This morning I had many a wacky dream, as I often do. At one point I woke up, then went back to sleep, and dreamt about retelling my previous dreams, and created further wacky dreams while talking about the old ones. My dreams tend to bleed into one another, or are separated by brief awakenings where I shift my body position.
I dreamt I was a James Bond figure, and I was rescuing a whole underground (literally, it seemed) city worth of people. I was killing “guards” left and right; at first by smashing their heads as hard as possible against the concrete walls, and later by slicing up their guts and throats using a steak knife I found. It was a really gritty, desperately violent affair. There was some sort of evil regime in place and I went down there and stirred shit up, for better or for worse.
I started by going down some concrete stairs, through some metal doors in cramped concrete passageways, and slowly it opened up to have a more hospital kind of feel, and eventually that opened into a full-fledged street.
I had two allies in the fray who I met along the way. I believe I had intended to meet them, so they were not strangers. One of them resembled, both physically and personality wise, Vinnie Delpino from Doogie Howser. We tried to rescue his mother.
In the next dream I was in a city that seemed to have been ravaged by the effects of my previous dream, but on a much larger scale. I was just a normal person now. I was carrying many things on me, in my arms and backpack, and traveling somewhere, though I can’t remember where. I was quite disgruntled in this dream, mumbling complaints to myself.
At some point I was either bumped or just had arms to full and I dropped everything. I was then accosted by a group of passersby, who started helping themselves to my things, including some chocolate treats that I had just acquired. I grabbed at my belongings, gave up some, gathered my remaining things together and went on my way.
I found myself in my parents’ house. They were the same age as they are now, but in atrocious health. Their house had a very castle-like feel to it. Not necessarily in its size, but in the materiality of the building.
I went to the bathroom following my father. He forgot to flush the toilet. The toilet was filled with toilet paper with series of bright pink dots all over it. The toilet was cramped in a corner with little leg room. There was dark, stale urine everywhere; on the toilet, on the baseboard radiator, on the wall, on the floor.
On the window sill facing the toilet was some strange contraption, like a capsule, half of which was clear plastic containing a partly used cigarette. As soon as I lay eyes on it, the cigarette combusted into smoke, which was then sucked into the opaque part of the capsule. My only thought, after my initial surprise at the object, was “Oh, right, mom’s smoking problem.”
I was following a small group through the top-most section of the Bell Centre (which I’ve never been inside of) where some sort of American-based political rally going on. Bob Hope, looking old and tired (and more like a mix of Dan Akroyd and Richard Nixon), was walking around collecting ballots or something. I felt a deep loathing for everyone there and everything going on.
We made it into some room that was shaped basically like the end of my hallways leading into the living room, and the small hallway to the kitchen, and the dinette. There I set up a project I had made for class, a bizarre rose bush thing that stood around four feet tall. Vanessa, a class mate, was there, as were Marisa and Alex Charlton. We talked about my rose bush project, which I believe I had presented that day. We talked for much longer than I could care for. Vanessa left, and we went to the kitchen area.
Somehow the rose heads had come off the stems, and I was trying to figure out what to do with them. Marisa pulled some green wire stuff out of no where and we put the roses on it. Miraculously, it worked perfectly, and felt like a patch of grass. The light was dimming, even though we were within a very heavily lit arena.
We moved into the dinette area, which just had comfy seating and a large window. Aly, another classmate, showed up, possibly with his mother. We talked a bit, then he left.
Things started going dark, and I woke up.
I was in the same location as the last dream, except it was brighter, and the kitchen table was in the dinette. I started telling Marisa and Alex about the dreams I had had. Alex D’Alessandro, Laura’s little brother, showed up and we started playing video games in the living room, as I tried recounting the dreams. Alex started playing a Mario game on the XBox 360. One of the pick-ups was a gelatinous Yoshi cube that the player can hop around inside of and be protected, then jump out of and use as a platform. Everything in it was new, but fairly canon nevertheless.
These aren’t all the dreams I had, just the parts of the ones I can remember. Quite an adventure.