A dream I had last night basically took the form of a short Indiana Jones film. In the midst of a dry spell in the market for adventurous archaeology, Indy took a part time job as a Data Entry Operator. The company that hired him immediately set him to work typing the text of several books into a computer.
Having completed the work several hours later, Indy attempted to report to his supervisor only to find that he, along with the entire company, had vanished. He immediately realized that they had actually been con artists and that he would be receiving no payment.
Indy's reaction to this predicament, of course, was to seek out Sallah for help. Upon finding him, the two visited a local cafe for drinks. Indy asked Sallah if he could cover his bill, as he was a little short on cash, having just been egregiously swindled. Being the friendly type that he is, Sallah happily agreed. However, when Indy ordered a "fruit sherry," Sallah became immensely angry at his friend so blatantly taking advantage of his generosity. When the drink arrived, it was merely a plastic cup filled with pineapple juice and chunks of pineapple. Presumably, the juice was mixed with sherry, but I cannot verify this, as I did not taste the drink.
Indy informed Sallah that he had come into the possession of a rare treasure map, and he wanted to know if Sallah would be interested in joining him on an adventure. Sallah said he would, and so the two set out.
When they arrived at the site indicated by the map, they discovered that it was already being excavated by a group of Cuban treasure hunters.
Here I awoke, but that's okay, because this film was titled Indiana Jones and the Fruit Sherry, not Indiana Jones and the Cuban Dig Site.
Showing posts with label Weird Foods. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Weird Foods. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Bad Movie Better Butter
A couple nights ago I dreamed that there was a brand of butter called Bad Movie Better Butter, the claim made in their advertising being that the spreading of Bad Movie Better Butter upon bad movies would make the bad movies better. The product's slogan was "We make the bad movies better!"
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Old Dream Papers
So I discovered a number of old papers with dream notes on them under the table beside my bed. Some of them are a little unclear about the dream they initially represented, but I think I can put a few details together. Most of these are rather short and unimportant dreams. Let's start with those.
On the night of September 25, I apparently dreamed that I was babysitting a tiny toddler. I don't remember that at all, but that's what my notes say.
Same night, I dreamed that I accompanied my brother and sister to a shopping mall in order to purchase my brother's Halloween costume. For some reason, he was looking for hummus shoes. We tried to visit one clothing store that sold clothes that were too expensive to look at. The doors were angled and had wooden slats, kind of like the doors on some changing rooms. They didn't let us in that store.
I don't remember this, but evidently someone said, "Radar?" to which someone replied, "It's not instant," to which the first person replied, "Huh?"
Now, my brother actually was Radar O'Reilly for Halloween, so I guess this had something to do with that, but I cannot recall the details.
We continued wandering this mall, which was strange in that although it was made up of many different stores throughout, there was a single checkout area at which shoppers would pay for all of their desired items, procured from any of the stores, all at one time.
Then I was using a huge invisible sword to battle a big guy with two huge knives. During this battle, I was an acrobat of tremendous ability, jumping and flipping and blocking a lot.
At some point, I had this conversation:
"Where are you going?" someone asked me.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
"Be careful. It seems like you're almost going to go somewhere."
"You make it sound like... 'Be careful. You're almost going to fall off a cliff. You're almost going... somewhere!' "
I felt rude.
The dreams ended with a scene in which I was talking to a couple of people about class statuses. Like... "Oh, I'm a first year," or "I'm a second year," or "I'm a transfer student." One of these people looked a little like Jessica Szohr. She was wearing white gloves, had a weak handshake, and was complaining a lot about something. I think she said her name was Sona, which I thought was weird because that's the name of the company that created the product used for the University's Department of Psychology Research Participation System.
Then, on the night of September 29, I dreamed that I was trying to drive my sister's car, which was parked in front of my grandmother's house. I needed it to go pick up my own car somewhere else. The only problem was that it was blocked in by another car and blocks and plants. I had to open the garage door and move a chair in the process of getting things untangled enough for me to get the car out.
I don't understand it, but apparently my sister was honored, because that's what my dream notes say.
I drove the car to a pizza place, and the person working there was some middle-aged trucker lady. She probably looked like Large Marge from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. She created a Sonic pizza for me. As in, Sonic the Hedgehog. She used a blue fruit rollup for Sonic and a gumball for his eye. Otherwise, the pizza was pepperoni. There was a special narrative to this pizza made clear by moving scenery. It was the most incredible pizza-oriented work of drama I had ever seen.
Many days later, I had a more substantial dream that really requires a post of its own, and so I shall leave that one for later.
