Monday, June 30, 2014

Dream: Literarily Weird

I'm almost embarrassed to post this just due to the level of weird, but I have written before about the majestic awkwardness of my dreams and it's not quite flying around on a waffle. I also kept waking up overnight, so I kind of had dream vignettes that lead up to some fuckery that will probably surprise you or not.


"Are you wearing a skirt?" My mom gives me a weird look as she lounges on a large sofa in an art gallery. The towering walls are crowded with framed artwork. (It's basically like the gallery rooms from Penny Dreadful where Dorian Gray hangs out.)

I look down and pull at the light blue fabric and immediately recognize what I'm wearing, so I correct her, "It's Sailor Mercury cosplay."

Mind you, it's not good Sailor Mercury cosplay, but something I tried to sew when I was eleven or twelve. A white tank top with pleated blue fabric sewn onto the bottom. Complete the look for yourself with shorts, spiky dark brown hair, and dark-rimmed glasses. Very hipster dude ironically cosplaying as Sailor Mercury. Good choice, subconscious.

I'm being haunted by unfinished sewing projects past.


I wander into a bathroom. It's pretty dark, lit only by amber-tinged light from stained light bulbs. The glass on a couple of the bulbs is broken, but the filaments are still glowing. The toilet has electronics thrown into it. Wii and Xbox controllers. More junk is thrown into the filthy bathtub.

The mirror is smudged and dirty. I can't see my reflection that well and I'm not quite sure why I'm in there so I leave.


In another room a doorbell rings, so I walk the halls to find it. This building is darkly Victorian in style, lots of curiosities everywhere, except it's exposed to unreasonably bright light. It's kind of like looking at a theater scene when all the stage and house lights are up, and there aren't any curtains to cast shadows. Not sure if I'm even in the same building as before or if I'm jumping between locations each time I fall back asleep. Whatever, I'm still in my total crap cosplay.

I open the double doors to the outside and find a very tan, shirtless muscle guy and a pale trans woman in a shiny spandex club wear kind of dress. Neither of them talk to me, but they just walk into the house like it's totally obvious that they would be there. I follow them and don't try to question anything that's going on.

There's another art gallery sort of room, but this is a different one. The artwork is larger and not as cluttered. An elaborate bed is set up against the wall at the back of the room. Clothes start coming off. Oh, okay, this is one of those dreams.

I watch for a while, and decide to join them because this is my dream and they brought me along. I kiss the woman. They're both trying to get me out of my fetching Sailor Mercury costume, but I hold onto it because I think I'm going to need it later. And I keep hearing this odd noise outside the room.


The next time I'm aware of it, the room has shifted into something more modern and smaller. The bed is still against the wall. Eventually I decide to go check out the weird noise. It's the sound of shuffling and more solid footsteps. Maybe I'm paranoid because my dreams don't just gift wrap attractive naked people for me. That's not how this goes. Ever.

After finding nothing worthy of notice in the bright hallway, I head back into the room and close the double doors. The naked people have been going on without me. I sit on the edge of the bed and get used to the idea that this could possibly be a sexy dream and not a weird one.

I put my hand on the muscle guy's thigh. The doors to the room burst open and there's a scraggly-looking man with a mustache standing there. He's in a worn brown suit that might have been a nicer suit at some point in time. He has a revolver. I jump up and dive for him. It's all very slow motion. He fires off four shots in an arc over the naked muscle guy's head.

Yes, Edgar Allan Poe just showed up to the sexy dream and started shooting at us. All of us glare at him. End scene.

 --I have loosely interpreted this dream as trying to tell me that I need to stop fucking around and get back to writing.

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