While on a recent ski (or in my case après-ski) trip to an area of New York designated on most modern maps as HERE BE DRAGONS, a conversation arose discussing dreams. The reader is no doubt familiar with my horrific, nightmarish, violent and hilarious dreams as he or she or it has already read my wonderfully written prophesy of what the New York Mets will wear in the FUTURE. How strange do these dreams get?
First of all, one of my recurring dreams is of an enormous theme park as large as Disney World and as twisted as Pierre Trudeau's wife (I will here give you time to check Wikipedia). In one dream, myself and a few companions were riding a roller coaster cum haunted mansion house in an enormous tree-filled atrium that reminded me of the common area of Hershey's Chocolate World in Pennsylvania. The ride sped violently and ultimately fell apart. When I revisited the theme park in a future dream, the atrium was closed down - cut off with yellow caution tape. Who preserves dreams in dreams, I ask you!
One of the more terrifying dreams I've ever had saw me inheriting a very large, modern looking house. It was of beautiful American architecture that I attribute to Wright in style, but this is only to someone who is uneducated in the various schools of architecture. Every room in the house had the shades have drawn down giving an air of almost constant twilight - neither night nor day. I was sitting down in the living room of this house that had been bequeathed to me by some fictitious relative until I became aware of someone breathing heavily in the dining room which was a small flight of stairs away. I looked up and saw a shadowy figure with unkempt hair - definitely a women. I was horrified. I suddenly became aware that the house was haunted. Imagine the deepened horror when I realized that I was in love with this phantasm that was haunting me. Terror and love staring at me - and suddenly rushing towards me, pinning me to the couch. I struggled away and began shouting for my grandmother, suddenly realizing this was a nightmare and that I needed to be woken up. I kept screaming - or trying to scream for her. When I finally forced myself awake and away from this terror, it took several minutes to calm my heartbeat and fall back asleep. The next morning:
Grandma: Were you screamin' for me last night mistuh? (She has a Brooklyn accent tempered by several decades of cigarette smoking.)
I: YES! Why didn't you come in and wake me up?!
Grandma: I dunno. I thawt you wuh dreamin'.
I: THANK YOU!
Let that be a lesson to you all - if you hear people screaming your name in agony in the night, you should immediately assume they are dreaming AND TAKE NO FURTHER ACTION!
Still, this dream takes a backseat to one of my favorite dreams that I woke up to and wrote down forthwith. I here recall it for the sake of those that wished to hear it told!
It somehow began with me in a Louisiana bayou. I had just emerged from a boat onto a gigantic plantation with torches lighting either side of the landfall. I could already recall in the dream that I had spoken with someone who warned me about the house and the voodoo magic that seethed from its ancient walls. It was supposedly owned by one of the most powerful voodoo mamas in all of the United States. The property was absolutely filled with cats, all of whom were supposedly spies who acted as her all seeing eyes. You could recognize which ones were under her spell because of the purplish glow of their eyes.
As I was approaching the decaying Spanish-moss covered house, I noticed a black cat sitting on the front porch with the most beautiful green eyes you could imagine. I realized that this cat had not yet fallen under an evil spell, so I resolved to rescue it before the Mama could curse it.
For some reason, as I was walking through some knee-length reeds figuring out what to do, I'd decided that [NAME WITHHELD]'s mother was the best person to speak to on the issue of this cat. As I was walking, the landscape changed to one of those fire lanes. You know, one of those perfect lines of grass cut into forests that have electrical lines running across them. You can see them carved on the sides of mountains for miles. I steadily marched up the hill, until I came to [NAME WITHHELD]'s mom's house.
When I got to the door, she recognized the cat as one who had been in the presence of the voodoo Mama, but told me I shouldn't have taken the cat away - that she would know of my theft and start seeking me. The best thing to do, she said, was to return the cat and actually challenge the Mama to free everyone of the curse she'd laid on them.
I'd decided to take the subway back to the bayou. It was an elevated train that went through a tremendous city that I almost cannot describe. The buildings had a golden glow, like how light shines off the Brooklyn Bridge in the morning. The city was certainly something of a ultramodern Brooklyn, filled with a mix of gothic and art deco architecture, stained glass adoring the more stately windows of the most beautiful buildings.
I noticed that the four people with me on the train seemed somewhat uncomfortable and strangely dressed - as if they were trying to dress like that. I asked them what was up.
They informed me that they were all superheroes. One was a tremendously strong partially mechanical black dude. Another was your typical Superman ripoff. Another was a woman who could fly and throw fireballs. The other one just wore a black coat, black hat, and black sunglasses - don't really know what his power was. They told me there had recently been a schism in the city, and that at least half the superheroes in the city had decided to become archvillains. Just as soon as he had told me this, the subway was under attack from a whole host of super-baddies! The subway crashed into the side of a building, and the superheroes told me to run for it and return the cat to the bayou. Amids lasers and fireballs and green energy bolts, I ran for the water until it calmed down and twilight began to fall and I reached the bayou once more. I placed the cat down, and he scurried off.
I went up the beautifully carved, crackly whitewashed door and pushed it open. What was inside obeyed no laws of physics. I could hear the Mama's voice telling me she was on the roof. The entire house was a chaotic labyrinth that would even make M.C. Escher drop his jaw and begin weeping. It was breezy and the world was falling apart, but I bolted for the attic, knowing that was the source of her misguided religious powers. I climbed up a stack of boxes and reached for the attic ladder --
And then I woke up laughing.
And that is ALL that can be said of that.
In other news, I am considering brewing my own sake under the brand name: Uncle Willie's Good Times Sake - the perfect compliment to Uncle Willie's Good Times Fried Chicken.
Until I am bored again...