Dreams and Those Who Live Them

I was soaked to the bone upon waking this morning.

My first thought was that I had dreamed of toilets, or rivers, or something equally wet and as a result pissed the bed. Nope. I was absolutely drenched head to toe in sweat. I am not someone who is prone to night sweats, or for that matter any kind of sweating. I laid there for a minute trying to grab on the fastly fading memory of the ephemeral existance of the night. As I lit my morning cigarette, my dreams began to return to me and I wanted to put them to "paper" as soon as possible.

As a quick aside, whenever I can I will be using this weblog as a dream journal. My dreams are so bizarre, I just have to share them with the world.

In the dream I was walking with someone, I'm not sure who, down the length of a richly wooded vale. Even though this gulley was choked with green undergrowth, I was in an urban environment. To my left the slope extended some 25 feet above me at a steep angle. The hillside was thriving with sassafrass and lazy leafed fern. I am not sure why I remembered all of a sudden what sassafrass looks like in the wild, but that is what it was. To the right of me the slope wall was only 10 feet or so high but resting at the top of the bank was the back-side of a large multi-floored industrial building. I could clearly see smoke stacks in the distance.

This wooded little vale had a floor no more than 30 feet wide and along the ridge tops on both sides high narrow aspens choked out the horizon. The white trees loomed overhead slowly seeking the opposite sides of the vale in an effort to form a canopy. Only a thin ribbon of sky mirrored the floor of the tiny gulley I traversed and this alien sky was orange.

I do not mean that the sky was reflecting orange like what you and I see at sunset and sunrise, I mean that instead of blue the sky was orange. The clouds were thick and cotton-like, heavily laden with a rain that just would not come. When I looked at these clouds I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. For some reason I knew that if it rained, my companion and I would surely die.

My companion and I continued walking along (this person was still unidentified at this point) until we saw two figures crossing the vale ahead of us. I recognized them of course, they were two friends of mine that once upon a time I was very close with. The two are brothers and I haven't seen either one of them in 15 1/2 years. The pair crossed our path and began to make their way up the side of the vale to my left (as if they had come from the urban/industrial complex to the right). The older of the two, Katuck (he is descended from Alaskan Natives) was dressed in a long leather trench and wore all black. In the dream, Katuck's hair had been died a bright electric blue. He gave me a look that I remember all to well and as I tried to shake his hand we somehow messed it up and he proceeded up the sides of the vale. He never spoke, and in fact, he refused to engage me in conversation. His brother was close behind, and he too had changed little since last I had seen him. Bowhan and I were very close when we were adolescents and in the dream he responded in kind. It was as if no time had passed and we were able to pick up right where we had left off. I quickly and excitedly introduced them to my unknown companion and the two of us fell in behind the wayward Alaskan Brothers.

We scaled the slope with no diffuclty, despite the slick wet fern growth and pushed through the thick sassafrass and aspen clusters at the crest of the ridge. When we emerged we joined a sidewalk parallel to a road containing well over sixteen lanes. No cars were to be seen anywhere on this strange highway. We walked along the sidewalk that curved away from us, off and to the left in the distance. The strange orangeness of the sky remained, and slowly the clouds continued to build. Ahead in the distance I could see low mountains now, and as they lurked along the horizon I could sense about these uplifted scars of the earth a certain wrongness that I cannot explain any further other than to say that their very presence disturbed me greatly.

The concrete sidewalk, and its companion the road, were atop a wide dome of a ridge and as I said previously stretched out in front of us. Down the slope ahead there was a simple concrete bridge that spanned a gap or chasm of whose depths and contents I could not determine. Beyond the bridge, in a valley between this paved hillock and the horrific mountains in the distance there spanned a city of the most curious sorts in appearance.

This sprawl of humanity, while being strangley vacant (a fact which seemed of no concern to myself or my travelling companions), could have easily contained 50,000 inhabitants. In this dream state, my opinion was that I was looking down on Fairbanks, but in the memory of this waking world I can confidently state that what I was seeing was in no way that quaintest of northern cities. The silent urban habitat was something out of place, the buildings each appeared to be modelled after the exoskeletons of gargantuan insects that never were. The various domes, shells, and segmented structures at once appeared both wispy silent and stalking sinister. This imagery lasted but a brief moment, as a new sight was approaching.

