diabolical Death

Had quite the complicated dream. Most of the details have escaped me, but here’s what I recall:

I was a kid again. Me and the other children in my class had taken a field trip to some rural farmhouse while had lain abandoned since the '90s. The house was very strange; the front door and doggy door were in the shape of a human and dog, respectively, and there was this general atmosphere of foreboding localized over the property even though the weather was bright and clear.

I got separated from my classmates while exploring inside. That’s when I found a pantry door which had been nailed shut since the former occupant’s disappearance. I got the door open, and that’s when the former occupant — the undead, desiccated corpse of a rather rotund woman — lurched out of the pantry, arms outstretched for my throat.

I got a chainsaw and sawed her arms off.

That didn’t stop her; prehensile tentacles sprang from her arm stumps and ensnared me.

Somehow, I managed to maneuver the chainsaw into her mouth and promptly rammed it down her throat. That put an end to her right-quick.

Swing on This/Bart Simpson: Husband, Father, Neither/Cat Baby

I had a dream I was Jerry Cantrell. It was the mid '90s, and Layne Staley and I were writing a song together about hatred for neighbours.

During the writing process, we both realized we had to incorporate a famous Hollywood starlet into the song’s narrative. Charlie Sheen was there. He suggested an obscure actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood. We decided the actress had to be both young and contemporary, so we didn’t run with his suggestion. We ended up choosing Denise Richards.

I recall the first few lines of that stanza:

🎵Denise Richards lives next door to me. Looking sweet and pretty as can be.🎵

Essentially, the stanza was about the narrator realizing he hated Denise Richards 'cause she was a neighbour, too.

As we were finishing the song, Staley offered this as the closing line: “No singing, just a hum.” There was actually a bit more to the line than that, but by that point, I had run out of fresh pages in the notebook I was writing in and my OCD wouldn’t allow me to jot the line down on a page with even a minimum of writing on it. Once I finally found a clean page, I asked Staley to recite the line again, since I'd forgotten the extra bits, but he was too far into a heroin-induced delirium to care anymore.

* * *

A grown up Bart Simpson fell in love with a green-haired Allison Taylor.

After they were married and a daughter followed, wife (and possibly daughter) were murdered by gangsters and/or a fallen angel. Bart then took to the bottle pretty hard and became a drunken souse.

* * *

I had a child, a baby girl. The mother was nowhere to be found, so I gave her to some cats to nurse.

The cat milk had a mutagenic effect on the child; she developed cat-like ears and black fur over her body.

I didn’t mind having a cat-person for a daughter. I was just happy to be a father.

[Un]Charmed

It was the late '80s-to-early '90s. A trio of young boys

were luring/rounding up the other neighbourhood kids to their basement, where they tortured/murdered them. The three boys, not being normal mortals, had bewitched the adults into inaction.

This left the neighbourhood kids to their own devices. In time, a large group of kids attacked the trio. Cornering the three in their own basement, the neighbourhood kids mutilated them – dismembering and disemboweling them – before tossing their still-living bodies onto a funeral pyre. It turns out the three boys weren’t really as young as they seemed. They were warlocks, hundreds of years old, who had kept themselves young and alive through sorcery. As their bodies burned, the magic which sustained them was nullified; their entrails and hacked off limbs rapidly aged and decayed into nothing as the centuries caught up with them.

The dream ended on a non-sequitur. A wooden bench which had some nebulous connection to the trio morphed into a pseudo-werewolf. Then a real werewolf showed up, forced the pseudo-werewolf into a corner, and tried enticing it with a cookie into performing a back-flip. When the pseudo-werewolf refused to perform the trick, the werewolf tore it to pieces.

My Pyrokinetic, Mass-Murdering Surrogate Son

The following is quite possibly the most visceral, heartwrenching dream I've ever had. As such, I'd like to go in-depth relating its sequence of events. However, a month has passed since I had this specific dream, relegating the minutiae to Hypnos' dustbin. Hence I'm forced to defer to brevity in this instance.

D

and Laura Bertram

were combined into a single woman.

(I shall call her "Launia".)

Launia and I were soulmates, yet not lovers.

Launia married Ricky Mabe.

Together they had a son. This son, whom I loved as if he were my own, grew up to become a pyrokinetic mass murderer.

Various Marvel superheroes were out to capture him.

(They will succeed. They always do.)

From the Dream Archives: Let's Carve Ourselves a Witch, Son/Love Bus Stop

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 30 JUNE 2016)

I took a nap today, ended up having a most memorable dream.

It began with me hanging out with my son. He was three or four and looked like Robert Sean Leonard.

I was feeling joyous, happy 'cause I knew this meant I was married. Though she didn't make an appearance in the dream,

I knew right away who my wife was.

