I’m going blog-crazy this evening — sorry. I just can’t seem to rest my mind and go to sleep.
I’ve been meaning to blog some of my dreams, for a while now, so I thought I would do this, finally, this evening. (Or morning, depending on where you live.)
(As long as I can remember, I’ve always written down my dreams — that is, if a.) I could remember them semi-coherently and b.) I had time upon waking to write — which is rarely the case.)
I know a lot of people hate hearing about other people’s dreams. And to you I say: This Is Not For You, Then, So Just Fuck Right Off.
I, for one, enjoy hearing about other people’s dreams a great deal. And some of my own dreams tend to stick with me — and sometimes recur — though their significance is usually elusive…
This one’s hazy — it was a while back. But it still sticks in my mind.
We were in a mall, trying to get out but somehow trapped. Not trapped — the mall was open, we just couldn’t seem to find our way, and had to maneuver around all sorts of obstacles and labyrinthine halls.
We find ourselves in the midst of a complex pool — still inside the mall — with water slides and many narrow islands — isles, really, on which we teeter cautiously as on a tightrope, trying not to fall into the water.
At some point it is unavoidable: we walk in water up to our waists….
Who is “we”? I can’t seem to recall…
I have a camera and an iPod and a cell phone, and fear ruining them all. Too late: they are in my pants pockets, and drenched.
Now we see a tiny kitten, sitting ahead of us on one of the walkways between the pools. It’s cute, but sort of odd; its face looks squashed and flat, and there’s something about its eyes…
As we get closer, I notice that its whiskers are extremely long — several feet, longer than the body itself. We try to pick up the kitten, but are thrown back by a slight but stinging electric shock. Now I notice that the whiskers are actually much longer than first thought, and more numerous: about five feet long, sticking out and up from all over the kitten’s body, translucent — almost invisible, except that they emit a bluish glow. Not exactly like neon, but like those fiber optic decorations, clear white with luminescent blue tips. And the glow sort of moves up and down the length of each whisker.
We now realize the whiskers only protrude — or are only visible — when the kitten is scared or angry. It starts jumping on peoples’ faces, attacking them, stinging them with its whiskers like thousands of tiny electric needles.
At first we are alarmed, even frightened; but soon it becomes amusing, and we try to carry the kitten around and hand it to people, for kicks.
There’s a lady with a wig, and we replace her wig with the kitten. The cat goes mad and shocks the shit out of her, and we all laugh.
Travis Anderson is walking up ahead of us — exceedingly long hair, except sort of dread-locked — and we place the kitten on his head. He gets stung, but laughs harder than any of us.
Eventually we forget about the cat — we are searching for a camera that we left somewhere…
We never make it out of the mall.
(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn’t I.)