dream
2000-06-23 - 4:05:30
Have you ever woke up dripping with sweat, as if a goblin snuck into your room and dumped a bucket of warm water on you? Or have you ever had that feeling that you were screaming, really known that you were screaming, but don't realize why you didn't wake up earlier? That's how I woke up this morning, joy of joys. Drenched and confused.
I haven't had The Wall Dream in several years; I had forgotten what it's like. First off, I should say that I don't have a wide variety of dreams. The last dream I remember having was at least a year ago. I'll write that one down in detail at the end of this entry, in case I forget that one too. But back to The Wall Dream. It starts of as a mix of colours, yet there are no discernable colours in it. If you look as far as you can to your left, without moving your head, and then poke the right side of your right eye, you get a little blurb of colour which resembles the colour I'm trying to describe. So imagine that's all you can see, a vast expanse of weird colourless colour, and it moves. First it starts to ripple, like you are looking at the sea from above. The ripples gradually get bigger, and then the whole thing goes perfectly flat, and moves in unison. The whole plane of colour comes out at you, like a brick wall that you are running towards, and when it gets a half-of-an-inch away from where you think your nose would be, it stops, and goes back away, only to rush at you again. It gets faster each time it rushes at you, until it resembles a frieght train racing toward your soft little skull. And it gets closer. It seems to cut it's distance to you in half each time it approaches, until it is smashing against your head at lightning speeds, and your only thought is that you don't want it to get out of control, and really hit you with full force. The thing that makes it so freaky is that I have no control over it. It is the only non-lucid dream I have ever had (even though I have had it many times). The second part of the dream starts up. I see an old psychologist's laboratory, and there is a wall of dials and buttons to one side. There are somehow two of me in the room, and we are conversing. One of me is playing with the dials, and encouraging the other to do the same. My screams are in the background all the while. The me at the dial always says something to the extent of, "Here, look at this. We'll just turn it down a bit...(the screams are not as intense, the pain starts to go away)...And the we turn it up a LOT!" And the pain gets intensely worse. Like jumping-off-buildings-fried-by-nuclear-holocaust worse. And the whole dream dissolves into two feelings: that of the victim, the pain; and that of the evil doctor, seeking bliss from the other's pain. This is made all the stranger by the fact that they are all me. I am causing myself pain, but at the same time, receiving the pain, and I am also the person who stands by and does nothing to stop it. I feel I am somehow raping my own brain. And still I am helpless to change the outcome of the dream. Everything happens, the same way each time, without me being able to stop myself from hurting me. The dream seems to get worse each time I have it. If there was a dream that represented fear itself, it could be found in that deadly expanse of colourlessness, and in the switchboard.
The other dream that I mentioned earlier is more of a casual dream. It is not very disturbing and not really painful (when I mention "pain" here, I mean the idea of pain rather than the actual experience. [In The Wall Dream, I am not sure if it is more real or idealized pain.]) It is slightly repetitive, so deal with it:
I am a Native American. All I can see at first is my feet, and I am running. I'm running down a dirt path, and as I look up, I can see that there are mud huts on each side of the path. I can hear the screams of my tribe in the dark of the night. As I approach the end of the path, my friend comes out of his hut, jerks to one side, and falls to the ground. I turn a corner and run for my life. I trip and fall into a ditch, with two dead bodies. I am face-to-face with one of them, and there is blood oozing from its mouth. The eyes are wide open. I lay there in the ditch, and the dream goes blank. I seem to be African in the middle of civil war times, but I do not think I am a slave. I see my feet running again, and hear screams in the background, this time accompanied by gunshots. It is night in this dream as well, as I realize that I'm running down a similar path. I recall being surprised later, at how the houses looked, how similar they seemed to modern-day houses. At the end of the dirt road, I see a house that is on fire, and a woman with a baby comes out, and falls to the ground, her carcass crurshing the crying baby. I run to the left, and see a ditch in the distance. I know that if I get to the ditch, somehow I'll be safe. I jump into the ditch and hurt my leg. I am not sure if it's broken, but what draws my attention is the face before me. A dead black man is there in the ditch with me, and he has the same eyes that I saw on the other body. His throat had been slit, ear-to-ear. I lay in the ditch, trying not to make noise, dealing with the pain, as the screaming and burning of houses continues around me. The dream goes blank again. I cannot tell what nationality I am, because my feet are covered. I am running in some type of generic shoes, like converse. I'm running on a paved street in what looks like a modern-day small town. I only hear a few voices screaming, and they sound familiar, but I can't recall who the screamers were. There are only a few gunshots in the background, and it is still night. I run and run, and see a person crossing the street. He stops, turns in my direction, and falls, dead in the middle of the road. I run behind a bank, and spot a road-side ditch close by. I dash desperately for it, but I'm not fast enough. I am shot in the leg as I stumble into the ditch. I lie there with the pain, hoping that my persuers will eventually leave. I see a puddle of water, and in it, the wobbly reflection of my own face. I recognize my own eyes as the eyes of the other people in the ditch. They have the same glazes look, the same "please, not now, not here" look in them. I hear my persuers getting closer, joking about what good accuracy they have, to have shot me from such a distance. I just stare at my own eyes, and the dream fades out for the last time.
Bloodyhell, it's 4 in the morning.