But last night I dreamed that I was some sort of winged warrior doing battle with an enormous two-headed wolf. But the second head was the head of a slug. And the wolf head had an extensible neck. And the slug head could shoot laser beams from its stalk-eyes.
I cut off both heads, and the creature died.
Then, the lord of the manor carried his crippled wife downstairs, singing a song to her. I don't remember the lyrics, though I do remember that they didn't rhyme, but I was nonetheless impressed with my subconscious for spontaneously producing lyrics to a song at all. Of course, it was probably garbage.
I said goodbye and went outside. I picked up my own wife and flew away. She asked me to sing her a song, but I told her I was watching for enemies in the skies above and around us.
On the night of September 25, I apparently dreamed that I was babysitting a tiny toddler. I don't remember that at all, but that's what my notes say.
Same night, I dreamed that I accompanied my brother and sister to a shopping mall in order to purchase my brother's Halloween costume. For some reason, he was looking for hummus shoes. We tried to visit one clothing store that sold clothes that were too expensive to look at. The doors were angled and had wooden slats, kind of like the doors on some changing rooms. They didn't let us in that store.
I don't remember this, but evidently someone said, "Radar?" to which someone replied, "It's not instant," to which the first person replied, "Huh?"
Now, my brother actually was Radar O'Reilly for Halloween, so I guess this had something to do with that, but I cannot recall the details.
We continued wandering this mall, which was strange in that although it was made up of many different stores throughout, there was a single checkout area at which shoppers would pay for all of their desired items, procured from any of the stores, all at one time.
Then I was using a huge invisible sword to battle a big guy with two huge knives. During this battle, I was an acrobat of tremendous ability, jumping and flipping and blocking a lot.
At some point, I had this conversation:
"Where are you going?" someone asked me.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
"Be careful. It seems like you're almost going to go somewhere."
"You make it sound like... 'Be careful. You're almost going to fall off a cliff. You're almost going... somewhere!' "
I felt rude.
The dreams ended with a scene in which I was talking to a couple of people about class statuses. Like... "Oh, I'm a first year," or "I'm a second year," or "I'm a transfer student." One of these people looked a little like Jessica Szohr. She was wearing white gloves, had a weak handshake, and was complaining a lot about something. I think she said her name was Sona, which I thought was weird because that's the name of the company that created the product used for the University's Department of Psychology Research Participation System.
Then, on the night of September 29, I dreamed that I was trying to drive my sister's car, which was parked in front of my grandmother's house. I needed it to go pick up my own car somewhere else. The only problem was that it was blocked in by another car and blocks and plants. I had to open the garage door and move a chair in the process of getting things untangled enough for me to get the car out.
I don't understand it, but apparently my sister was honored, because that's what my dream notes say.
I drove the car to a pizza place, and the person working there was some middle-aged trucker lady. She probably looked like Large Marge from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. She created a Sonic pizza for me. As in, Sonic the Hedgehog. She used a blue fruit rollup for Sonic and a gumball for his eye. Otherwise, the pizza was pepperoni. There was a special narrative to this pizza made clear by moving scenery. It was the most incredible pizza-oriented work of drama I had ever seen.
Many days later, I had a more substantial dream that really requires a post of its own, and so I shall leave that one for later.
But last night I dreamed that I was some sort of winged warrior doing battle with an enormous two-headed wolf. But the second head was the head of a slug. And the wolf head had an extensible neck. And the slug head could shoot laser beams from its stalk-eyes.
I cut off both heads, and the creature died.
Then, the lord of the manor carried his crippled wife downstairs, singing a song to her. I don't remember the lyrics, though I do remember that they didn't rhyme, but I was nonetheless impressed with my subconscious for spontaneously producing lyrics to a song at all. Of course, it was probably garbage.
I said goodbye and went outside. I picked up my own wife and flew away. She asked me to sing her a song, but I told her I was watching for enemies in the skies above and around us.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Names from Decades Past
The guests of the dinner party were aware of every other's name, except for the man wearing the hawk mask. Normally, they didn't mind seeing new faces in the house at the top of the hill, but that was precisely the problem. They couldn't see his face. It seemed clear to them that there was something wrong with this. Why would a man conceal his face? What was it that he feared? And who was he?
Besides, he was well armed, a rapier on one side, a short sword on the other, and feathered armor made to match the hawklike nature of his headgear. And with his concealed identity, he was a well armed stranger.
It would not do.
But it was Anton the Host who had invited him, and that was the only reason that the Hawkman was still present. If not for his influence, they would have forced him to remove his mask or immediately would have had him cast out without a morsel to eat. But Anton said he was to stay, and so he stayed.
