Russian Drug-Trafficking Ponies vs. Yog-Sothoth/The Lady Vanishes/Wet Fever Dream

I got mixed up with a small group of Russian drug traffickers operating out of some snowbound region north of the tree line.

Bryan Adams was a social studies instructor, the ringleader of the traffickers, or both. They were trafficking blue crystal meth à la Breaking Bad.

The traffickers invited me to an orgy. One of the Russians, a 40-something blonde with a nice rump, offered said rump to me.

*↑*

But the orgy was taking place in a small, crapped office with garbage strewn everywhere; my libido was swiftly overtaken by disgust and I couldn’t stand to linger there, so I got the hell out.

*↓*

The traffickers transformed into MLP-style ponies.

A Lovecraftian deity – probably Yog-Sothoth – showed up and consumed the traffickers.

* * *

Andrea Nemeth

and I were each other’s first, true loves. Though we’d been separated at some point in our early teens, we managed to reconnect through the Internet during the late 2000s. Then around 2008, she vanished abruptly. She ceased sending me e-mails and her presence online became nil.

The only physical clue I had to the cause of her disappearance was a case of insulin vials.

For the next several years, I tried figuring out what happened to her. I got nowhere.

* * *

It was frigid and snowing outside. I had come down with a cold, and I was so physically weak that I kept falling over on my face, nearly paralyzed. At some point, I had a fever dream within a dream that I was clumsily trying to make love to a middle aged woman with long, straight, raven-black hair.

The New Librarian/Nic Olié/So-Called Chaos

I paid a visit to my local library. While at the check-out counter, I saw a new librarian had been brought on staff. She was five-to-ten years younger than I and rather short, only in the neighbourhood of five-feet tall. She wore her ash blond hair short and feathered, and her eyes were blue and watery. She wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but certainly pretty. She was wearing a gray-and-cream striped T-shirt which really hugged her modest but perky chest.

We got to talking. That’s when she made it clear to me in no uncertain terms that if we weren’t in such a public place, she’d jump my bones right then and there. We made arrangements to meet somewhere after she got off of work to fool around.

I got the sense this woman was going to be nothing but One Night at McCool’s-style trouble.

* * *

I watched a version of The Phantom Menace where Ric Olié was played by Nicolas Cage instead of Ralph Brown.

“The deflector shield is too strong! Oh no not the blasters! Not the blasters! AHH they’re in my eyes!! My EYES!! AHHHHHHH!!!”

* * *

Dreamed that Alanis Morissette, nude save for a pair of panties she’d bought from Sears, had covered herself head-to-toe in red body paint.

I Can't Get No Satisfaction

I was invited to a party being held at a spacious mansion. Once I got in, I found I was one of hundreds of guests present. The door locked behind me, and I found I couldn’t escape the place. The hostess turned out to be the ghost of a woman who resembled Charlotte Rampling.

She kept her own perfectly preserved corpse strung up and used as a marionette.

I went up to the bar and ordered a glass of absinthe. Even though I was clearly thirty years old, the bartender refused to sell me any alcohol without first presenting ID. I didn’t have any ID on me, so the bartender refused to serve me the drink. I spent much of the rest of the dream wandering about the mansion in search of absinthe, but couldn’t procure any. I even came across someone else’s derelict glass of absinthe, but when I picked it up, it turned into a cup of coffee before my eyes. In between trying to satisfy my absinthe craving, I tried ordering White Russians as an alternative, much to the same degree of success.

At one point in the dream, I met Tori Amos, who got flirtatious with me. I repaid the favour, only to have her almost immediately sour towards me and ignore me henceforth.

From the Dream Archives: D & the Wolf

I meant to post this on the 19th, the 2nd anniversary of this blog's existence, but time got away from me and I plumb forgot. 😞

Anyway, this'll be the final entry from the dream archives, as it's the last dream I recorded prior to my turning this blog into an on-line dream journal. It's a good one, too — a perfect subconscious rendering of my scarred psyche.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 20 NOVEMBER 2016)

I don't remember how the dream started, but the earliest part I remember was taking a trip to D's university. For reasons unrevealed to me, a party was being hosted there in her honour, with lots of balloons and confetti and friends and family and acquaintances.

I arrived there looking particularly disconcerting, dressed only in a loincloth, my hair long and unkempt, rockin' the Kubrick Stare. I tried gaining access to the party, but D ordered me kept out. As they tried shutting the door on me, I wedged my shoulder in the door. I can't remember if I begged her to let me in or not, but as I was slowly pushed back out, she stared hard at me. Wearing a humourless grin, she told me I'd never ever be allowed to see her again or get to be a part of her extended family.

Locked out of the party, I then suffered a complete psychological breakdown. Losing all sense of reality, the entire world dissolved around me into amorphous shapes and swirling colours.

With there being a psychiatric ward at the university, I decided to commit myself. The doctor who saw me was a black man, kind of roly-poly; I think he was patterned off of Paul Winfield.

I was then somehow out of the ward and away from the university, where I encountered a pretty, petite brunette. She sported shoulder-length hair and was wearing form-fitting red-and-black clothes.

(She looked much like the girl at top, dressed in the outfit at bottom, with the aforementioned shoulder-length hair.)

