Saturday, November 15, 2008

Dreams #1

I know that nobody gives a shit, but that's never stopped me before - this is the first of an indefinitely running series where I describe some of the bizarre, disturbing dreams I have, selected from my massive journal of dream transcriptions, for your personal enjoyment. Each post in this series will have five or so dreams described in as much detail as I can remember (or, in some cases, care to post). Here we go...

While visiting friends out of town, I go to a mall perched atop a mountain. While browsing Hot Topic, I have a quick, dirty roll in the hay with a Goth girl I meet there. Later on, when I try to leave the building, I set off the security buzzer; apparently, during our little tryst, the girl dug her nails into my back and created a pattern that coincidentally has an uncanny resemblance to a barcode. The mall staff concludes that I am, in fact, merchandise, and cannot leave the store unless I am bought. I spend a few days in the store until I am bought by some kid who wants companionship. After one day at his house, I can’t take it any more, and start acting out. The kid returns me, on the grounds that I’m ‘defective’. The staff turns me loose into the store again, where I am trapped until the Goth girl returns and shoplifts me. We are chased by a hardass mall security guard (played by Steven Seagall), in an epic battle (in a water park, no less) that ends with us knocking him into a pool, killing him.

I get sent to the Wal-Mart to pick up some laxative, and it turns into a huge misadventure involving me having to fight pirates (led by my father, who I haven’t seen in over ten years in real life), escape from the Incredible Hulk, get blackmailed into bed by an unattractive, bitchy clerk who’ll only help me find the stuff if I sleep with her, get turned into a cat and have to find a way to change back while foiling an evil gene splicing project (eventually having to battle a shark-man), and help the store stock their new Goth section because all their redneck religious clerks are too scared to go in the area – and, when I finally get the stuff and get it back home, I get yelled at for buying the wrong kind.

My mom was having an affair with David Bowie, who was married to Josie Packard (a rich woman from the TV show “Twin Peaks”) and living in a mostly-empty palace. A new guy joins my therapy group (which is inexplicably filled with alcoholic ten-year-olds), and he quickly becomes my best friend. My grandfather goes completely broke and loses his house. Everyone in my family blames me, and I get kicked out so he can move in. I find a want ad from William S. Burroughs, who is offering room & board in his very large upper-class house for a reduced price if the tenant would do some fix-it work and generally assist around the house. So, me and my friend from group pool our money and both move in with the old man. The three of us bond quickly, with us having a great time having deep discussions with Burroughs, who is obviously a very wise and worldly person. After a while, Burroughs commits suicide, and leaves his house and money to us. I use some of the money to start my college classes, and on the first day I catch and calm down a girl who is on a drug-induced freak-out. The class takes a trip to a Willy Wonka-type chocolate factory, but with Marilyn Manson taking on Wonka’s role of owner/inventor/etc. (like in the video for his song “Dope Hat”). He gives us a tour, and several kids sneak off and/or disobey his rules just like in Willy Wonka, but instead of ironic punishments, Manson just flat-out kills the kids then and there. Later on, me and my friend, out of fear of being found out by our families, started hacking the fetish websites we visited regularly and temporarily taking them offline so that our families wouldn’t see them if they went though our ‘favorites’ on our computers that got left at our respective homes. We started hanging out with this drug-head who sold to Burroughs, but at one point, he steals some ideas that my friend and I had written. So, we go to his house late at night and snuck in. There was a “Star Wars Party” going on; in each room there were some absurdly massive female fans cosplaying as Jabba the Hutt. Guys would watch a Star Wars movie in each room while smoking opium (and/or drinking booze and taking all kinds of other drugs) and having threesomes with the girls. The guys would progress from room to room, with the goal to watch all six movies in a row without passing out or dying from the drugs. My friend had been to one of these parties before, so he knew exactly where to sneak and at which times to stop and hide. We found the writer’s computer and smashed it. Then, we decided to stick around and join the party. We left as the sun was rising, and went home. Then, I ‘woke up’ in my ‘real’ house, and found a package on my counter. I opened it to find a DVD. I watched it, and it was camcorder footage of the Terminator destroying me and my friend’s mansion and killing us both.

The sinister man working at the music store in the mall (he suspiciously resembles Rasputin) informs me that I can trade in souls for store credit. To test this, I sell him the soul of a stray dog, which is worth $20. I get psyched, so I start buying the souls of people I don’t like (kind of like that episode of The Simpsons – they decide to humor me, so they sell me something to symbolize their soul – only it turns out that they really have lost their soul) and buying tons of stuff from the store.