Everyone wanted to ask him why he wore the mask, but in their anxiety they all restrained themselves and tried to content themselves with the food and idle conversation.
"The weather has taken a turn for the better, I'd say," said Markus the Stalwart.
"I hear they've discovered gold in the north," said Ulysses the Tall.
"This blowfin steak is superb," said Timothy the Hungry.
Yet the room bore in the air a tension that would not fade, like lines of live wire stretched taut across the room. Everyone had noticed that the Hawkman was not eating.
"Sir, I'm afraid I didn't catch what your name was," Lucille the Delicate said to him.
The chatter ceased, and everyone turned to face him. The ticking of the grandfather clock at the far end of the room counted to five, but he gave no answer.
"Please, my friends," said Anton the Host, "our honored guest's background makes necessary a most unusual measure of privacy. Suffice to say that he simply cannot share his name with you at this time."
Timothy changed the subject. "Might someone pass me some more of that turquoise shelltart. It's incredi-"
"Why do you wear the mask!?" Markus blurted out.
Anton stood to his feet. "Markus! This is outrageous! Silence yourself!"
The Hawkman turned his head and faced Markus the Stalwart directly. The Stalwart, though unable to see the other's eyes in the darkness behind the hawk mask, felt momentarily less stalwart, as though the Hawkman's gaze had skewered his heart through a gap in his steel breastplate. Nevertheless, Markus stood to his feet.
"I demand to know who you are, what you want, and why you wear that ridiculous mask!"
Anton started to speak, but he knew that the merriment of the party was gone and could not be restored. He looked at the Hawkman anxiously to see what he would do.
The Hawkman stood to his feet and seemed about to say something, but suddenly he cocked his head as though listening intently. Instantly, he reached for the rapier at his side and leaped over the table.
Amidst the startled cries of the other dinner guests, Markus drew his own rapier and made to thrust it into the Hawkman's chest, but his opponent was much too fast. The Stalwart thought that he was doomed, but the Hawkman ignored his threat and darted past him toward the front door.
The door burst inward, landing flat on the floor. A mass of animate yellow headed corpses came pouring through from the darkness outside. The man in the hawk mask lunged and put his rapier's point into the left eye of the first one inside. Momentarily phased, it shook its head violently, wrenching the sword from the Hawkman's hand, and it continued racing forward. The swordsman retreated, drawing his short sword from his other side.
"Zombies!" cried Anton. The others began screaming and standing to their feet, but the corpses seemed not the least bit slowed by death. In an instant, the zombies had set upon Timothy and Ulysses, the two nearest the door.
Timothy's neck became a crimson fountain as the monster's teeth sank in. His mouth flew open with gurgled screaming, bits of his dinner flying from his mouth and intermingling with his blood. Ulysses began trying to pummel their attackers with his long arms, but soon the zombies began to chew upon his limbs, and he fainted in weakness.
The Hawkman guided his short sword through the necks of two of the monsters. Their heads flew across the room, one of them landing in the roast hamturkey, and their bodies slunk to the floor.
"We can kill them!" the Hawkman shouted, lunging toward another corpse.
"There's too many of them!" cried Markus, smashing a zombie's head with the hilt of his rapier. "We must retreat!"
The Hawkman decapitated another of the monsters and leaped backwards from another's groping hands. "We have hope until you stop fighting! Keep fighting!"
But Markus the Stalwart turned and ran to the window at the back of the house. Lucille the Delicate tried to follow him there, but a zombie grabbed her from behind and quickly loosed the blood from her neck. She screamed and fell to the ground.
"Damn you, coward!" the Hawkman shouted. "They cannot be infinite!"
"Die alone if you wish," Markus said and disappeared through the window.
Anton the Host fled up the stairs, and the Hawkman followed him. He sliced off another of the zombie's heads before following Anton into the bedroom, locking the door behind him.
"What are they?" asked the Hawkman.
Anton caught his breath and answered. "They're zombies. The living dead. They won't rest until they cover the earth."
They heard banging and growling on the other side of the door.
"Why are they here?"
"I don't know," said Anton. "They do have a commander, but I don't know who he is. Perhaps if we find him, we can put an end to it."
The Hawkman stood thinking. "I will find him."
The banging continued.
"How did they destroy the front door?" asked the Hawkman.
"I don't know that either, but it means that we don't have much time," said Anton, making his way across the room to the window. "Perhaps we can escape down the far side of the hill."
He opened the window and climbed out onto the side of the house.
