dreams
I had two dreams last night/this morning that I can remember. I don't know if they were connected or not, but I hope not.
First dream, I was in a hotel conference room, that was set up with chairs facing a television screen. I think I was watching some comedy shows. The lights were fluorescent and obnoxious, but I was apparently making due with what I had, as I really wanted to watch these shows and I was just chilling out with my feet up on the chair in front of me , sitting in the middle of the room, in the middle row. next to the aisle. All of a sudden, all these people started coming into the room and I sort of knew I wasn't supposed to really be in there, certainly not just waiting for something and watching TV. They came in so fast I didn't have time to just get up and leave. Quickly, I was surrounded by happy people, most of them women. A large man with black hair in and bald on top walked up to the front of the room and looked concerned about the tv playing cable tv. He was trying to figure out how to turn it off, but I had the controller. I was trying to turn it off from my seat, but he kept blocking the signal and I managed to turn the cable off but not the tv, so that there was tv snow and annoying buzzing noises. Finally, he found the power button on the monitor and swtiched it off. By this time, I was blocked in by a bunch of women, all different ages, but I realized they were wearing hajibs and that I must be at some Muslim thing. A man and a woman were up at the front of the room, and I understood that this was a Muslim wedding going on here in this room. I was not scared, but more like, embarassed that I was stuck in the middle of the row during some stranger's religious ceremony, but I couldn't really leave without being rude and making a scene. The officiant man began singing some prayers and the audience joined in. Though they were in Arabic, I could kind of follow along because Arabic is so similar ot Hebrew. I then became more comfortable and actually pretty cheerful and happy when I realized that the tunes and the basic words used were almost the same as the ones I had grown up with. And everyone there was really happy about the wedding. I didn't know anyone, or the language and I was trapped there, but I was actually enjoying sharing this occassion with all these strangers.
Second dream, not nearly so uplifting. In this dream, I came to conciousness as a young man, maybe 18-21 from Appalachia. I was standing over a prone figure on the floor of a rough looking little house, maybe a cabin or a trailer. My clothes were raggedy and I was not clean and my hair was a mess, sticking out all tussled. I think I had been having an arguement with this person on the ground, but not a serious one, just words back and forth. This was his house, not mine. I was leaning over the figure and studying it. I had just shot the man in the face. I had not done it out of anger, but more out of a cold sense of curiousity and now I was examining the effects of my actions. In my right hand, I still held the shot gun, hot near the top and little wisps of smoke coming off of it. I decided, looking at the hamburger of the man's face, that the movies and TV had not got it right at all, but that this probably made sense since they had mannequins or still living actors as their dead people. I came to myself then and thought suddenly about the noise my gun had made and that someone might come in and find me here, staring at this man. I quickly ran out of the house and up the hill to my home, which seemed a sort of tree house or one-roomed shack. I had more guns in here and a fire place and that's about it. I peered out the glass window in the door and watched as an older woman came to investigate the gun shot. For some reason, I felt I knew her and that she was somehow related to me, but my mind was very detached and emotionless. She went away and came back with a pudgy state trooper or sherrif (I couldn't tell at the distance I was). I only peeked above the glass, careful, lest they should look up the hill and at my door and see movement. I seriously considered shooting both of them, but I was afraid that I would have to break the glass in the door to get a good shot and they would hear the noise and get me first. That, and I knew I wasn't all that good on aim and sharpshooting, and besides, this was a shot gun I was holding, not a sniper rifle. I started to become scared that I would be trapped in my stupid home and that they would find me and either kill me or throw me in jail. I became more alarmed when a whole group of official looking people came out of the woods from the road to gather around the house down the hill. Lots of uniforms and badges, which means that the fat man down there must have called it in. I decided it was now or never, so I quietly opened my door and duck-walked around my wrap-around porch to the back, extremely pleased with myself that no one had called out an alarm. I cheerfully jumped from my porch to my neighbors porch and climbed up to the roof and jumped from there to the next neighbor and so on, really enjoying the skill and strength to swing myself far above the ground and land securely each time. Finally, I landed on the porch of a distant neighbor and decided I should find myself something to eat or ammunition or what have you. I had taken a hand gun from my house since it would be easier to travel with, but I didn't have any bullets, after my feverish searching while I was growing scared in my little shack. I walked in through sliding glass doors and stood in a frilly-looking living room. Flower patterns and doilies and Hummel figurines were everywhere. I took a few more steps trying to think if someone who had all this crap would even have bullets or a gun...I calmed myself by remembering that nearly everyone in my community owned firearms, whether or not they were old grannies or what. I didn't know where to start looking though and right then, a large, middle-aged man came down the stairs into the room, apparently wondering what the noise was. He was pitiful looking, like a broken down man, sloppy comb-over and cheap drugstore glasses and everything. My first impulse was to shoot him right there and leave no witnesses, but I decided I needed him to tell me where the ammuintion was. He looked me up and down in half a second and saw the gun and immediately cringed and began to whimper. This just made my cold inclination to put a bullet in him stronger. he put his hands up and I began shouting at him.
yup. so, hopefully those dreams are not related. Thought I would share...good times.