She wanted me to do her right there and then against the wall. As we got going, I began my transformation into the Wolf. The personification of all the secret, base desires I keep bottled up inside, the Wolf didn't just want to screw this woman's brains out figuratively, but literally. It wanted to take all my misery and rage and hate against the world out on her, to tear her to spreads and bathe in her blood.

(Scarred psyche indeed.)

Fighting against my escalating impulses, holding desperately onto my humanity, I pulled out and away from her and quickly left before I lost myself to the animal within. Returning to the ward, I had the doctor lock me back up. Now in a secure cell, the Wolf retreated, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief.

The dream ended there.

From the Dream Archives: Independence Day: The Series/D Dream #1/D Dream #2/D Dream #3/Jennifer Lawrence vs. My Family

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 9 OCTOBER 2016)

Had a dream that the powers-that-be made an Independence Day TV series.

(The weirdest thing about it was that Ripley from the Alien films and Ka D’Argo and his son, Jothee, from Farscape were all major characters in it.)

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 10 OCTOBER 2016)

Had more dreams about returning to high school and searching about for D without any success.

My subconscious sucks.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 13 OCTOBER 2016)

Dreamt that I was dead, a ghost, trapped within the walls of a 17th century palace. D was there, as vibrant with life as ever, and I attempted communication with her, doing everything I could think to do to get her to notice me. Try as I might, she couldn’t/wouldn’t see/hear me.

My subconscious is an asshole.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 15 OCTOBER 2016)

Finally had a dream which wasn’t depressing.

Trying to describe it isn’t all that easy. All I can say is that it was filled with imagery from my home town, permeated with a distinct '90s atmosphere, had locomotives, some posh-looking scientist who looked like a cross between the Monopoly guy and Col. Sanders, and was completely disjointed.

This is also the first dream I recall ever having that was anywhere near being a lucid dream. There was a point in the proceedings of the dream where everything became very realistic — the colours and textures took on an almost life-like quality — and I willed D to appear. I didn’t want her to appear as she has been appearing in my last couple dreams — largely unseen, distant, and afraid of me — but as someone who loved me and cared about me. So she appeared, a broad smile across her face, and we embraced.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 21 OCTOBER 2016)

Dreamt that I was in a burgeoning yet troubled romance with Jennifer Lawrence.

For reasons unknown to me, Ms. Lawrence decided to leave her life as a successful and wealthy actress and move in with me and my family. Though we had lots of chemistry —

(We did lots of smooching and cuddling and talking.)

— having to suffer the overbearing crassness and ignorance of my father and sister was placing undue stress on her; she was all but ready to move out. This frightened me, 'cause if she left, I would be unable to go with her and would lose her forever.

The dream then came to an abrupt end with my father telling me to harvest two cucumbers, one of which had been partially devoured by, and covered in, yellow jackets.

Though it was bittersweet and went unresolved, this was one of the best dreams I’ve had in a while.

From the Dream Archives: War of the Necronauts!

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 15 SEPTEMBER 2016)

I had a pretty strange, semi-disturbing dream recently.

In the dream, Earth was at war with a race of aliens who flew around in biomechanical airships which resembled giant flying manta rays.

These airships would drop smaller manta rays to the ground.

These smaller mantas were actually bio-bombs, fleshy shells containing a short-range but incredibly virulent viral agent which turned any living creatures exposed to it into zombies. These zombies weren’t particularly violent — they weren’t brain or flesh-eating monsters — but they were extremely contagious and a danger to anyone close to them.

Anyway, I was a soldier in a squad stationed at a derelict ranch house, and we were tasked with taking out a bunch of bio-bombs before they could hit the ground and turn anybody into zombies. After dealing with the bio-bombs, we rendezvoused with another squad. At first, the men of the other squad were friendly. Then for some inexplicable reason, they became aloof and then violent towards us, taking their weapons and firing upon us. Though caught off guard, we quickly started fighting back.

As it turned out, our squad members all got exposed to the viral agent while we were dealing with the bio-bombs, which began transforming us into decaying zombies; that is why the other squad turned against us. Something in the viral agent rewired our brains to prevent us from recognizing the undead state we were in.

Strangest Things/I Went to NYC & All I Got Was This Lousy Anarchist

I had a dream which served basically as an alternate second season to Stranger Things. Eleven had returned, but the events of the first season finale had left her so traumatized that she mentally regressed to the state of a toddler; she no longer knew how to use her powers and she was forced to wear a diaper all the time.

I became her guardian and had to protect her from a nigh-unkillable demoniac who was hunting her; the fucker was so strong that all the damage I dealt to his body only slowed him down. And to make my job all the harder, he had the power of mesmerism; he could enslave others to his will with a glance.

There were other details to the dream, but they’ve slipped my mind.

* * *

I dreamed I watched an early-to-mid '70s romantic comedy starring Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin, and Roy Scheider.

Fonda played an unmarried-and-unattached woman with a modestly successful modelling career who had a crush on a millionaire with a pornstache.

Tomlin played her best friend. Together, they were planning on taking a skiing vacation to Colorado, but they got on the wrong bus and wound up in New York City instead. There, Fonda met and fell for Scheider’s character, who was a cantankerous, misanthropic anarchist who always talked to himself in the mirror and wore his hair slicked back and the top buttons of his black T-shirt unbuttoned.