The door burst open, and zombies poured through. Backing slowly from the horde, the Hawkman cleaved another two of their heads off.
Anton turned, saw the zombies, turned again too quickly, and fell shouting to the ground below.
The Hawkman killed another zombie and leaped through the window. He spread two great wings from the sides and back of his armor and glided softly to the ground. He looked around for Anton, but then he heard a scream.
He turned and saw a group of zombies descending upon the Host. He rushed toward them and sliced one of their heads off, but the others turned toward him, and he was forced to retreat.
The Hawkman leaped into the air and used his wings to propel himself to the roof of the house.
For a moment, the relative peace on the roof was almost serene, as though the zombies were but part of a dream. He looked around himself and saw an immense valley to the east. To the west...
Nothing but fire. The entire countryside in the distance was ablaze. How had they not noticed its glow during dinner?
He heard growling at his feet. The zombies were now clambering up onto the edge of the rooftop.
The Hawkman sprinted to the east side of the house, jumped toward the darkness, and flapped his wings downward as hard as he could. He spread his wings out on either side, gliding over the valley, leaving the zombies behind him.
The growling of the monsters became louder behind him, but then they began to fade. Soon it was completely quiet.
He knew that he was losing altitude, as he could not actually fly, but only glide, but the valley floor continued to descend away from him, producing the illusion that he was rising. He continued to glide as far as he could, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the zombies as possible.
After a long time, he began to see footprints in the ground far below. At first they were quite small, almost invisible, but to his astonishment he began to see larger and larger tracks. The feet that had produced the largest of them had to have been about the size of a small tool shed.
Finally, he touched down at the edge of a river at the valley basin.
He turned. In the darkness, he could not see the house, even with the fire burning beyond it. How far had he gone?
The Hawkman began to make his way south along the river, and soon, he came to a house built upon a wooden platform over the water. He crossed a wooden bridge and came to the doorway.
There was a sheet of paper beside the door. Looking at it, he realized that it was a guestbook. He scanned the list of names.
His own name was on it. A name from another time. He'd been here before, decades ago.
He took the pen and scratched his name out until it could not possibly be read.
The door opened, and appearing in the doorway was a humanoid with the features of an insect, an ant. He walked on two feet and held a cup of tea with one of four arms.
"I knew I heard someone out here," he said.
"Ant-Z," said the Hawkman.
"You remember?"
"Of course."
"Come in. It's just me and the missus right now."
The Hawkman made his way in.
"You look like shit."
"Feel like it, too."
Besides, he was well armed, a rapier on one side, a short sword on the other, and feathered armor made to match the hawklike nature of his headgear. And with his concealed identity, he was a well armed stranger.
It would not do.
But it was Anton the Host who had invited him, and that was the only reason that the Hawkman was still present. If not for his influence, they would have forced him to remove his mask or immediately would have had him cast out without a morsel to eat. But Anton said he was to stay, and so he stayed.
Everyone wanted to ask him why he wore the mask, but in their anxiety they all restrained themselves and tried to content themselves with the food and idle conversation.
"The weather has taken a turn for the better, I'd say," said Markus the Stalwart.
"I hear they've discovered gold in the north," said Ulysses the Tall.
"This blowfin steak is superb," said Timothy the Hungry.
Yet the room bore in the air a tension that would not fade, like lines of live wire stretched taut across the room. Everyone had noticed that the Hawkman was not eating.
"Sir, I'm afraid I didn't catch what your name was," Lucille the Delicate said to him.
The chatter ceased, and everyone turned to face him. The ticking of the grandfather clock at the far end of the room counted to five, but he gave no answer.
"Please, my friends," said Anton the Host, "our honored guest's background makes necessary a most unusual measure of privacy. Suffice to say that he simply cannot share his name with you at this time."
Timothy changed the subject. "Might someone pass me some more of that turquoise shelltart. It's incredi-"
"Why do you wear the mask!?" Markus blurted out.
Anton stood to his feet. "Markus! This is outrageous! Silence yourself!"
The Hawkman turned his head and faced Markus the Stalwart directly. The Stalwart, though unable to see the other's eyes in the darkness behind the hawk mask, felt momentarily less stalwart, as though the Hawkman's gaze had skewered his heart through a gap in his steel breastplate. Nevertheless, Markus stood to his feet.
"I demand to know who you are, what you want, and why you wear that ridiculous mask!"
Anton started to speak, but he knew that the merriment of the party was gone and could not be restored. He looked at the Hawkman anxiously to see what he would do.
The Hawkman stood to his feet and seemed about to say something, but suddenly he cocked his head as though listening intently. Instantly, he reached for the rapier at his side and leaped over the table.