Then the dream turned strange. A witch showed up, threatening to harm my son. At that point I transformed into Ash from the Evil Dead series.

I picked up an old musket with a bayonet attached at the end, stabbed the witch through the eye and out the back of her head, pinning her to the wall behind her. That's when a second Ash showed up

and began dismembering her with a chainsaw.

The dream then realigned.

I found myself a teenager back in high school. As I got off the bus at school, there was this incredibly hot girl standing there on the sidewalk. She was brunette or dark blonde, moderately muscular, clad in a tank top and jean cutoffs.

"YOWZA!"

I sat down with her on the pavement and began feeling her up. Just when we were preparing to undress and have sex right then and there in public, my psychological V-chip engaged and the dream drew to a climax.

(But I didn't. 😣)

From the Dream Archives: Skywalker & Sons

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 20 JULY 2015)

Dreamt an odd dream that another animated Star Wars TV series/film had been released. Only this one was done in a 2D semi-anime style rather than in CG. The series/film was centred around Luke Skywalker and his two sons.

One of these sons — Alexander, I believe he was named — was his biological son, while the other — whose name I can't recall — was a foster child he'd decided to take under his wing.

The plot was essentially as follows: Alexander — being one of those "bad seed" kids who show up in a plethora of derivative horror/thriller films — is found and trained by a darksider right under Luke's nose.

(He had a darksaber, too. Fuck that red shit.)

Meanwhile, the foster son — who was a darksider himself before Luke took him in — finds himself drawn evermore towards the light.

Anywho, the dream pretty much came to a close on that note. There were loads of other minute details, but I've forgotten them.

Watching '80s Horror Movies on VHS/A Chat with My Inner Spirit

I was watching B-grade horror movies from the '80s on VHS through an old CRT TV.

(By gum, those were the days.)

A young(er) Donald Trump appeared in the first movie I decided to watch, playing himself.

(Could he ever play different?)

He chastised a female character for finding religion, then began monologuing to himself on how he once sought belief in a higher power before deciding to believe in himself.

(What's that, subconscious mind? Donald Trump worships himself? I already knew that, but thanks for the info anyhow.)

Gears shifted and the second movie was on.

A small group of rich, spoiled teenagers/early twenty-somethings

decided to hold a séance in the last house remaining from a poor, decaying neighbourhood that was otherwise completely bulldozed over and replaced with brand spankin' new homes built for the rich decades ago.

Assembling at a large square table in a room located in the centre of the dark, decrepit building, they used florescent ink and florescent gas

as conjuring substances to summon forth a spirit of the house. Quite suddenly a short, squat woman with messy red hair, wild eyes, and an impossibly wide mouth materialized atop the table.

(Imagine a three-way cross between Fiona Dourif, Henrietta from Evil Dead II, and the Cheshire Cat and you get the unsettling picture.)

Scared shitless, they all bolted from the room. Some got lost in the dark trying to escape, but most managed to get out to safety. I don't know what became of those trapped in the house with the spirit made flesh.

(But really, I do.)

* * *

I was now in a sterile classroom, where a social worker

(who will now be played by the saucy Elisa Donovan)

gave me a list of outfits which could help me find a job to copy down. I tried writing down some of the addresses, but for some reason I couldn't concentrate on the words and failed to do so.

In a flash, I was then on the back porch of my house. I was there with the social worker, and she was trying to communicate with my inner spirit, which looked like a human-shaped bundle of dead leaves dressed in a blue vest.

(Close enough.)

When I told the social worker her presence wasn't helping, that my inner spirit wouldn't emerge with her standing around acting all demanding, she left.

Then my inner spirit took on its true form; it looked like a dirty Avery Brooks.

(Grime to be added in post-production.)

My inner spirit then began lamenting on how it — and by extension, I — should've married and had kids by now.

"On second thought, I shouldn't have driven the saucy redhead away."

Bryan Adams: Bounty Hunter

Had one of my patented "watching a movie" dreams.

In this movie dream, Bryan Adams played a married father of three. When his youngest son died, he decided to leave his wife and two remaining children and become a bounty hunter.

"Not to worry, honeybunny. Though I leave you in a great and terrible grief to support two growing children who desperately need their father, I'll be sure to send you 25% of every bounty I collect (The remaining 75% will go towards food, clothing, supplies, hotels, and bordellos for those cold, lonely winter nights.)."

"#$%^ you, too."

Donning gray pants and a gray ranger hat with some strange head sleeve attached under the brim,

(Wear the latter under the former and you get a close approximation of what I'm trying to describe.)

he took to wandering a perpetually stormy wilderness in search of criminals to bring to justice.

"Bryan? This is God. I'd just like you to know that this all could have been avoided if you'd just retired after releasing Into the Fire."