I’m living in the town from Mississippi Burning, and after having to watch all of the disturbing racism for all my life, I become a masked vigilante and kick some Klansman ass. At one point, I pose as a Klan member so I can get into the local leader’s house and kill him. I’m eating dinner at his house, and afterwards, he takes me to his basement, where he wants me to participate in Klan rites of passage, involving bizarre sexual acts with a headless (yet still living) chicken and a black girl who he has chained in his basement and tortured. As soon as I see the girl, I grab the headless chicken and beat the Klan guy to death with it. I set the girl free, and she becomes my sidekick. We travel the world as a superhero team, at one point going back in time to beat the shit out of Hitler and stop the holocaust. While we’re doing this, we create a tear in the space-time continuum, which throws the whole universe into a tizzy, causing reality itself to totally fuck up. The result is a world where Ronald McDonald is the one behind the holocaust, but instead of going after Jewish people and homosexuals, Ronald’s targets are lazy, obnoxious Americans, and his plan for the final solution involves catapulting them into a giant rubber kiddie pool and filling it with tar and concrete.

That's all for now, boils and ghouls! Ehehehehehe! Tune in next time for more terrifying tales of torment from the nefarious, nihilistic nightmare that is my subconscious!


  1. Crap, I LOVE your subconscious. As if I needed another reason to think you're cool and everything.... O.O I seriously want someone to invent something that would play a person's dreams as a movie or something on a screen. Then I could hook you up to it. :D Maybe something along the lines of the funky alien machine from "This Island Earth"?

    Especially this:

    "The sinister man working at the music store in the mall (he suspiciously resembles Rasputin) informs me that I can trade in souls for store credit...."

    sounds like an AWESOME idea for a short story. In fact, if I didn't already have so many ideas for short stories already, I'd write that up. Scratch that, if you don't mind me cribbing from your brain, I *will* write it up, idea overload be damned. But about the part about him looking like Rasputin: are you SURE you haven't been staring at Type O Negative's "Dead Again" cover too much? ;)

    Also, the dream about being turned into living merchandise is an awesome story idea, too.

    At the risk of sounding far too shallow, I must say that I wish I had awesome dreams like yours. I really do. :( I had a weird dream last night but now I can hardly remember it. The only time I remember having really colorful, memorable dreams was when I was young (I had a dream about my dad killing and burying in a field a Terminator-like robot who was hired as my nanny and ended up trying to kill me) and when my dad went into the hospital for organ-transplant surgery (those dreams, I don't want to have again, because they were seriously some of the most disturbing of my life).

  2. I don't mind at all if you take some ideas from these - just be sure to ask before using any of them (though there's very few if any that I would actually refuse you the ability to use)

    About wishing you had these kind of dreams too:
    It's kind of a double-edged sword; yes, the dreams can be amusing and bizarre as crap, and most of the time they're far more imaginative than anything I could come up with on my own, but at the same time, I have *tons* of dreams that, for lack of a better way to put it, leave me feeling drained when I wake up - I can get so horribly worked up in a dream that when I wake up, in addition to having a headache and a big lump of stress/tension in my chest, I'll be seriously unsettled and upset - not because the dream was realistic or anything, but because it was simply traumatic and disturbing, like the recurring dreams where somebody is trying to kill me, or other scenarios where I struggle in vain.

    ...yeah. That whole paragraph no doubt seems pompous and nonsensical as hell, but it's 3:30 A.M. and I've been drinking shots of Mountain Dew nonstop for the past nine hours, so cut me some slack fer chrissakes!

  3. Ha, no problem. I absolve you of any pompousness. (And get some sleep!) ;)

    Yes, I understand that feeling of waking up stressed from a dream--I remember I had that feeling of emotional stress from my nightmares when my dad was in the hospital. I had this one nightmare where I was outside a hospital, looking in the parking lot for my parents... only to look back at the front doors and see them still inside, and then I was being pulled back really quickly, deeper into the parking lot, away from the doors and my parents, by an abductor that I couldn't even see. I think I woke up pretty freaked out from that. And then there was the nightmare where my dad was insulting me for some reason, calling me worthless, saying that I shouldn't have been born... I actually literally woke up crying from that one. I think that both of these dreams occurred after my dad's transplant. I think I was so stressed out from what had happened that it worked its way into my subconscious. So maybe you need to find your point of stress in life? *hugs*