Amidst the startled cries of the other dinner guests, Markus drew his own rapier and made to thrust it into the Hawkman's chest, but his opponent was much too fast. The Stalwart thought that he was doomed, but the Hawkman ignored his threat and darted past him toward the front door.
The door burst inward, landing flat on the floor. A mass of animate yellow headed corpses came pouring through from the darkness outside. The man in the hawk mask lunged and put his rapier's point into the left eye of the first one inside. Momentarily phased, it shook its head violently, wrenching the sword from the Hawkman's hand, and it continued racing forward. The swordsman retreated, drawing his short sword from his other side.
"Zombies!" cried Anton. The others began screaming and standing to their feet, but the corpses seemed not the least bit slowed by death. In an instant, the zombies had set upon Timothy and Ulysses, the two nearest the door.
Timothy's neck became a crimson fountain as the monster's teeth sank in. His mouth flew open with gurgled screaming, bits of his dinner flying from his mouth and intermingling with his blood. Ulysses began trying to pummel their attackers with his long arms, but soon the zombies began to chew upon his limbs, and he fainted in weakness.
The Hawkman guided his short sword through the necks of two of the monsters. Their heads flew across the room, one of them landing in the roast hamturkey, and their bodies slunk to the floor.
"We can kill them!" the Hawkman shouted, lunging toward another corpse.
"There's too many of them!" cried Markus, smashing a zombie's head with the hilt of his rapier. "We must retreat!"
The Hawkman decapitated another of the monsters and leaped backwards from another's groping hands. "We have hope until you stop fighting! Keep fighting!"
But Markus the Stalwart turned and ran to the window at the back of the house. Lucille the Delicate tried to follow him there, but a zombie grabbed her from behind and quickly loosed the blood from her neck. She screamed and fell to the ground.
"Damn you, coward!" the Hawkman shouted. "They cannot be infinite!"
"Die alone if you wish," Markus said and disappeared through the window.
Anton the Host fled up the stairs, and the Hawkman followed him. He sliced off another of the zombie's heads before following Anton into the bedroom, locking the door behind him.
"What are they?" asked the Hawkman.
Anton caught his breath and answered. "They're zombies. The living dead. They won't rest until they cover the earth."
They heard banging and growling on the other side of the door.
"Why are they here?"
"I don't know," said Anton. "They do have a commander, but I don't know who he is. Perhaps if we find him, we can put an end to it."
The Hawkman stood thinking. "I will find him."
The banging continued.
"How did they destroy the front door?" asked the Hawkman.
"I don't know that either, but it means that we don't have much time," said Anton, making his way across the room to the window. "Perhaps we can escape down the far side of the hill."
He opened the window and climbed out onto the side of the house.
The door burst open, and zombies poured through. Backing slowly from the horde, the Hawkman cleaved another two of their heads off.
Anton turned, saw the zombies, turned again too quickly, and fell shouting to the ground below.
The Hawkman killed another zombie and leaped through the window. He spread two great wings from the sides and back of his armor and glided softly to the ground. He looked around for Anton, but then he heard a scream.
He turned and saw a group of zombies descending upon the Host. He rushed toward them and sliced one of their heads off, but the others turned toward him, and he was forced to retreat.
The Hawkman leaped into the air and used his wings to propel himself to the roof of the house.
For a moment, the relative peace on the roof was almost serene, as though the zombies were but part of a dream. He looked around himself and saw an immense valley to the east. To the west...
Nothing but fire. The entire countryside in the distance was ablaze. How had they not noticed its glow during dinner?
He heard growling at his feet. The zombies were now clambering up onto the edge of the rooftop.
The Hawkman sprinted to the east side of the house, jumped toward the darkness, and flapped his wings downward as hard as he could. He spread his wings out on either side, gliding over the valley, leaving the zombies behind him.
The growling of the monsters became louder behind him, but then they began to fade. Soon it was completely quiet.
He knew that he was losing altitude, as he could not actually fly, but only glide, but the valley floor continued to descend away from him, producing the illusion that he was rising. He continued to glide as far as he could, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the zombies as possible.
After a long time, he began to see footprints in the ground far below. At first they were quite small, almost invisible, but to his astonishment he began to see larger and larger tracks. The feet that had produced the largest of them had to have been about the size of a small tool shed.
Finally, he touched down at the edge of a river at the valley basin.
He turned. In the darkness, he could not see the house, even with the fire burning beyond it. How far had he gone?
