I was in a romantic relationship with Linn Berggren.
(😍)
I believe our love was forbidden, 'cause I went to great effort to hide it from my sister.
(Who was sometimes my brother.)
Strawberries also figured into the dream. One strawberry was the size of a pumpkin. It had begun to spoil, so I had to gouge out all the rot before I could eat it, leaving me with no more than half. I figure this was a subconscious reference to Wild Strawberries.
(They're both Swedish, after all.)
* * *
I watched the unaired pilot of That '70s Show. There were quite a number of differences between this pilot and the show that would follow. It was more of a variety show than a straightforward sitcom, with lots of musical skits. Red and Kitty were quite different characters; they were swingers, with Kitty being in a relationship with Hyde. Also Red was played by Kurt Russell.
(Which in this dream world was only 14 KM north of my town of residence.)
After reaching Alaska, I eventually decided to go back home. I figured the best way back was to swim the entire lake which stretched between Alaska and my home. However, soon after swimming a little ways, I found a massive crevice had opened up in the lake bed and the entire lake was slowly but steadily emptying, the water swirling down like in a giant sink.
Figuring these waters were too treacherous to continue navigating, I swam back to Alaska and booked a room at a lakeside hotel. As it turns out, this hotel was built atop a large kraken which was inhabiting the lake.
As the lake continued draining, the kracken was sucked down into the Earth. I escaped, but not without banging my head on the jagged rock of the crevice the lake was draining into.
* * *
It was winter. The family had discovered a load of young kittens half-frozen somewhere outside. As my sister and father were bringing them in, I attempted to play with them. At this point, they'd spent their formative weeks without much human interaction, so they were already distrustful and half-feral, though some were tamer than others. Funnily enough, they'd made friends with a small baby mouse and a fuzzy little insect. Also, there was a Jedi with a chartreuse reverse mullet helping bring the kittens in.
Upon discovering the insect, he slowly and sadistically crushed it under his boot, despite my desperate pleas to spare it. Enraged, I picked the Jedi up and broke his back over my knee.
* * *
I travelled through time and space to the Antebellum South. Once I got there, I visited a park. I started talking to the folks there about the Gnostic gospels, explaining that most were lost/existed in fragments 'cause they'd been suppressed by the religious authorities of the time. This pissed off many of them, and they sent for guards.
(The guards wore heavy 18th century dresses of red, gold-embroidered fabric.)
They began torturing me, with one jamming the end of his musket over my right middle finger, firing straight through my arm and out my elbow.
As one guard levelled his musket at me to end me, I wrenched it out of his hands and beat him to death with it. Seeking escape, I hid under the skirts of a group of slave childen who were disguised as a guard within one of the heavy red dresses. They then smuggled me out of there.
* * *
A boy in his late teens/early twenties entered into a relationship with an older man's wife. The man found out about the affair. Being both a Vodou bokor and a damn good cook, he whipped up a pot of cursed jambalaya. Cornering the younger man in an alley, he scooped some jambalaya out of the pot and forced the kid to eat it.
I know there was more to the dream than that, but I don't remember the rest.
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.
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.
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?"
In a big city, amidst traffic, a work crew was excavating the street. Having broke through the asphalt, they uncovered in the underlying earth what were assumed to be a number of fossilized angel skeletons.
(O hai, influence.)
Right away I could tell these weren't the remains of real angels — the skulls were oversized and exaggerated, the skeletal structure cartoonishly simple and lacking articulation — yet for reasons I couldn't fathom, everyone believed these to be genuine angel fossils.
The dream switched gears. I found myself watching a woman as she rose from a sea of blue paint. She was Hispanic/Latina and incredibly voluptuous.
(Due, in part, to silicone.)
I felt my slide whistle rising. But as the paint ran off her body, I could see she was covered in tattoos. There were tattoos running down her arms; four large tattoos on her back; several tattoos on her backside. Since I find heavily tattooed women gross, my carbonated soda went quickly flat.
What follows is fragmentary, imperfectly recalled.
I was in the hallway of a shabby motel/hotel. An oldtimer
(man, woman, don't recall which)
had accidentally dropped some cash. Some fugly punks — one of whom reminded me of Lil Wayne
— tried stealing the money. I scooped it up before they could snatch it and took off. Through the turning, twisting corridors I ran, trying to catch up to the oldtimer, to outpace the punks.
I don't recall the intervening details, but I eventually found myself inside a clean, upscale bar/restaurant. Now I was an old man. I was seated at a table, and seated with me at the table was ... Somebody™.
I was led to believe that by passing the oldtimer's money over to Somebody™, the oldtimer would get their money back in due course. As I exchanged the money, however, Somebody™ gave me a cheque in return. I then realized Somebody™ was in cahoots with the punks I'd met earlier, that he was paying me for stolen money.
