Friday, January 19, 2007

I’ve never really stuck to any formula about what I blog about. These days blogs are like a$$holes and everybody has got one. So if you read this I’ll assume you have at least a cursory interest in what goes on in my head. On that subject, I had several weird dreams last night. I figure this is probably due to giving up caffeine since I’ve been sleeping actual REM sleep the last couple of nights. By day I have a massive withdrawal headache, but at night I visit a world I had not seen (or at least recalled) in quite some time.


The first and most disturbing was one in which I was at my prior job. I worked in a high school and it was an absolute nightmare. So my duty this day was to take a bus on a visit to an art gallery. Once on the bus I realized it was full of history’s worst criminals. All the who's who of serial killing was on that bus. Then we broke down. It was absolute chaos because the criminals got loose. I remember one of the guys saying “there’s a pig farm!” and they all ran for it. I asked the bus driver what that was about and he said that slaughtering pigs most closely resembles killing humans. The feel of the flesh was what did it for them. Of course they knew if they killed a person they would be in even more trouble, so they killed the pigs for sport.

I was horrified by the whole thing and figured my best bet was to head in the opposite direction of the serial killers. So I walked on to the museum. When I got there they had small versions of famous artwork and everyone was given tracing paper and encouraged to copy what was one the wall. I looked over at a Van Gough piece and Ellen Degenerous was tracing over it. Then I woke up.

I did mange to get back to sleep and this time it was even weirder. In the next dream, there was a rash of home invasions and the way these criminals entered your home was what was screwy about it. They would come to your door with two small babies. Each guy held one and had a machine gun to the child’s head. Then they would demand you open the door or the baby dies. The assumption was just about anyone would want to save the babies. Then they came to my door and instead of opening the door, I ran out to my utility room on the back porch and called the cops. I’m keeping the Freudian eye off that one.

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