The Hawkman began to make his way south along the river, and soon, he came to a house built upon a wooden platform over the water. He crossed a wooden bridge and came to the doorway.
There was a sheet of paper beside the door. Looking at it, he realized that it was a guestbook. He scanned the list of names.
His own name was on it. A name from another time. He'd been here before, decades ago.
He took the pen and scratched his name out until it could not possibly be read.
The door opened, and appearing in the doorway was a humanoid with the features of an insect, an ant. He walked on two feet and held a cup of tea with one of four arms.
"I knew I heard someone out here," he said.
"Ant-Z," said the Hawkman.
"You remember?"
"Of course."
"Come in. It's just me and the missus right now."
The Hawkman made his way in.
"You look like shit."
"Feel like it, too."
~ ~ ~
I feel as though the above is probably poorly written. Oh well. I had a lot to write, and I didn't want to take too long. I don't dream about zombies often. In fact, this might be the first time. But I thought it was an interesting dream, so I put it down on paper.
Not sure what else to say so I'll just stop.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Oh, by the Way...
I won't be using the Internet for a little while on account of moving. I won't be able to make another blog entry until probably late tomorrow afternoon/evening, and by then the details of whatever I dream about tonight will have changed a lot. So I'll try not to have any dreams at all tonight, but usually that's not really up to me. I'll probably have some awesome dream about making chocolate spaghetti or something, but by the time I have my Internet connection back up, it'll be regular old non-chocolate spaghetti, and what's the point of blogging about that?
I just thought I should say something so that all you 300,000 readers will not be clamoring for a new entry tomorrow morning. Why don't you go write your own blogs!?
I just thought I should say something so that all you 300,000 readers will not be clamoring for a new entry tomorrow morning. Why don't you go write your own blogs!?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Mass Effect 2 and Death by Pizza
Night before last, I had another Mass Effect dream, kind of like this one. I think my subconscious was trying to remind me that the new downloadable content has been available for about a week. I had forgotten. Anyway...
This time around, both my wife and I were members of a large group of mercenaries, and we had been hired to rush into some base and take out the jerks who had taken it over.
So I told my wife that I'd go in front, and that she should stay behind me. We rushed in, and I took cover behind a small wall, but then I turned around. Somehow, I knew that there was a sniper way up high on a ledge above us and a little behind us. The cover that I was hiding behind didn't protect me from that angle, so I pulled out my own sniper rifle and shot him in the head.
Things got hazy here, but I ended up way up on that ledge, which was simply part of a higher floor in the base, and I was sneaking around corners, shooting the jerks as they appeared from around other corners.
Later, we were being briefed on another mission at a mine set in the side of a steep hill/cliff face. We were told that the builders didn't know what they were doing. Indeed, right before our eyes, the holographic model of the whole mine base collapsed and fell off the cliff.
When we got to this mine, my wife rushed to the lowest point of a tall shaft and started sniping the electronic eyes located at the top. Then some gas leaks appeared, and I told her to get out of there. She did, and we were both fine.
Then, last night, I dreamed that my wife and I were in line at the commons at the University of Redlands, from which we both graduated with our undergraduate degrees. We wanted some kind of new pizza that we'd heard about, but when we got there, we learned to our horror that the meat on the pizza was made from a particular citizen who had proven himself a subversive member of society.
Needless to say, we didn't want it any longer. I think we got some plain ol' pepperoni instead.
This time around, both my wife and I were members of a large group of mercenaries, and we had been hired to rush into some base and take out the jerks who had taken it over.
So I told my wife that I'd go in front, and that she should stay behind me. We rushed in, and I took cover behind a small wall, but then I turned around. Somehow, I knew that there was a sniper way up high on a ledge above us and a little behind us. The cover that I was hiding behind didn't protect me from that angle, so I pulled out my own sniper rifle and shot him in the head.
Things got hazy here, but I ended up way up on that ledge, which was simply part of a higher floor in the base, and I was sneaking around corners, shooting the jerks as they appeared from around other corners.
Later, we were being briefed on another mission at a mine set in the side of a steep hill/cliff face. We were told that the builders didn't know what they were doing. Indeed, right before our eyes, the holographic model of the whole mine base collapsed and fell off the cliff.
When we got to this mine, my wife rushed to the lowest point of a tall shaft and started sniping the electronic eyes located at the top. Then some gas leaks appeared, and I told her to get out of there. She did, and we were both fine.
Then, last night, I dreamed that my wife and I were in line at the commons at the University of Redlands, from which we both graduated with our undergraduate degrees. We wanted some kind of new pizza that we'd heard about, but when we got there, we learned to our horror that the meat on the pizza was made from a particular citizen who had proven himself a subversive member of society.
