oh good, i'm murdering rapists in my dreams now
I'm trying really hard to piece together the couple of sparse scenes I remember from my dream.
Readers who actually read posts about my dreams should be warned, this one is all dark ewwy stuff. I don't know why. I saw the opening to the terrible serial killer movie Suspect Zero yesterday, and most of The Hudsucker Proxy, and then went to bed thinking about how to logline-ize Mexico, but honestly I've been in a pretty decent mood, not a very dark place. Dreams are just dreams, you know? I don't pick them.
Anyway this one featured character actor Roy Brocksmith as a bad man, a creepy businessman who raped strippers in their club. Somehow he had the money or the connections that this was overlooked, that he was never punished. Then my friend (loosely Brie in the dream, though also others) was going to have some interactions, no wait I think did, and she wasn't assaulted but she was creeped out, and (god I wish I could remember details) she was dreading future encounters with this man.
So I went to this club and I went into the back room and I went up to Roy Brocksmith (or maybe it was the actor from Suspect Zero, Kevin Chamberlin; probably it was a conflation of both), and I took a sharpened chrome chopstick which I cannot tell you why I had, this thick skewer, and I delicately and calmly shoved it through his throat and out the back side, then watched him drop and wheeze blood and grow still. And then I calmly walked out.
I got sort-of-Brie and put her in a car and we drove casually away from the club down what I think was Hawthorne, as cops and civilians all started racing toward the club to see the carnage. She had no idea what had happened in there and we didn't speak of it, but when I told her she wouldn't have to go back and deal with him she was too smart to not know what had happened. I remember knowing that we had a good chance of getting away without even an investigation because so many people hated this guy and wanted him dead, had motive and opportunity, that they had no reason to come all the way down the food chain to me. Still, I didn't want her to know anything so she wouldn't have to deny anything if we ever did get caught. We were on the run now.
And then we went to a buffet! I mean, naturally. Why wouldn't we? She really wanted cake, and I really wanted cake, and we went to this Country Home Buffet style restaurant with ten different kinds of cake and we cut ourselves slices, but the idea of the buffet was, you had to cut the most paper-thin slice you could manage, and I remember how difficult slicing the pieces thin enough was, and how long I spent trying to decide between boysenberry ice cream cake and some kind of raspberry cream thing. I think I went for both, but when I dropped my knife in the super-disgusting dumpster-smelling garbage slot beneath the cakes (!!!), so I didn't get the second slice.
I think the police showed up, or someone showed up, and they wanted to take me in and I knew it was over, but it was all very vague and all I felt was relief that this girl who wasn't quite Brie had gotten away. I don't even know my relationship to her in the dream. Lover? Friend? Hell, sibling maybe?
It's hard not to look at this dream and wonder if it could translate over to the inciting incident/opening of Mexico. I laid in bed repopulating the dream slightly, adding Carter to the strip club or even making Carter someone Martin ("I") would hire to dispose of this Brocksmithy guy. I didn't know why running to Mexico made sense. Maybe Carter was going into hiding? Maybe Carter was hired to get them across the border, a sort of ferrier? And I don't know how the characters would develop the central-to-the-story pipedream of living rich south of the border, either. But all in good time.
It's morning. Despite my disturbing dream, I'm hungry.
Readers who actually read posts about my dreams should be warned, this one is all dark ewwy stuff. I don't know why. I saw the opening to the terrible serial killer movie Suspect Zero yesterday, and most of The Hudsucker Proxy, and then went to bed thinking about how to logline-ize Mexico, but honestly I've been in a pretty decent mood, not a very dark place. Dreams are just dreams, you know? I don't pick them.
Anyway this one featured character actor Roy Brocksmith as a bad man, a creepy businessman who raped strippers in their club. Somehow he had the money or the connections that this was overlooked, that he was never punished. Then my friend (loosely Brie in the dream, though also others) was going to have some interactions, no wait I think did, and she wasn't assaulted but she was creeped out, and (god I wish I could remember details) she was dreading future encounters with this man.
So I went to this club and I went into the back room and I went up to Roy Brocksmith (or maybe it was the actor from Suspect Zero, Kevin Chamberlin; probably it was a conflation of both), and I took a sharpened chrome chopstick which I cannot tell you why I had, this thick skewer, and I delicately and calmly shoved it through his throat and out the back side, then watched him drop and wheeze blood and grow still. And then I calmly walked out.
I got sort-of-Brie and put her in a car and we drove casually away from the club down what I think was Hawthorne, as cops and civilians all started racing toward the club to see the carnage. She had no idea what had happened in there and we didn't speak of it, but when I told her she wouldn't have to go back and deal with him she was too smart to not know what had happened. I remember knowing that we had a good chance of getting away without even an investigation because so many people hated this guy and wanted him dead, had motive and opportunity, that they had no reason to come all the way down the food chain to me. Still, I didn't want her to know anything so she wouldn't have to deny anything if we ever did get caught. We were on the run now.
And then we went to a buffet! I mean, naturally. Why wouldn't we? She really wanted cake, and I really wanted cake, and we went to this Country Home Buffet style restaurant with ten different kinds of cake and we cut ourselves slices, but the idea of the buffet was, you had to cut the most paper-thin slice you could manage, and I remember how difficult slicing the pieces thin enough was, and how long I spent trying to decide between boysenberry ice cream cake and some kind of raspberry cream thing. I think I went for both, but when I dropped my knife in the super-disgusting dumpster-smelling garbage slot beneath the cakes (!!!), so I didn't get the second slice.
I think the police showed up, or someone showed up, and they wanted to take me in and I knew it was over, but it was all very vague and all I felt was relief that this girl who wasn't quite Brie had gotten away. I don't even know my relationship to her in the dream. Lover? Friend? Hell, sibling maybe?
It's hard not to look at this dream and wonder if it could translate over to the inciting incident/opening of Mexico. I laid in bed repopulating the dream slightly, adding Carter to the strip club or even making Carter someone Martin ("I") would hire to dispose of this Brocksmithy guy. I didn't know why running to Mexico made sense. Maybe Carter was going into hiding? Maybe Carter was hired to get them across the border, a sort of ferrier? And I don't know how the characters would develop the central-to-the-story pipedream of living rich south of the border, either. But all in good time.
It's morning. Despite my disturbing dream, I'm hungry.