Curse of Tales from the Gimpy Hospital

This dream began as one of my irritating “back to high school” dreams,

but evolved into a dream where I was a patient in a hospital. The chief physician

(who looked exactly like Bob Gunton)

wanted me discharged from the hospital. IIRC, I was actually being paid to be there, and Dr. Gunton didn’t like that. Plus he was involved in illicit business dealings, and didn’t want me around to uncover them.

There was another doctor there, a nice guy who kinda looked like Brian McNamara. 

He wanted me to stick around and tried devising ways to prolong my stay. In the end, though, Dr. Gunton got what he wanted; I was discharged. I stuck around, though, and tried to keep out of Dr. Gunton’s sight as I searched the hospital for clues. IIRC, I eventually found out that he was in league with evil Lovecraftian entities.

At one point in the dream, while I was wandering about the corridors, Audrey Horne from Twin Peaks manifested out of thin air before me.

She had come from the past, 'cause she was still young. She bore fresh burn scars, so I reckon she came from some point in time shortly following the second season finale, after she was caught in that bank explosion. Just as suddenly as she appeared, she vanished.

Later, the present-day Audrey showed up.

I, Dr. McNamara, and she discussed the event; she had no recollection of ever having experienced such a time warp in her past.

(I think David Lynch would be proud of this dream.)

[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.

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.