Strange Days

This was actually all a little disturbing, in a fun sort of way, and probably has quite a lot to do with a documentary about mental asylums I watched the other day.

Or it could be I should be in one!

--
Inside a classroom, I have a case open on my desk. My hand is hidden behind the open lid, fingers coiled around the handle of a knife. The blade is almost white in the sunlight leeching through the window. I stare across the room at the man in the white lab coat as he shouts at the people around him. I watch the little flecks of spit spray out from his mouth as he stabs his fingers into the girl's shoulder as he snarls his anger at her.

Sideways into his ribs is where I plan to stick the knife, perhaps with a little twist for that extra flourish.

Then perhaps downwards to gut the fucker.

He turns towards me, striding across the classroom knocking over desks and chairs as he bears down on me. He looms over me and I can smell his breath, count the hairs in his nostrils and see the veins bulging in his neck.

I don't hear what he says, I just smile as my hand moves, meeting only the slightest resistance as his eyes balloon open, a look of horror spreading across his face.

Gunshots from the other room.

The classroom is gone and I stand in a dark hallway. Through a doorway I can see people standing around a table, all dressed in black. One of them stands head and shoulders above the others, a giant of man, the flickering light from the failing neon tube reflecting off his dark skin. He is grinning and the air around him shivers.

I walk to the doorway and into the room. A number of people are scattered about the place, scrabbling for places to hide. Some are trying to push past me out of the room, some slither beneath the table for protection. At the far end, two figures stand pointing machine-pistols at everyone. One has a look of utter terror on his face.

The other raises his gun towards me and fires, his eyes wide with fear. People scream, but for me it's easy. I wave a hand and the air around me shimmers and the bullets deflect away, peppering the ceiling and the floor either side of me.

'That's impossible,' wails the man as his gun clicks empty.

'Not for me,' I reply. 'Or them,' I add nodding to the giant man. 'I taught them'

'Them?' he replies and then quite silently he drops to his knees and falls to his face and a short figure also dressed in black, wearing darken glasses steps from the shadows behind me. As he does so, the large man clubs the other shooter around his face and in an instant he vanishes.

The short man and the tall man step up either side of me and nod slowly. They are The Angel and The Clown. They are my enforcers, bringing my will to the world which I control. Together the Universe fears us.

And so it should.

Homeland security and the murder of fat people

Part 1:
I've murdered a pair of grotesquely fat people in their home. They were bad people and needed to die. However they need to be hidden. I find a vat of radioactive goo that will destroy their bodies. Before I have time to dump them in there, someone shows up: a family about to buy the house. I have to show them around the house, pretending that there aren't bloody handprints and spatters everywhere. I carry a rag with me that I discreetly try to wipe the blood off the walls with. Eventually the family leaves.

Part 2:
I've been apprehended by Homeland Security on unknown grounds (it's not murder, but possibly a political crime of some sort). They've strapped me down into a chair and applied electrodes to my face, so they can read my thoughts. As I sit in the chair, I find that I'm able to reverse-engineer the electrodes: my consciousness jumps from my brain into the electrodes and down into Homeland Security's database. It's visualized as a motel at night, with trees outside. I walk around in the different rooms, opening doors, wreaking as much havoc as I can. After a while I'm suddenly back in my own head: Homeland Security has decided to let me go. They've had a massive crash in their database and no longer have the information needed to keep me there. I'm wheeled out and released.

Part 3:
I'm back in the house from the first dream. I'm sitting in the tub of radioactive goo, eventually getting out because the flesh on my legs is burning away. I get out of the tub and watch as my flesh knits itself back together.

Frog Voyeur

The sun is shining and the flowers are blooming. All about the garden there is emerging greenery, creeping upwards towards the springtime skies.

Curiously, there is also a sofas arranged, at a right angle to each other, about a small pond - a rather overgrown affair with ferns and reeds growing out of it and a range of lilly pads floating on the surface. The sofas are a deep red colour, with big, squishy cushions into which I and my friends are all slumped, chatting happily in the sunshine.

Suddenly our attention switches to the pond as we see two frogs emerge onto one of the lilly pads. It becomes evident that the 'spirit' of spring is with them too, and quite quickly, they begin to energetically express their froggy love for each other, setting the lilly pad a'rocking!

We watch on, snickering quietly to each other as the little frogs go at it with a furious energy. We are however slightly surprised to see the pond transform into a beanbag, which begins to wriggle, twist and writhe with the frogs throws of passion. The net result is we dissolve into laughter as our frog couple reach the climax of their antics, and the quivering of the beanbag slows, gently twitching from time to time in their post orgasmic chill.

