crazy dream
I had a dream last night that the old dude from Jurassic Park broke into my house. He was holding me up in the air, but I broke free of him and stabbed him to death with a huge butcher knife. He lay dead on the kitchen table. I called 911, but not because I'd killed anyone (I didn't care), because someone had broken into my house. I called my mom, too, but she didn't know who I was, she'd never heard of me, and she thought I was someone named Margaret and wanted to put me over to somebody else. Then a tall man in a cowboy hat unfurled around the corner in my living room. I looked to see Who now. It was Anthony Bourdain. I was happy because I thought 911 had sent him to save me, but he was a "bad guy." He lunged on me and then he turned into Tim Roth. He (now Tim Roth) was leaning against my kitchen counter, looking directly at me - only, he was looking straight ahead and I doubt he's 5'2". It was more like he was looking conspicuously into a camera. But he had a little pair of tweezers, he said in a horrifying British accent, Do you know what the most painful bone is in the body to have plucked out? I cowered in fear. He was evil. But then the bulky green ambulance from the early 20th century sent by 911 bailed me out. I sat in the empty back of the ambulance with a woman on crutches. One of my friends' mothers was in the passenger seat up front, and I gabbed to her all about everything that'd happened to me. But the driver of the ambulance couldn't find the hospital. We went down a winding hill which levelled out into big colonial houses, but the hospital was lost. To make things worse, zombies started their classical plod toward us, out of the darkness into the light cast by the ambulance and the houses; but this seemed matter of fact to the drivers, and to the neutral zombies themselves. We all inched at a crawl up the muddy hill again. Then I found myself at the hospital, in the bizarre situation of being instructed by some tan little Mogli-esque boy to swing along ropes suspended about a foot over a big square jungle track of green bamboo, with a floor of green tomatoes like soft little skulls. I asked what would happen if you missed a rope and stepped on the ground. "Something bad," he said. So I followed a friend, going left, and we went around on the ropes (it was easy) for a long time. When I finally came back I found myself craving physical human contact, so completely out of character I accosted a sullen group of punk-haired hospital loiterer boys for a dance, which warmed them up some. They thought my dancing exotic. It was kind of a hoppy flapper dance. I don't know why they found it "exotic." Maybe they were "from the future," or an even more distant past. They were wrestlers, I think. My favourite looked like the buff one from that put-on late '90s/early '00s MTV spoof group 2gether. Blonde, toothy, buff, bulldoggy, shaved, severe, bony-rimmed about the eyes. He was a passionate wrestler. He loved his crowd. He joined them in the end right before a match with the heavy-metal egotistical roar of self-title announcing, something about being the Thunder God, at which point I must have first seen him from the waist, or even mid-torso, down. He was wearing an open ripped jacket, and that was it. Well, not completely. A small metal-stoney codpiece with natural black skeletal holes like a coxa was affixed to his skin. He was shaved to the quick, because it only covered the absolute necessary area, you know. And since it was only on the front it left his bum completely nude. And he had a nice bum. I found his dedication a little alien, but admirable.