Needless to say, we didn't want it any longer. I think we got some plain ol' pepperoni instead.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Ubiquitous Shredded Chicken Tree
Last night, some old friends, some new friends, and I were playing some kind of weird game involving golf balls in the courtyard of a shadowy motel. This courtyard consisted of a peanut-shaped swimming-pool-like depression in the ground, which was covered in grass at the bottom rather than cement and was surrounded by an ordinary sidewalk. At the two central points in this depression were pits covered by grates consisting of only a few iron bars. One could easily fit through these bars if one tried to. These pits were quite deep, and at their bottoms we could see dark murky water. I jokingly referred to these pits as sewer foyers.
By accident, some of the golf balls fell into these sewer foyers. We knew, sadly, that they were lost forever.
I was planning to jump up to the sidewalk surrounding the grassy depression, as all my friends did, but I became aware that this area was a sort of "horror movie/game area, or something," and my curiosity held me there. I wanted to see just how scary the horrors of this area were.
So I stayed put.
I had the option of loading up different "levels" of this horror attraction, and so I tried some. The water level rose until it was at the brim of the grassy depression, and I was submerged up to my shoulders or so. Piranhas and sea monsters came up out of the water, but they didn't bother me, as I am tough.
I asked my younger brother what he felt the scariest level of this arena was, and he told me it was called Undermann.
So I loaded that one up.
Instead of sea monsters and piranhas, a young girl, probably around eight or nine years old, came up out of the water and started floating on her back at the center of the flooded depression in the ground. Her face was pale, and her eyes were off-white with no pupils. She tried to grab me and pull me down under the water, deeper and deeper, I was aware, into some unfathomable watery abyss.
I withdrew upwards in that dreamy sort of magical flight and escaped her grasp. But she leaped upwards after me without altering her horizontal position, though she turned as she rose, sometimes orienting herself face down, sometimes face up.
"You can't escape," she insisted. I believed her.
Nevertheless, I continued to withdraw higher and higher. Still, she continued to rise after me, reaching toward me.
"I'll pull 2,000 Bibles down, too!" she cried. I understood clearly that this was an extraordinary measure of evilness.
There was something in this whole ordeal that had to do with Islam. The girl, Islam, and fear were all connected somehow, though not in any obvious way of which I was aware.
As I drifted back to life from the world of the ether, there existed a Ubiquitous Tree. This is a tree-like structure, a thing with a root and branches but no ends to the branches. It extends forever in all directions, continually branching out and filling every part of the Universe. This particular Ubiquitous Tree was made out of soaking wet shredded chicken.
By accident, some of the golf balls fell into these sewer foyers. We knew, sadly, that they were lost forever.
I was planning to jump up to the sidewalk surrounding the grassy depression, as all my friends did, but I became aware that this area was a sort of "horror movie/game area, or something," and my curiosity held me there. I wanted to see just how scary the horrors of this area were.
So I stayed put.
I had the option of loading up different "levels" of this horror attraction, and so I tried some. The water level rose until it was at the brim of the grassy depression, and I was submerged up to my shoulders or so. Piranhas and sea monsters came up out of the water, but they didn't bother me, as I am tough.
I asked my younger brother what he felt the scariest level of this arena was, and he told me it was called Undermann.
So I loaded that one up.
Instead of sea monsters and piranhas, a young girl, probably around eight or nine years old, came up out of the water and started floating on her back at the center of the flooded depression in the ground. Her face was pale, and her eyes were off-white with no pupils. She tried to grab me and pull me down under the water, deeper and deeper, I was aware, into some unfathomable watery abyss.
I withdrew upwards in that dreamy sort of magical flight and escaped her grasp. But she leaped upwards after me without altering her horizontal position, though she turned as she rose, sometimes orienting herself face down, sometimes face up.
"You can't escape," she insisted. I believed her.
Nevertheless, I continued to withdraw higher and higher. Still, she continued to rise after me, reaching toward me.
"I'll pull 2,000 Bibles down, too!" she cried. I understood clearly that this was an extraordinary measure of evilness.
There was something in this whole ordeal that had to do with Islam. The girl, Islam, and fear were all connected somehow, though not in any obvious way of which I was aware.
As I drifted back to life from the world of the ether, there existed a Ubiquitous Tree. This is a tree-like structure, a thing with a root and branches but no ends to the branches. It extends forever in all directions, continually branching out and filling every part of the Universe. This particular Ubiquitous Tree was made out of soaking wet shredded chicken.