For those interested, I have a pond in my garden and I recently repaired the garden bench which sits next to it. As for the frogs, the water was quite literally frothing with their passion in recent times and there's a fairly epic number of tadpoles scooting about in there now!

Curiously, the froggy parents have cleared off out of the main pond into the small top pool.

I guess they're avoiding the kids.

"That's a nice pen!"

We're sitting on the floor in front of a fire place that is covered in beige coloured ceramic tiles. There's no fire burning as it's summer time. In front of the fireplace is a red rug, but there is no other carpet in the room with whomsoever's house this is preferring to go for a varnished wood floor.

Janetta is flicking through a book of drawings she has made which she is turning into a comic book. She is busy explaining the story to me as she leafs through the pages of drawings before she pulls a bright red pen from her bag. She pops the cap off revealing it to be a fountain pen, with a bright, shiny gold nib, with which she begins to ink in the pencil drawings.

"That's a nice pen!" I comment, but Janetta shakes her head, unscrewing the back of the pen to show me the ink cartridge tucked inside. She shakes it gently and splats of ink fly out of it, falling onto the wooden floor boards.

"It's an awful pen," she says. "It leaks far too much!"

Suddenly someone calls my name from behind us and I turn to see that we're not in fact in a room, but instead are inside an office 'cubicle' and a work colleague is leaning over the grey dividing wall to ask me a question.

We chat for a while until he leaves and I turn back to see Janetta has stuck some drawings up around the fire place. They show the protagonist of her comic book in a key scene where he is trying to go on a date with a girl he likes. They are at a dance and the two characters are holding each other as if preparing to waltz around a ballroom.

Sadly for our protagonist though, he has a very awkward expression plastered upon his face and Janetta explains that not only has he never been to a dance, but he's never been on a date before either.

I chuckle at the poor characters situation then pick up a short, blunt pencil that is lying on the rug and begin trying to shade in a box that one of us drew.

--

It was a very fun dream with some fantabulous drawings! I wonder if the gold tipped fountain pen is meant to be the troublesome brush pen?

Magnetic Music

A band is playing in a dark room, surrounded on all sides by walls build of strangely coloured bricks. The bricks seem to pulse and shift colours as the singer howls out his tune.

There is only myself and a young woman watching the band and both of us are uneasy at being here. She takes my hand and leads me towards a doorway in the strange brick walls. It opens easily and we step through into what appears to be an utterly derelict bathroom. Floor to ceiling, everything is covered with dirt and mould and what were once white tiles like smashed and shattered about the floor.

There is a sink here and the woman turns on a tap which belches out a sickly looking black liquid before running clear with what seems to be water. I ask her why is it like this? Why is it so run down?

'Magnets!' she replies, 'There are no magnets in these walls!'

I have no idea what she is talking about and look blankly back at her. She takes my hand again and we return to the dark room.

'The walls! The bricks are super magnets!' she shouts, pointing up at the pulsating bricks. 'They keep the alien sound waves contained. Outside this room, they have no effect so the corruption can creep in.'

I ask her what she means by 'alien sound waves' and she turns and points towards the singer. 'He is not what he appears to be,' she says. 'Go closer to them and you'll see his true form!'

I begin to walk towards the band until about 10 metres from them, it's as if a sheet of glass has shattered in front of me. Their forms melt and dissolve into freakish looking blue creatures, with a multitude of limbs and mouths all wailing away in an un-earthly song.

I stagger backwards and the woman clasps my shoulders and smiles at me telling me we're safe inside here with our alien song. The corruption of the world can't get to us whilst the band keeps playing.

Surf's Up!

There are green costumes with yellow piping down the side. There's a lot of running around. There are a lot of explosions and in places the ground has been blown apart forming almighty craters of pale brown earth.

Some girl with long red hair, wearing a green jumpsuit, is dragging me across this ruined field as we hunt our prey. We're on the look out for the one who has caused all this chaos.

Apparently it's the Silver Surfer.

Or possibly someone with a very good costume pretending to be him. We're not entirely sure and with everyone in costumes, no-one really knows who is who anymore.

Chop!

"You must chop the heads off before they solidify into real heads."
A-ha. So that was the mystery of the threefold dictator. He refused to die, instead splitting off into three different bodies. We forgot to decapitate them. Now that we have, there's a buffet waiting. I was expecting most of the food to be artificial, but it turned out that it's all real. There's about ten different varieties of strudel. And cheese. Brie, mostly.