I should qualify this by saying that I have sleep patterns that are erratic at best. I’m not narcoleptic but the record that plays my circadian rhythms must have a deep scratch in it.

I am currently reading The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawkins and I’ve also been watching a lot of insect documentaries. So it’s no wonder this little gem stabbed its way into my subconscious playground.

Here we go

I’m flying and I don’t know why. It’s just a huge meadow with bizarre plant varieties that would be more at home in some David Lynch Sci-Fi than actually existing on earth. Grotesque colors and oddly shaped leaves and flower petals dominate most of the plants. Trees line the edge of the meadow. It’s sunny. I’m moving really fast and I am so disoriented that sudden waves of nausea thump my body from time to time. I’m really enjoying this except I have no idea what this is.

I can see a small hole carved into a tree ahead of me and I immediately fly into it. Darkness. It’s hot but it’s pleasant. The place feels cavernous and I cannot see the walls or ceiling. I feel secure except that the place is buzzing loudly and I’m covered in bees! I can feel legs caterpilling over my back and the wind from their wings blows over my face. I'm terrified.

Just when I think I’m getting my bearings all of the bees around me start pushing inwards towards the center. They push like commuters would if someone started throwing hundred-dollar bills into the middle of a crowded subway platform. I push my way through to the middle and stare at what looks like a multi-eyed, winged hula dancer. Her skin has black and yellow stripes like that of a bee but her body has a distinct insect look to it. Her head has perfectly bald with no ears. She has huge, perfect lips and slender black arms. She’s dancing.

And I can’t stop watching. She just moves her arms and legs in graceful outward motions. She follows these movements by violently shaking her lower body. She pushes her way around the ring of bees shaking and flowing in font of them. She repeats a series of movements over and over. Pirouette twice, left leg out with arms held high, undulate arms at lower left side of body, bend at the waist and then shake lower body. Repeat.

Then I get it. I realize she’s dancing out the location of flowers ripe with pollen. It’s so obvious that I wake up.

Recipe For A Tornado

That strange but familiar lady... who is she? I've seen her before but I can't quite place it. Her face looks old and she is smiling. Her hair is dark, and cut short, slightly wavy about the sides of her head.

Something has flown away. Was it her, on a broom? I'm not sure.

I find myself in the food court at the mall, with three of my friends. We are discussing everyday matters as usual, and I have to go to the bathroom. It turns out, the bathroom is not a bathroom. I have been transplanted into the hollowed-out section of a giant tree. There are no doors visible, but it could probably house 40 or so people. Its trunk extends up to an ambiguous distance; extremely high, but not too high. There is a window carved in the bark, slightly above my reach. I pee out the window, relieving myself in my original intent. I hope dearly that no one sees, for it is not a bathroom, but should be. When I finish, I realize the truth.

There are leaves rustling about at the floor of the tree, blown by a wind that comes in through the window. They go round in circles tirelessly. If I let the cat out, and keep it out for 20 days while the leaves stir, I will have a tornado on my hands. I hope it works.