Saturday, 15 February 2014

A dream diary for very messed up dreams

I really should keep some kind of a dream diary or something. Last night's was an absolute belter. I'll try to recap the bizarre events.

So initially I'm at some mysterious, futuristic Logan's Run type citadel. Everyone is just going about their business until out of nowhere somebody screams for help. As curious as the next man I turn to see what's going on only to realise that the object of everyone's attention was me!
With an angry horde descending upon me I decided to run. A fairly natural instinct given the circumstances. After a tiring few moments I'm out in the clear. In fact I'm outside the citadel and right back at the park close by where I grew up. I'm immediately met by some old friends and some shockingly familiar faces. Celebrity faces. One of whom is Disney channel's Debby Ryan. (I blame my daughter for that one. Jessie is one of her favourite shows.) 
Debby Ryan - not much use at confronting angry knife-weilding teenagers, it seems!
 Anyway it's time to run again. Where to I couldn't tell but whilst we're running one of the guys pulls out a ridiculously large machine gun. At least that's what it looked like. Far too big to fit inside his coat!
He turns and shoots whilst still running. Jesus! That things fires nails. Nine inch nails! Yes, I blame Quake.
We're soon at some safe house. At this point I've no clue who or what I'm running from or where I am.
There's little time to consider it.
As we're all of us shacked up in somebody's kitchen trying to make a cup of tea the door swings open and in come three or four angry young men. Teenagers. Angry teenagers. I'm not the target of their aggression. A reasonably nice surprise but still quite unsettling.
As a mumbled argument goes on between the head aggressor (short brown hair, skinny, blue and white checked shirt, jeans and brandishing two very large knives) and our assumed leader I try to edge toward the door. I didn't get far.
The argument spills over in to the rest of the group and somebody grabs me and hurls me to my knees. Head aggressor (he with two large knives) stands behind me and shouts very loudly. What I don't know. I can't move.
The rest of my buddies are pleading with him. I try to look up but before I could respond to anything I'm looking down at the floor. Not by choice. And then black.
That really should have been the end of it.
Until that is I realise that I'm still alive. I'm looking down at my own head staring back up at me but I'm still alive. At least I can see and think and, well, I'm functioning. I stand up. Nobody reacts.
I reach out a hand. Nobody reacts. I look at my reflection in the kitchen window. Yup, sans tête.
Wow. Odd. Still I'm capable of some things so I casually leave by the back door.
From here on in I'm essentially wandering around town meeting up with old girlfriends, fiancés and wives. Strangely they all find me rather attractive. I can't explain it but it doesn't matter.

Most of the rest of the dream fizzled out in to running and chasing again.

So there you go. And I promise no cheese, narcotics, mushrooms, alcohol or dodgy smokes!

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