(Dream logic, amirite?)
Billy Dee Williams, who was working there as a server, carrying a platter laden with hors d'oeuvres stuck with fondue forks, happened to witness this transaction. Incensed, he took the fondue forks and attacked Somebody™ and his punk cronies, stabbing them with the forks.
I recall the tattooed bimbo making a brief, unremarkable reappearance. I weighed the pros & cons of making a weiner-taco with her.
(CON: Fugly tattoos, are Fugly. PRO: Phat ass, is Phat.)
The following is quite possibly the strangest dream I've ever had. If not, it's certainly the strangest I've had within living memory.
My mother's side of the family was throwing a family reunion at my Uncle Dave and Aunt Sharon's house, so my mother and father and I made the trip to participate in the festivities. My sister was strangely absent from the proceedings.
Once at Dave and Sharon's place, we found ourselves amongst dozens upon dozens upon dozens of relatives. Many of these relatives (more, surely, than exist in real life) we knew only fleetingly, if at all.
Fast forward to dinnertime. Sharon served me a platter of buffalo wings and a slice of coffee cake as appetizer; the main course would be either steak or turkey (each diner would get to choose his meal of preference). There was going to be a long wait between the appetizer and the rest of the meal, so after eating my wings and nibbling on my cake, I decided to spend the interim chatting it up with one of my cousins, Andrea.
Andrea was a pretty girl — fifteen, though she looked five years older — and very friendly. Apparently we had first met years before — at the last family reunion, when we were both little kids. As she was fifteen and I was still twenty-nine in the dream, it should've been quite impossible for us to have been young children together. Yet somehow we still had been.
During that prior family reunion, she and I had participated in a game with the rest of our cousins, playing roles as husband and wife. As she related it to me, apparently we hadn't been too fond of each other back then, our simulated marriage notwithstanding. At first I couldn't recall this chain of events; I knew I recognized Andrea from some time before, but I couldn't remember this game or my enmity with her. This frustrated her deeply. Then I began to recall some of what she had told me.
To get away from the hustle and bustle around us, Andrea and I secreted ourselves away in an alcove between two walls/shelves so we could continue our talk undisturbed. One of our relatives found us there like that, and he immediately jumped to the conclusion I had taken her there to feel her up. This relative didn't waste any time spreading this unfounded claim throughout the house, and soon most everyone was regarding me as an incestual statutory rapist, threatening to call the police to arrest me. Even though Andrea backed me up, angrily shouting that nothing sexual had gone on between us, no one listened. Even her mother — Aunt Middleton — looked on me as a bug to squash.
(My parents had mysteriously vanished while this was going down.)
Tempers escalated, and those who had been yelling for my arrest began howling for my blood; they literally wanted me dead. One of the relatives present — dressed in a full-body suit of deadly steampunk armour — began pursuing me.
Worn over his hands were these gauntlets — gauntlets capable of launching long steel bolts at lethal velocity with pinpoint accuracy. As he chased me, he let fly many of these bolts, but I managed to evade them. Taking one of these bolts, I hid. Then using cunning I ambushed him, running him through on the bolt, killing him.
The relatives went into a collective berserker rage and began attacking me in droves. Wielding a machete and garden claw, I was forced to hack and slash through the lot of them to stay alive. In the midst of all this, someone had ordered a pizza.
As the pizza man was entering the building, so consumed in self-preservation was I that I failed to notice he wasn't one of my bloodlustful relatives; I buried the blade of my machete in his carotid artery.
Realizing my mistake, I was quick to pull the blade out and press down on the wound to keep him from bleeding out. My Uncle Frank — a doctor — took my place staunching the poor man's blood flow while I told one of the relatives to call for an ambulance. Someone mentioned the authorities had already been notified, that police cruisers along with an ambulance was already on the way. The dream ended there.
I believe the strangest aspect of this dream was that aside from my own two parents, none of the relatives in this dream are relatives of mine in the waking world. Uncle Dave and Aunt Sharon are old friends of my parents who have since divorced; Aunt Middleton was a counselor/aide who worked at my high school; Uncle Frank was literally Kevin's Uncle Frank from the first two Home Alone movies;
and my cousin Andrea was Andrea Nemeth, a Canadian actress of the '90s who has since retired.
Had a dream that a wild squirrel to a liking to me, so I decided to adopt it as a pet. It was afraid of the dogs and wary of the cats, so I took care to keep the squirrel close to me whenever they were around. I kept the squirrel for a number of years and the two of us grew very close. Then the squirrel died of old age.
Instead of giving the squirrel a decent burial, my family took it, skinned it, then baked it for dinner. Suffice to say, I was incensed. I took my roasted squirrel and proceeded to go on a violent rampage.
