and yet another dream...
Note: Apparently, in this dream, my parents and Adam got along just fine and they didn't care that I was drinking.
Adam and I stumble in, carrying Troy, arm in arm. He walks about as only a drunkard could and proceeds to take his pants off. He's making all kinds of noise and I tell him to be quiet because my parents are sleeping in the other room. He's down to his boxers and I ask him in a stern voice... "Where the hell are your pajamas?!" And he exclaims that they're in his pants. We finally get him to go to sleep on the couch. Adam snuggles up to me in bed and we fall asleep. (fades to black)
I wake up to the noise of children and adults giggling and laughing outside my house. The sun shining brightly through the blinds, creating a striped lit wall. I make my way through the livingroom to the front door. As I just barely open the door, the light blinds me until in the blurry haze of my eyes adjusting, I see Adam and Troy in shorts. My house was a the top of this hill with a jagged road carved out of its side and dotted with mobile homes all the way down. There was a huge crowd of people outside my front door getting in line. Adam yells out to me to put my swimming suit on.
Once dressed, I dare the raging ultra violet rays and make my way outside. Adam had created this awesome waterpark that took over half of the hillside. It was ingenius. He and I took a few rides down some of the slides together. When I ended up at the bottom of the hill, I saw this decrepid apartment complex painted a dingy blue. The walls were cracked and the bare brick shown through in some areas. Good people lived there, I sort of just sensed that. But they were just poor. One of the apartments had graffitti on the outside but really... they were more like murals.
I followed the dirt road up a little way until I reached another hill. Perfect and majestic, groomed on what had to be a daily basis. At the top, there was a stately manor, pompous looking really as it dominated the scenery around it. The dirt road led to an onyx black rod iron gate. And just outside the gates laid a painting of a wooded forest covered in snow. The only paint really on it denoted the shading and that's it. It was huge... 4' x 5' maybe. I had to take it with me and find out who the artist was. I was awe struck. As I made my way back, it changed slowly. The snow melted away and grass started to grow. The trees blossomed flowers of every color. The painting swirled and moved with every step I took and summer took over. By the time I had finally reached the apartment complex, it was autumn.
I came to the apartment with the murals outside and couldn't help but knock on the door. There was no response. I knocked louder. I kept that up until I was yelling and a crowd had started to gather. By the time the door opened, it was winter again and the painting was just as I had found it. A young man with a shaved head and pale skin opened the door. His arms covered in ink with the most intricate designs. His cheeks were sliced open and when he smiled, they parted to show off the tattoos he had between the slits. They looked to just accent the muscle tissue. His sister sat at the edge of a riggidy old bed that looked like something out of the 1940's... so did her dress, paisely and noticeably washed a million times. Her hair looked wirey and unkept... a light brown with rays of blonde and red as the sun shined through it. The whole apartment was painted in that dingy blue from the exterior... EVERYTHING... walls, cabinets, fixtures. Everything except the bed which had a pristine white comforter on it. I asked them who painted the beautiful work of art I had carried all the way back. He quickly spoke up and said it was his sister. They were foreign... sounded russian maybe or from a country in the former Eastern block (sp?).
I talked to her about art and how I thought she was absolutely wonderful. I told her I would help them out and get them better situated. I just gabbed and gabbed while she smoked a cigarette. The whole world just outside their apartment door listening to me rave about her mastery. And in my heart, I only wished that I had that kind of talent. I took one last look at the painting as it swirled and changed as if to be controlled by Father Time himself. And then I woke up.
Adam and I stumble in, carrying Troy, arm in arm. He walks about as only a drunkard could and proceeds to take his pants off. He's making all kinds of noise and I tell him to be quiet because my parents are sleeping in the other room. He's down to his boxers and I ask him in a stern voice... "Where the hell are your pajamas?!" And he exclaims that they're in his pants. We finally get him to go to sleep on the couch. Adam snuggles up to me in bed and we fall asleep. (fades to black)
I wake up to the noise of children and adults giggling and laughing outside my house. The sun shining brightly through the blinds, creating a striped lit wall. I make my way through the livingroom to the front door. As I just barely open the door, the light blinds me until in the blurry haze of my eyes adjusting, I see Adam and Troy in shorts. My house was a the top of this hill with a jagged road carved out of its side and dotted with mobile homes all the way down. There was a huge crowd of people outside my front door getting in line. Adam yells out to me to put my swimming suit on.
Once dressed, I dare the raging ultra violet rays and make my way outside. Adam had created this awesome waterpark that took over half of the hillside. It was ingenius. He and I took a few rides down some of the slides together. When I ended up at the bottom of the hill, I saw this decrepid apartment complex painted a dingy blue. The walls were cracked and the bare brick shown through in some areas. Good people lived there, I sort of just sensed that. But they were just poor. One of the apartments had graffitti on the outside but really... they were more like murals.
I followed the dirt road up a little way until I reached another hill. Perfect and majestic, groomed on what had to be a daily basis. At the top, there was a stately manor, pompous looking really as it dominated the scenery around it. The dirt road led to an onyx black rod iron gate. And just outside the gates laid a painting of a wooded forest covered in snow. The only paint really on it denoted the shading and that's it. It was huge... 4' x 5' maybe. I had to take it with me and find out who the artist was. I was awe struck. As I made my way back, it changed slowly. The snow melted away and grass started to grow. The trees blossomed flowers of every color. The painting swirled and moved with every step I took and summer took over. By the time I had finally reached the apartment complex, it was autumn.
I came to the apartment with the murals outside and couldn't help but knock on the door. There was no response. I knocked louder. I kept that up until I was yelling and a crowd had started to gather. By the time the door opened, it was winter again and the painting was just as I had found it. A young man with a shaved head and pale skin opened the door. His arms covered in ink with the most intricate designs. His cheeks were sliced open and when he smiled, they parted to show off the tattoos he had between the slits. They looked to just accent the muscle tissue. His sister sat at the edge of a riggidy old bed that looked like something out of the 1940's... so did her dress, paisely and noticeably washed a million times. Her hair looked wirey and unkept... a light brown with rays of blonde and red as the sun shined through it. The whole apartment was painted in that dingy blue from the exterior... EVERYTHING... walls, cabinets, fixtures. Everything except the bed which had a pristine white comforter on it. I asked them who painted the beautiful work of art I had carried all the way back. He quickly spoke up and said it was his sister. They were foreign... sounded russian maybe or from a country in the former Eastern block (sp?).
I talked to her about art and how I thought she was absolutely wonderful. I told her I would help them out and get them better situated. I just gabbed and gabbed while she smoked a cigarette. The whole world just outside their apartment door listening to me rave about her mastery. And in my heart, I only wished that I had that kind of talent. I took one last look at the painting as it swirled and changed as if to be controlled by Father Time himself. And then I woke up.