By this time we had made our way well past the central arc of the overly wide bridge and for what ever reason my unnamed companion saw fit to draw my attention to the right. When I looked that way, a building was there, but it wasn't a building. It was more like the memory of a building. This structure was unlike all the others in the city in that it appeared like so many others found on earth. The squared and sharply angled domicile had the appearance of being bombed. The rood was a pile of rubble, and only three walls remained. The viewpoint was such that I could clearly see into its brazenly exposed inner floors and the only thing thad greeted my gaze was a multitude of heavily stained toilets hanging precariously on the edges of sharply slanting rotted floors. This vision too lasted but a brief moment.

When my attention was brought again to what lay ahead, the two brothers had stopped to speak with a woman whose origins and identity remain unknown to me. She was heavy set in a way that didn't detract from her natural beauty; she was dressed in a grey sweat-suit featuring a cartoon character of whose identity and appearance I can only recall as consisting of a liberal amount of the color pink. Her hair was a dark blonde, long and straight; her smile was gorgeous. She wore glasses.

The two brothers, who had only moments before been speaking with her, approached her as if for the first time and began making out with her. This is something that I can only describe briefly for my dreaming self and my unnamed companion were not even remotely interested in this play of events. The tow brothers became quite lecherous in their approach to the portly golden goddess and events progressed to such a heated state that even in the dream I was reminded of drunken college-style grope fests brought on by too much alcohol and a liberal application of our of control hormones. That my long lost friends had become so distracted bothered me not and it was of no concern to me that my unnamed companion and I continued our journey.

We left the bridge and entered the city where the bug buildings lived, and traversed its span quickly even for a dream. I recall little of what we saw there other than we were filled with nervousness the entire time. Keeping to the sidewalk that ran parallel with the unreasonably wide road, we maintained a quick pace. As the various other streets and intersecting avenues passed us by we were each vaguely aware of a multitude of presences lurking just out of sight in the corners of our vision. What these things were I cannot say. All I knew then, and even now, is that they were small and bipedal, vaguely shadowed, and felt for us a great degree of malignance. My companion and I knew that if we dallied further, if we stopped but for a second, these things would cause the rapidly darkening clouds overhead to let loose with their own form of hateful rain that would bring doom down upon us all.

As we came to the far side of the bug-shaped city, the road ended with little to no warning in a cliff face. This cliff bordered a canyon that stretched as far as my nocturnal eyes could see to my left and to my right. Beyond the canyon were the mountains. The mountains were much closer now, and being so, their oppressiveness could be felt all the heavier. In fact, I remember clearly the taste of silver (as if I had placed a silver needle head from an antique air pump in my mouth). All I could tell in the dream that this taste was some how caused by the mountains.

With the road now gone, and the insectile city behind us, we stood on a grassy expanse near the edge of this cliff over looking a fog choked canyon. In an effort to avoid the mountains, to ignore the sky, we both looked furtively around. To our left a massive tree escaped the clutches of the cold earth, clawing its way skyward its branches looking like a cursed begger heaping vile utterances of damnation towards the growing clouds and strangely orange sky. The tree was as black as anything seen in the most blinding of darkened nights. This shadowy appearance was not due, however, to a strangeness or pigmentation of its bark. It was instead given case by the millions of tiny bugs roiling across the tree's surface. While staring closely at the tree I could see that its bark writhed and contorted and the odor of these parasitic creatures was one that reminded me of old varnish. Beyond the tree, lurching precariously over the edge of the cliff, a new structure made itself known and it was to that building my companion and I made our way.

This newest of buildings was normal in structure(which is to say it wasn't modelled after the corpse of a gigantic insect as seen through the eyes of an insane man), but like so many other dreamscape images it was large beyond reason. In the dream I remember thinking that what I was seeing was a hotel of sorts and that this place had been our destination the entire time.

Moving quickly to leave the tree behind, my companion and I were beset upon by the strangest of parties. What I can only describe as a wedding party came towards us, but in this party there were no men. In fact, it consisted purely of the bride-to-be, an elderly matriarchal type I knew to be her mother in law, and five flower girls. All were dressed in finery but had the appearance of having only recently become returned from the realm of the deceased. Their flesh was grey and peeling. Their fingers long and ghastly, each seemed to contain an additional joint and in turn ended in a pointed tip that appeared to have been created through the use of a pencil sharpener. Their faces were stretched in a rictous grin that would have made the Joker proud. Strangely though, they were of no threat to us. My unnamed companion, however, saw this moment as opportune to part way with me choosing to stay behind with this gaggle of ghastlys in order to partake of their supposed offerings of Earl Grey Tea. I say supposed because I never heard such an invitation.

