Silent Lucidity

My dreams have been incitefully vivid as of late. Last weekend I dreamt that I woke up to several of my friends critiquing the porn on my computer for its artistic integrity. Lucid chagrin aside, it was all very amusing in the waking world.

Then, the other night I dreamt that I and several others were suffering from some sort of disease that caused us to slowly go insane, which in turn served as a catalyst for our transformation into werewolves. As the lycanthropy set in it was obvious to me (from research performed via television, conveniently equipped with ample video tapes on the subject all available in the dream) that there was a way to escape the culmination of the disease, but as I was explaining this to my companions they all burst into werewolf-dom and started chasing me through the hotel and out into the countryside. Eventually, I met up with my son, some unknown man, and my girlfriend, and we were all running for our lives through the farm that I had grown up on. We got split up, and the next thing I knew, Jill’s legs were dangling from a garage door, her body crunched up into the springs. I remember feeling an intense sadness, something I’ve never felt before, even with the death of real people in real life. For a moment, I contemplated letting the werewolves find me and my son and kill us both because without Jill what was the point?

This feeling finally subdued just as a giant t-rex was coming over the horizon, and we three survivors all made our way into a hallway too small for the thunder lizard to make its way into. Unfortunately for Mr. Unknown, the room was very small and with Tristan and I backed against the wall, t-rex’s giant teeth still managed to nash into his legs and swallow the guy up. I remember hoping that the dinosaur had gotten his fill with that guy, and even wishing he would notice Jill’s limber corpse hanging and go for deserts there, but instead he stuck his nose back in and I distinctly remember his steamy snorts fogging up my glasses in the dream, the super real texture of his skin and the stink of his breath as it wafed through the diagonals of his teeth. Chomp. Awake.

Up Next: Aftermath of Weekend Gratification