First thing's first. I haven't put things up here lately for two reasons. The first reason is that I have been working on a website to show my arts. This is it. The second is that I actually have been writing things and having elaborate ideas, but I all the sudden had an urge to censor them. It wasn't like a "mature audience only" thing, 'cause this one is going to be for mature audiences, but more of a "wait, ali thinks this?" I don't know if embarrassed is the right word, I think I'm just not ready to tell the internet box. Either way, I had this really wacky dream. I am going to describe it as it happened, as well as I can, probably with pictures as well.
I was in the science building at my school, but it was made of darker brick and dark, rotting wood. There were a wide set of stairs leading up to the double door entrance. I went up the stars slowly, and went into what seemed to be a biology class where we were doing dissections of some unreal creature. The room was a dark, muted green, and poorly lit. I sat in the back and apparently was a new student.
I was told to go find supplies, scalpels, I think, and I went down a staircase on the left wing. When I got the stairs, however, I was in a sort of basement-warehouse. Cement floors, tons of cardboard boxes stacked every which way, and it smelled like a mixture of birdseed, rain, and disinfectant. There were a few older women in pink and purple surgical scrubs walking about this warehouse, and they yelled that I shouldnt be down there. As I looked around for a way to exit, I saw a brown dog chasing a tabby cat. The stairs in which I had come down, had partially disappeared, in that, the lower steps no longer were there, so I couldn"t reach the rest of them.
I started to run through the warehouse looking for an exit, when I ran into (literally) a male figure who was taller than me and had a warm demeanor. He took me up a dark staircase that outside light was peeking through, like dawn light, and everything had a smoky-yellow look. We went into an empty biology classroom, with high lab tables with black surfaces, and glass and wood cabinets filled with beakers, and preserved organs in opalescent liquid. He smelled pretty good, clean mostly, but good. He picked me up and sat me on one of the tables so our faces were even, we took of our outer layers of clothes, and we had sex like that. He found me a lab coat to put on, because my shirt was no longer present, and we walked back to the class where I was supposed to bring supplies. The students in the classroom looked happy to see us together, as we were arm in arm, my head leaned against him.
The class ended rather quickly and I was by myself again going down the wide, entrance stairs to a patch of lawn on the left. The sun set immediately, and everything was a ruddy, purple-orange. The sky looked like bombs were dropping, and a group of students were playing with a giant, red, green, yellow, and blue parachute-sheet. In unison, they would fling the sheet upward, and then pull it down quickly, creating a little bubble where you could hide until the air escaped. I let go, and my part of the parachute flew up into the air, and the professor pushed me onto the parachute, where I consequentially flew into the air and landed on my head.
I was suddenly in a very dim and shadowy room full of people that, in this situation, I suppose, I knew quite well. We were all about the same age, though I was one of the oldest. We were gathered in sort of a last-soiree-ever, because we knew that we were about to fight in a battle. Whatever we were about to fight was not human, or at least partially unhuman, they were dressed in jade-green, and approached us in groups of three very slowly. We were outrageously outnumbered, and we knew this, and suddenly two mutual friends decided they would get married, although, situationally, we knew this was against the law.
Another thing that was against the law was breaking glass. However it was hard not to do because none of the glasses we had were made with flat bottoms. If a glass broke or you had been married, you would be stabbed in the back until you bled to death. I guess there was also a loop-hole in which you could be married if you had a child, and I tried to convince a lady that I had a daughter, and that is why I considered being married. Though, I had no evidence of this desire to marry until that point.
The enemy began to attack, and many people, including myself, moved to the back of the dark room, in sort of a stampede, because we were the weaker of the group. Though, outside, and technically behind us were creatures a bit like fat goblins that were pretty powerful and they were prepping their attack. The enemy launched something like fire at our group and we somehow turned them into bushes and they fell to the ground.
The floor dropped out below us and the strongest levitated, but most of us fell into an abyss that was bright and gold. We could slightly see the strongest levitating, and fighting the approaching enemy, but eventually, they faded out of view as we fell down.
I awoke.
Wacky right? Not embellished at all. Seriously. And not even hiding any details, I really didn't recognize any of these people, though they seemed to have familiar traits, like haircolor or scent.
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
5.07.2010
2.28.2010
letters make words, words make phrases, phrases make phases.
I have always said, slightly in jest, "If being addicted to sleep aids is wrong, I don't want to be right." However, I am now addicted to them. I cannot sleep without them, and I pretty much must have them in one way or another. Sometimes I come home in the afternoon and take them, and then when I wake up, I take them again. Basically, if I have no plans, I take sleeping pills and peace out. I need to quit, but I don't know how. I hate sleeping without them, I have really bad dreams. The kind where you get raped, and have your skin peeled off, or get dissected, imprisoned, starved to death, beaten, and frankly, just die. It started with saying, these pills will prevent these bad dreams, but now, I'll take them with only one thought before hand, "Did I drink alcohol tonight? I wouldn't want to disappoint anyone if I died tonight."