It was at this moment I got my only real glance at my companion and even this fleeting glimpse was not enough to help identify him further. I know somehow that the companion was a man, someone I respected, and that he wore a faded black-leather biker's jaket. I think he was taller than I, but not by much.

Continuing into the lobby of the stilt supported, cliff looming hotel I was greeted with what would soon prove to be the one of the last sites of this most curious of dream sequences. Gathered around a large circular table was a group of adults and a single boy barely beyond his toddler years. None of thes people were known to me, and if they saw me, they gave no indication. They were dressed in a 20's or 30's style of dress (or at least I think they were, I am not sure though), the boy had on knee-pants and wore beneath them a cloth diaper. The much too thin grandmother of the family (for by this time I had determined that they were a family of sorts) was doting on the child and showing him a great amount of physical attention. Unfortunately for the child this physical attention came in the form of swift but playful swats to his behind, an action that caused the poor thing to lose control of his facilities and coat not only his grandmother but the entire table in a geyser of very foul smelling urine.

All of this I witnessed as I crossed the dark lobby and made my way across a grand ballroom. The interiors of the hotel were done up with marble tile that swirled pink and green, deep cherry wood paneling, a faint smell of pipe smoke, a tiled ceiling, and oversized yet gracefull chandaliers.

Achieving the far side of the ball room I opened a door and stepped inside. The space beyond the door was tiny and the small room contained but a single sink and toilet far too large for the space that it was intended to serve. The sink was grey and marred, its surface scarred by numerous black chips. The toilet sat crooked and was running.

Above the dilapitated sink a single steel mirror had been hung at a most curious angle.

This closet (I hesitate to further refer to it as a room) was my destination. I apporached the sink, grasping each side as if deep in contemplation and slowly lifted my head upwards so that I could look into the mirror.

The grisly image that stared back at me was one of total horror. Instead of my reflection, or at very least the reflection of my real self, I saw a deeply shadowed flowing thing swirling just beyond the surface of the cold reflective prison that I had mistaken for a mirror. This thing, this creature, twisted and contorted about, seemingly made of millions of strands of cold darkness made manifest. The appearance of the haunted thing was not unlike that of a grim reaper yet at the same time entirely different. It was as if I was looking into the cowled depths of the indescribable nightmare that had given rise to the shared opinions of what a grim reaper should look like. What I saw was dark and greasy. Its hoary breath came in ragged irregular intervals causing splintered frost webs to appear on its side of the glass. It looked at me from the depths of its shadow. Even though it had no eyes that I could see, I could feel the weight of its recognition deep inside me. My spine ran cold in a way I have only ever heard described in novels and macabre stories. My skin literally crawled. On my chest I could feel a weight more choking than anything I could imagine.

In the mirror (the window?) behind the wraith, instead of the expected miniscule confines of the water closet in which I stood, was an endless expanse of grey dead waste that appeared to have been crafted of entirely from some unknown protoplasmic substance resembling so much spoiled yet uncooked bread dough. The sky that hung above this dismal plane was equally grey and forboding, this time the color of the sky being the result of what I for some reason knew to be smoke and ash.

As I stared at the spectral presence I found it impossible to withdraw my eyes. In the corner of my vision, on the walls of my newfound prison, the words "Run!" and "Wake-Up!" were flashing repeatedly. This entire time I had somehow been vaguely aware of my dreaming, I knew that I was asleep, but now I was rpaidly growing powerless. The thing continued to stare at me and frost the mirror as the words continued to alternately flash on the walls. The pressure and overwhelming sense of dread, the physical malaise and melancholy continued to amass now not only in my chest but in my head and lower back as well. I began to panic.

I knew at this point that I was dreaming and that I must wake up by any means possible. For whatever reason, I began to repeatedly flush the toilet causing it to overflow, the whole time never once looking directly away from the thing in the mirror. When the water from the toilet hit my feet it was boilinig hot and smelled heavily of something fruity.

I woke up.

In my bed this morning, like I stated earlier, I was drenched head to toe with sweat. At first the only memory I had was of the multiple occurances of a toilet in my dreams, and this was why I was afraid I had pissed myself. As the morning has worn on, however, more and more aspects of this dream came back to me so now I pass it on to you.

What is there to make of this? Does this, or any dream, have meaning? Why would I conjure people 15 years gone? Who knows, but it makes for one hell of a source for story ideas.

Until I sleep again, I remain...

Son of Simp