Friday, July 18, 2003

Okay, now where was I...

I can always blog at lunch and they can't say anything about it. How could they? I'm on my own time now.

As I was saying,

It happened again. That dream. The vivid one. The one where I am standing on a rock at the sea, and suddenly the orb comes toward me. This time it is purple. Oh, I suppose I could say lavender or violet or something quaint like that. No, it's just purple. But a glowing purple. The light seems to radiate from the orb as it descends toward me.

I am enclosed in the orb once again and speed out across the countryside. This time I see I am going to "The Church." I don't know if it is really a Church. It looks like a Church on the outside (little white building with a good old fashioned steeple), but whenever I'm taken inside, it looks like something utterly different: usually a performance or show of some sort. One time it was Michael Jackson singing Kumbaya to throngs of screaming teens.

Well today it isn't Michael Jackson. No, sir, this time it is the Man Himself! The Showman of Showmen: Frank Sinatra. Frank is standing on the stage, and (strange!) behind a pulpit. He's singing a song, but that isn't the first thing I notice. The first thing I notice is that he's flanked on the left and on the right by two strange groups of people. To the left of him standing there in flagrant Purple, Red, Green and Yellow are the four Teletubbies. To the right of him are Emma, Rupert and Daniel. You know who I mean... Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. They are standing their in their best robes with wands drawn, as if they are about to battle some horrendous foe.

Then I notice the music. Frank Sinatra is singing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Now that is truly weird! I don't know how he could be singing that because of course there isn't any words to Moonlight Sonata - but things do not always make sense in a dream! Anyway, I was thinking of the beautiful blue light of the moon, and slowly the dream dissolved away into a moon - me sitting outdoors at night, staring up at the big beautiful moon.

That's all I can remember. Weird, huh?


It came again...

"Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door"

- The Beatles, Eleanor Ribgy (words by Paul McCartney)

It happened again. That dream. The vivid one. The one where I am standing on a rock at the sea, and suddenly..

Oh, heck. Got to Go. The boss just caught me blogging at work.


Thursday, July 17, 2003

Well, I feel like I haven't been able to sleep at all the last couple of nights. It is almost like I'm afraid to because of that disturbing dream I had.

But then, last night something wierd happened. When I fell asleep (and I had this wierd dream - I'll tell you about that in a minute)... well, when I fell asleep I was reading a book. But when I woke up in the morning it was gone. I looked everywhere... under all the covers, even under the bed.

But that isn't the spooky part! When I was going out the door to go to work this morning, I looked in the door across the hall from mine (those people are always keeping their door open, it's freaky!) and guess what I saw? Sitting on the coffee table right behind that lamp (you know, the one in my dream) was my book. Sitting on THEIR coffee table!

Well, okay, I can't prove it was my book, but it sure looked like it: Michael Connelly's A Darkness More Than Night. I can't say for sure, but I'm going to try to get a close look next time I go past and their door is open.

Spooky, huh?

Anyway, about my dream last night...

I was riding on a white horse. I can't remember how the dream started. It didn't start with me on the Rock and the Orb like THE DREAM always does. But I found myself riding a white horse... no I think it was a unicorn because it had a single white horn on the top of its head.

I came to a place where I needed to cross the river and the horse (or rather, unicorn) wouldn't do it. Then the beast talked to me. The water was too muddy, he told me.

Well fine, I thought. So I started to climb off. Then suddenly the thing lurched and almost dumped me into the river. I looked down (hanging half off the unicorn) and now the river was way down below me.

The thing was flying!

It was really wierd, because unicorns don't fly.

Well, that's all for now.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tuesday, July 15, 2003

The Eternal Order of the Onion

They're always making profound observations they've overheard.
- Gene Kelly in An American in Paris by Alan Jay Lerner

It isn't a dream, but I've just got to tell you about this anyway. It was so wierd.

When I came out of the building I work in downtown this evening, on my way to catch my bus home from work, there was a guy standing on the curbside handing out leaflets, or I should say trying to hand out leaflets. Anyway, I was trying to side step him best I could when I saw an onion out of the corner of my eye and stopped to see what it was all about.

Well, it was all about the Eternal Order of the Onion. Apparently it’s some new cult.

The guy started talking to me right away, of course, since I’d made the mistake of stopping to look at the bright picture of an onion he was holding up on one of his leaflets.

“We realized that god is an onion when we started to notice that the more you know about him, the less you know. I mean, there is simply layer after layer after layer,” he was saying.

“Uh, yeah, right.”

“Here I tell you what…”

I braced myself as he reached into his bag after something. I never should have stopped. The Eternal Order of the Onion? Heck, maybe he was reaching for a gun. Maybe I’d better get going.