Half of me is self sustaining, I consider whether or not my choices will kill me. And I keep making plans and getting involved in things so I am continually committed to something, so I'd feel guilty if I died by accident. And I perpetuate. But the other half just wants to go away. Somewhere where no one knows me, where no one has a story about me, where no one can laugh or insult me, or reject me, or ask anything of me ever. That is what my nights are. Little vacations. But they're just sleeping pills. 10$ for a month, 30 nights of bliss. Sometimes 36 hours, if I take two in a row.
When I die, I don't really care what happens. But I think that will be the only time I will be ready to be forgotten. It's my biggest fear, to be forgotten, probably why I just up an decided to become an artist one day, after I tried to die. "Oh wait, no one even knows who I am, I better draw pictures." Thus, I'm alive. But the things that hurt me the most are the people that have forgotten me. My ego is that big. (Actually, psychologically speaking, I think that people recognizing me is probably the only affirmation I accept. Compliments are in one ear out the other.) But when I'm gone, no more of that. Not a funeral, not a wake, not a cremation, I want to get donated to a laboratory, where I become a specimen. A soulless number. And when the scientists are done, then I'll ascend into the sky and please the world for 24 hours as the full moon. And then I'll die again, and become a little frog. Not a special one, but one that you might find one day while camping, and cook over a fire. Or a nine year old would take as a fling of a pet. But then I'd become more things that begin with "f." Being "A" was enough for me.
Wouldn't it be funny if I found out I was immortal? How cruel the irony if that were true.
Half of me is self sustaining, I consider whether or not my choices will kill me. And I keep making plans and getting involved in things so I am continually committed to something, so I'd feel guilty if I died by accident. And I perpetuate. But the other half just wants to go away. Somewhere where no one knows me, where no one has a story about me, where no one can laugh or insult me, or reject me, or ask anything of me ever. That is what my nights are. Little vacations. But they're just sleeping pills. 10$ for a month, 30 nights of bliss. Sometimes 36 hours, if I take two in a row.
When I die, I don't really care what happens. But I think that will be the only time I will be ready to be forgotten. It's my biggest fear, to be forgotten, probably why I just up an decided to become an artist one day, after I tried to die. "Oh wait, no one even knows who I am, I better draw pictures." Thus, I'm alive. But the things that hurt me the most are the people that have forgotten me. My ego is that big. (Actually, psychologically speaking, I think that people recognizing me is probably the only affirmation I accept. Compliments are in one ear out the other.) But when I'm gone, no more of that. Not a funeral, not a wake, not a cremation, I want to get donated to a laboratory, where I become a specimen. A soulless number. And when the scientists are done, then I'll ascend into the sky and please the world for 24 hours as the full moon. And then I'll die again, and become a little frog. Not a special one, but one that you might find one day while camping, and cook over a fire. Or a nine year old would take as a fling of a pet. But then I'd become more things that begin with "f." Being "A" was enough for me.
Wouldn't it be funny if I found out I was immortal? How cruel the irony if that were true.
Labels:
diner service,
dreams,
hamburgers
1.29.2010
Memory is A Funny Think. Thing.
I don't really have a photographic memory. But some things stick in my head like it happened yesterday. It happened today. It's not entirely clear. It smelled like a heater that's been on too long and french fries. I think goldenrod really suits you. I don't remember the size of the hand that waved at me. I should know it though. I tried to capture it in pen and ink, but your legs are missing. They might be on another page. So I looked for them. And I found instead the drugs I tried to sell to the bank to repay my debt. Fancy that the Teller said, she had already been prescribed those! Otherwise she'd have gladly wiped out the debt. So I set some gloves and a bracelet on fire. It wasn't warm. But it did smell like french fries.
I dreamt that my forehead began to decay, it turned black like ashes. Then luminescent centipedes crawled out of the decay. They squirmed and tickled down my face. And they were not pretty. Neither was I, half decayed. And nobody came to scoop up my parts that kept crumbling. I woke up calling for my mom.
I think with memory at least, I get addicted to certain ones that never happened. Well, not like in the sick delusional sense, just the perhaps ones. Is it you? Was it you all along? Will it ever be you? You're so pretty!
I dreamt that my forehead began to decay, it turned black like ashes. Then luminescent centipedes crawled out of the decay. They squirmed and tickled down my face. And they were not pretty. Neither was I, half decayed. And nobody came to scoop up my parts that kept crumbling. I woke up calling for my mom.
I think with memory at least, I get addicted to certain ones that never happened. Well, not like in the sick delusional sense, just the perhaps ones. Is it you? Was it you all along? Will it ever be you? You're so pretty!
6.09.2009
Yeah Kinda.
I think dreams are probably the most important decision maker for me. If I dream about something, I will do everything in my power to make sure that it happens, or does not happen. Depending. It's both good and bad, and most of all it leads to the comment that has surrounded my life.
"Why can't you be realistic"
I can't. I don't want to. When I am, it hurts or kills me a little. I like living vicariously through dreams of all kinds. Ordinary, lucid, telepathic, premonitory, nightmares, wet. I love them all.
Info-
http://www.enotalone.com/article/3836.html
Sometimes lobsters get their chance.
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