First dream, I was in a hotel conference room, that was set up with chairs facing a television screen. I think I was watching some comedy shows. The lights were fluorescent and obnoxious, but I was apparently making due with what I had, as I really wanted to watch these shows and I was just chilling out with my feet up on the chair in front of me , sitting in the middle of the room, in the middle row. next to the aisle. All of a sudden, all these people started coming into the room and I sort of knew I wasn't supposed to really be in there, certainly not just waiting for something and watching TV. They came in so fast I didn't have time to just get up and leave. Quickly, I was surrounded by happy people, most of them women. A large man with black hair in and bald on top walked up to the front of the room and looked concerned about the tv playing cable tv. He was trying to figure out how to turn it off, but I had the controller. I was trying to turn it off from my seat, but he kept blocking the signal and I managed to turn the cable off but not the tv, so that there was tv snow and annoying buzzing noises. Finally, he found the power button on the monitor and swtiched it off. By this time, I was blocked in by a bunch of women, all different ages, but I realized they were wearing hajibs and that I must be at some Muslim thing. A man and a woman were up at the front of the room, and I understood that this was a Muslim wedding going on here in this room. I was not scared, but more like, embarassed that I was stuck in the middle of the row during some stranger's religious ceremony, but I couldn't really leave without being rude and making a scene. The officiant man began singing some prayers and the audience joined in. Though they were in Arabic, I could kind of follow along because Arabic is so similar ot Hebrew. I then became more comfortable and actually pretty cheerful and happy when I realized that the tunes and the basic words used were almost the same as the ones I had grown up with. And everyone there was really happy about the wedding. I didn't know anyone, or the language and I was trapped there, but I was actually enjoying sharing this occassion with all these strangers.
Second dream, not nearly so uplifting. In this dream, I came to conciousness as a young man, maybe 18-21 from Appalachia. I was standing over a prone figure on the floor of a rough looking little house, maybe a cabin or a trailer. My clothes were raggedy and I was not clean and my hair was a mess, sticking out all tussled. I think I had been having an arguement with this person on the ground, but not a serious one, just words back and forth. This was his house, not mine. I was leaning over the figure and studying it. I had just shot the man in the face. I had not done it out of anger, but more out of a cold sense of curiousity and now I was examining the effects of my actions. In my right hand, I still held the shot gun, hot near the top and little wisps of smoke coming off of it. I decided, looking at the hamburger of the man's face, that the movies and TV had not got it right at all, but that this probably made sense since they had mannequins or still living actors as their dead people. I came to myself then and thought suddenly about the noise my gun had made and that someone might come in and find me here, staring at this man. I quickly ran out of the house and up the hill to my home, which seemed a sort of tree house or one-roomed shack. I had more guns in here and a fire place and that's about it. I peered out the glass window in the door and watched as an older woman came to investigate the gun shot. For some reason, I felt I knew her and that she was somehow related to me, but my mind was very detached and emotionless. She went away and came back with a pudgy state trooper or sherrif (I couldn't tell at the distance I was). I only peeked above the glass, careful, lest they should look up the hill and at my door and see movement. I seriously considered shooting both of them, but I was afraid that I would have to break the glass in the door to get a good shot and they would hear the noise and get me first. That, and I knew I wasn't all that good on aim and sharpshooting, and besides, this was a shot gun I was holding, not a sniper rifle. I started to become scared that I would be trapped in my stupid home and that they would find me and either kill me or throw me in jail. I became more alarmed when a whole group of official looking people came out of the woods from the road to gather around the house down the hill. Lots of uniforms and badges, which means that the fat man down there must have called it in. I decided it was now or never, so I quietly opened my door and duck-walked around my wrap-around porch to the back, extremely pleased with myself that no one had called out an alarm. I cheerfully jumped from my porch to my neighbors porch and climbed up to the roof and jumped from there to the next neighbor and so on, really enjoying the skill and strength to swing myself far above the ground and land securely each time. Finally, I landed on the porch of a distant neighbor and decided I should find myself something to eat or ammunition or what have you. I had taken a hand gun from my house since it would be easier to travel with, but I didn't have any bullets, after my feverish searching while I was growing scared in my little shack. I walked in through sliding glass doors and stood in a frilly-looking living room. Flower patterns and doilies and Hummel figurines were everywhere. I took a few more steps trying to think if someone who had all this crap would even have bullets or a gun...I calmed myself by remembering that nearly everyone in my community owned firearms, whether or not they were old grannies or what. I didn't know where to start looking though and right then, a large, middle-aged man came down the stairs into the room, apparently wondering what the noise was. He was pitiful looking, like a broken down man, sloppy comb-over and cheap drugstore glasses and everything. My first impulse was to shoot him right there and leave no witnesses, but I decided I needed him to tell me where the ammuintion was. He looked me up and down in half a second and saw the gun and immediately cringed and began to whimper. This just made my cold inclination to put a bullet in him stronger. he put his hands up and I began shouting at him.
yup. so, hopefully those dreams are not related. Thought I would share...good times.