But instead he brought out a small paperback book, titled (yes, you guessed it): “The Eternal Order of the Onion.” I was rolling my eyes back and thinking, oh great. The guy thinks I want to join his cult, but no, that wasn’t it at all. Apparently he was so happy someone had actually stopped and looked at him, that he was giving me the book! Now, it’s not that I was itching to read it or anything, but I considered that it may turn out to be quite amusing.

I took the book, thanked him, and to my surprise the guy just stood there with a big grin on his face as I walked away.

Get a load of this:

Pg 36 in “The Eternal Order of the Onion” by Mayagin Phardu:

“God is not a God that can be easily escaped. Take for example the stench that He maketh when he is laid out for a while in the hot sun. This is stench is no coincidence – nor is it simply an artifact of nature, but it is the clear and present danger of His presence: everywhere, filling all things.”

Well, it’s getting late, so I’d better can it for the day. I think you get the idea anyway.


I never should have told you about my dream. It's all I can think of since I posted it here. Not the dream itself, but that one horrid scene of the woman coming through the front door all covered in blood. The squealing and agonizing sound of her gasps and cries.

I never could see her face. Only her back, drenched in blood as they unscrewed the… oh, I can’t say it again.

And things get stranger. I knew I had seen that lamp before – a long wooden floor lamp with the wood twisting from top to bottom like a screw. This morning (fortunately I dreamed nothing last night) when I went out to get the news paper, I glanced up into the apartment across the hall. My neighbor’s door was open, and someone was talking within – I think my neighbor was being sent by his wife (or is it girl friend?) out to buy something at the store, and he was getting last minute instructions. Anyway, there was that very same lamp, sitting on the floor next to their couch. I know it’s gross of me, but I had to look! I glanced around the room to make sure there wasn’t any blood anywhere. The couch and the floor between the couch and the door way looked okay.

Maybe I’m being psychotic about it. It was only a dream!

Anyway, I’m relieved in a sense, to see that the lamp is still just standing there like normal, and nothing seems to be amiss. Well, I’ve got to go. I’m afraid I’m going to miss my bus.


Monday, July 14, 2003

I have begun to have those dreams again...
... this time I will write them down.

Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

- Edgar Allen Poe

I’ve been having those dreams again. The ones that wake me up in the middle of the night, and I can’t go back to sleep again. I’ve been having them off and on for a long time now… can’t even remember when they started. Was it this year or last?

So, I’ve decided to write them down to better keep track of them. Oh, it’s not that I can’t remember them. I can remember them alright. But I can only barely distinguish one from another. They are all so remarkably the same, and yet each is subtly different. Maybe if I write them down, here, where I can re read them as often as I like… maybe then I will begin to understand them… begin to unravel the thread of the dreams before the dreams unravel me!

It was just like last time. I was standing on an enormous rock by the sea. The waves were crashing down all around me. I looked up and around to see if I could find a way down from where I stood – find a way to safety. But all I could see on every side was the tumult of the sea. I could feel the cool mist of the wave that rose up from splash after splash. The cool, salty breeze.

I shuddered, and awoke partially, pulling the covers around me tighter. It was too cold.

Then I saw it. Just like before, only orange this time. A tiny orb hovering above me. I should have known to look up. I should have know, for it is always there. But every time in the dream it comes to me as a surprise.

Anyway, I look up and as the orange orb gets close to me, I can see a reflection of myself in its glossy side. Then suddenly I hear a pop, and feel myself surrounded by orange light. I am now inside The Bubble (that’s what I’ve called it ever since I began having these dreams) and it is taking me away.

I dread where it might be taking me.

But as we soar across the coastland, I begin to recognize where we are going this time. It is a tiny white house in a valley inlet some distance from the sea. I have been there before, and I begin to tremble at what I will find there this time.

Suddenly I am inside that familiar room, and it is just as I feared. They are there again. I don’t know who these people are, but somehow in the dream they are my friends. They are a strange and inconsistent group of people – something very much like the people in David Lynche's Blue Velvet, and I am afraid that what is about to happen would be worthy of a David Lynch movie.

It is.

It has happened before and it happens again. A knock comes at the door, and when it opens there is a woman crying out in pain and suffering. Her friends gather around her to help. I am afraid to look up, because I know what I will see. I’ve seen it before. And at last, I do look up, and there it is again. She has been impaled on a wooden lamp the length of her torso. There is blood everywhere, and it does not rationally compute how this woman can be alive. They unscrew a wooden lamp stand from her body and I turn to run in horror.

When I look up at the wall as I flee, I see something new. It is a framed photograph of Emma Watson, dressed as J. K. Rowling’s Hermione Granger. I stop because I notice that it is autographed:

Gus, thank you for your letter. It was really sweet. Your friend, Emma.

I wonder who Gus is, but I never find out. The dream vanishes at this point and I awaken to the soft hum of my alarm clock.