Life has been pretty eventful, so I apologize for not bringing any witticisms this way for a bit. I'll get back into the swing at some point, once things slow down. But I did want to venture this way to tell you all about one of my more bizarre dreams. I don't normally share that sort of thing, because I don't think most people really care usually. It can be kind of boring subject matter. But this one had me not wanting to wake up. It was that entertaining.
I start off running down Broadway near the Schnitz, on all fours. I'm barefoot, in the street, and keeping with the flow of traffic. I can feel the asphalt under my hands and feet, but it feels surprisingly comfortable and natural. I specifically remember the way the green and red of the traffic signals played off of the varied surfaces of the asphalt rocks. It wasn't wet, but this is something that I tend to notice while crossing the street during my waking hours. There is something beautiful about that, and it was really showcased strongly in this part of the dream; almost prismatic in nature, moving and changing as I traveled over it.
I continued down Broadway until I came to Jefferson, which I followed up toward where I lived about a decade ago near Portland State University, in the Goose Hollow neighbourhood. I passed the apartment complex I once called home, and continued up a path to a much smaller, dingier place; still on all fours, still barefoot, through brambles, broken glass, rusty screws and nails, shattered bottles, caps of said bottles, gravel chunks, and unidentifiable detritus which really could have been anything. I was moving so fast, I was unable to determine exactly what some of it was. It was also darker up there, so that played a role.
I didn't want to get raped, mugged, or lopped. My objective? Unclear. But I was strangely motivated to move like I had never moved before. When I finally arrived at the appropriated complex, I noticed that it had several residences attached in a row, and it was kind of a strange setup. I had to tap in a code that I somehow knew to enter the premises, which sat behind an iron security door. Once inside; instead of a hallway, there was a long breezeway below what should have been a hallway leading to second floor units. I could see stars, since there was no roof. It wasn't exactly an atrium, not exactly a courtyard. Just a strange, seemingly unfinished corridor. They had only ever added planks to the hallways in the floors above and someone created makeshift catwalks using cheap plywood boards which did not meet the sides of the structure, leaving very large gaps on either side that one could easily fall through if not careful.
As I walked through, I felt something on my back. It landed with sort of a thud, and moved. It had claws, and before I really understood what was going on, the damn thing bit me. I grasped it, tearing it away from my body, and realized it was a rat! I threw it as far as I could. It hit the wall, sort of convulsed, then stopped moving altogether. My stomach lurched in discomfort, and I just wanted out of there, but I knew I needed to keep going.
Why? Well, that I did not know.
The farther down into the building I walked, the more rats there were. I picked another off of my back, only this one spoke to me: "You don't want to throw me, little lady! I am a nice rat! See? Feel my fur. Aren't I soft?"
I tried petting it, and while it was rather soft, it too, bit me. I gave its head a twist, broke its neck, and tossed it aside.
I finally reached my destination. The door was slightly opened, and I could hear the song "Time" by the Chamber's Brothers playing on the stereo. This song has long creeped me out. I have never liked it; especially the long version with the screaming man solo in the middle. Yeah, not my idea of a good time, listening to that.
The apartment was pretty drab. Typical basic 1970's unit with wood cabinetry, hollow doors, nicotine-yellowed walls, stale smoke lingering in the air, and brown shag carpet, which was strangely pristine. It seemed to have retained its original luster from the time of installation, which I am sure was not any time in the recent past, despite the unfinished nature of the building.
Not far from the front door, there was a sofa covered in crushed velvet embossed flowers. As I walked farther in, I noticed a man sleeping on the sofa, wearing a pair of white boxer shorts. Someone had placed a paper towel covered in hemostats and scalpels on the coffee table just adjacent. He had a cloth over his nose and mouth, that had begun to fall off. Of course I noticed this just as the screaming started in the song.
Soon, an acquaintance of mine walked in, and began working on the sleeping man. He said he'd used chloroform to put him to sleep, and he reassuringly told me the man could not feel a thing. He just wanted to fuck with him a little; not kill him. Did I want to watch?
But for some reason I wanted to make out with this person, so make out, we did. Because it's what you do. Right?
Not long after that, I found myself traveling back down Broadway using the same means I'd used before.
Really, brain? Really? I guess part of me wanted to wake up, and part of me wanted to know what happened to the man on the couch, and this weird person I hardly know who wanted to do demented things to him. I guess I will never know. Oh well.
Dreams are so strange. They can be so vivid and create such a storyline, and yet, these non-lucid thoughts are all very self-contained, only having to do with things that we have witnessed in our own lives.
The brain sure is one interesting, enigmatic motherfucker. I think it does like to have fun with our sensibilities when we are unable to reason with what is going on in there.