~ ~ ~
What?
I've been reading a book called The Muslim Next Door by Sumbul Ali-Karamali. It is about the misconceptions that people have about Islam and Muslims in general, and particularly about how the sensational images of brutality and oppression that many Americans have come to associate with the religion do not actually represent most members of its community of believers. It's a very good book, I feel, that has taught me how little I actually know about Islam and the Qur'an.
I am really starting to like Islam a lot, though I am not becoming a Muslim at the present moment. I don't believe that I am presently capable of choosing my religious beliefs volitionally, but let's leave the discussion of that matter for another time, because it's large enough on its own to serve as a whole blog entry without a dream to report at all.
Islam is very interesting to me. It's amazing to me how backwards the misconceptions about the religion appear to be. Now I'm having dreams in which Islam appears to be taking form subconsciously in subtle ways. I'm pretty sure that this dream does, in fact, stem from my subconscious reaction to reading about Islam, although I'm not sure what it indicates. I'm very uncertain what it indicates.
The 2,000 Bibles bit seems suggestive of the moronic Qur'an burning that's planned for this weekend in Florida. Let me just go on record officially by saying that it's a stupid idea. It's a very, very, very stupid idea. While we're at it... If anyone is even reading this, if you see Muslims celebrating on 9/11, they are not celebrating the destruction of the twin towers. They are celebrating Eid al-Fitr, which occurs at the end of Ramadan, which happens to fall by coincidence right around 9/11 this year. They are not being hateful! They are just grateful to God that they are once again allowed to eat and drink during the daytime!
The shredded chicken forming the U-Tree probably has something to do with the tacos that I had for dinner last night.
I'm kind of a weird person, I think.
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Pig Mask
I dreamed last night that I was about to be graduating from college again. I escorted an old lady to her mailbox, and while I was there I decided to check on all of my stuff for graduation, which was in an oversized mailbox measuring about 4 feet by 4 feet by 4 feet.
Then I was helping the cast of Parks and Rec put on a play for children called the Pig Mask. It involved an Easter Bunny that seemed vaguely reminiscent of Baby Jesus from a Nativity. But it was purple and talked in a really high pitched voice.
I opened an Easter egg, which contained shredded cheese rather than candy.
Some airheaded lady mistakenly thought that Mark Brendanawicz was gay, and so he persisted in making fun of her mistake throughout the rest of the dream.
I also dreamed that my wife and I discovered an additional closet in our home that we weren't previously aware of. This made us extremely happy, because we need more closet space.
Then I was helping the cast of Parks and Rec put on a play for children called the Pig Mask. It involved an Easter Bunny that seemed vaguely reminiscent of Baby Jesus from a Nativity. But it was purple and talked in a really high pitched voice.
I opened an Easter egg, which contained shredded cheese rather than candy.
Some airheaded lady mistakenly thought that Mark Brendanawicz was gay, and so he persisted in making fun of her mistake throughout the rest of the dream.
I also dreamed that my wife and I discovered an additional closet in our home that we weren't previously aware of. This made us extremely happy, because we need more closet space.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Mass Effect and Bubbly Tea
I think perhaps I have played a little too much Mass Effect of late. Or maybe not enough. Not sure. Last night I dreamed that I was battling mercenaries in some kind of space station, and Garrus Vakarian was ostensibly helping me by sniping from a high point in the corner of the room. Realistically, however, he was doing nothing, leaving me to do all the fighting on my own, wielding a sniper rifle myself, of course, and shooting all of the mercenaries in the head.
Now, I've long felt that it would be a great addition to Mass Effect 3 if we finally got to have squad members representing some of the "less important" species in the Mass Effect universe. It would be really cool to save the galaxy fighting side by side with volus and hanar. So perhaps it should come as no surprise to me that one of the mercenaries against whom I was fighting was a great lumbering elcor.
Of course, I shot him in the head, too, and that was that.
I don't really remember much else from my dreams last night. Just that at some point I was searching in a grocery store built like a supply bunker into the ground for some new kind of carbonated green or lemon tea developed by Coca-Cola. Despite the fact that I couldn't find any, I wound up spending inordinate amounts of time waiting in line to check out.
 |
| Garrus Vakarian, expert "sniper" |
 |
| An elcor, great lumbering slowpoke |
I don't really remember much else from my dreams last night. Just that at some point I was searching in a grocery store built like a supply bunker into the ground for some new kind of carbonated green or lemon tea developed by Coca-Cola. Despite the fact that I couldn't find any, I wound up spending inordinate amounts of time waiting in line to check out.
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