WARNING: This is rather graphic / violent near the end. Sensitive readers have been warned.

Check the pipelinks, too.

It makes more sense if you imagine that the scenes described herein were directed by David Lynch.

Right now it is 6:15 AM and I woke up a few minutes ago. Notice I am sitting at the computer rather than still in bed. The dream I had is best described as a series of images, though there was a vague "plotline" of sorts involving staying at a hotel with friends. Things started out relatively normal: a group of us sitting, talking and laughing.

A strange woman walked into the room and asked us where she could get clothing that would impress her husband. I looked at her outfit, and she was dressed in sort of a white trash Western theme. Blonde hair, cowboy boots, really tight acid-washed jeans. I informed her that there was a men's Western leather shop right next door to the hotel, and she could buy a belt with a "giant round buckle" and loop it around her long T-shirt so that it became kind of a dress. I don't know why it would impress her husband, but in this dream, I knew it would. He was just that kind of guy.

The woman stayed in the room a bit too long for our comfort, though...she started going on about Jesus or the end times or something similar. Two of my female friends in the room started French-kissing, and the woman looked disgusted and left. I remember saying to my friends, "Why didn't you guys just start doing that earlier?"

Then I was standing in front of a mirror, and my hair was doing all this weird stuff: it suddenly looked red rather than black, and then grew before my eyes into this bizarre partial pompadour. I looked at my eyes and they were very bloodshot and thought to myself, "I've been wearing my contact lenses for 24 hours. I should probably take those out." So I did, and found my glasses. For some reason my hair looked normal again once I put my glasses on. Then I noticed that my friend Tori (who was in the dream with her ex, Chris) had gotten a really short haircut and dyed her hair brown (In real life,she actually has long blonde hair with pink, purple, and bright orange streaks).

Next scene, I found myself in a kitchen (the hotel kitchen, I presume, but it looked more like a residential kitchen). The decor was very dark and dated, done in shades of deep burgundy and forest green. There was a single cook there, and for some reason she reminded me of The Oracle from "The Matrix". She didn't say anything, it was more of an aura or a sensed impression that made me aware of her nature. She looked at me and this girl I was with: I think the girl's name was Becky. Suddenly, this wave of fear came out of nowhere and washed over everyone. I had the impression that everyone was hallucinating and paranoid. I felt fine, though, except for a sensation of, "This is REALLY FUCKING WEIRD" and "Everyone is really freaked out, I need to help them."

I grabbed Becky's hand and we ran out as fast as we could and climbed onto the roof. Things somehow seemed safer up there. Becky looked at me and said, "You know, many people have things they are good at outwardly. But you are different. How is it that you are able to stay calm at a time like this?" (I am aware that that statement didn't make total sense, but it's dream-dialogue.) I replied to her, "I live with a constant low-level fear in the back of my mind. My world is like this all the time, on some level. So when something happens, I'm already equipped to deal with it." She looked reassured.

Then I found myself in another hotel room, where a father and his little boy were staying. They were cowering in the corner, near a blanket that covered a body -- I could see a hand sticking out of the side. The father explained to me that he and his son had been attacked in their room, by this guy who was now hopefully dead. One of them (either the father or the son) had just fried the intruder with something they called a "heat gun". I'd been called in to verify that the guy was really dead, and assure the little boy that no, this guy wasn't going to try to hurt him anymore.

I sat on the floor next to the blanket and looked at the hand sticking out: it was mostly intact, but I could see the layers of skin and fat peeling off on one side. I started hacking away at them with a knife, and it seemed like there was an excessive amount of rubbery flesh. The little boy looked at me and said, "Those are his real hands. He's not wearing any gloves." For some reason this made me stop cutting. My eyes moved up the arm and then sideways to the ribcage. I could see strips of melted and blackened, bubbled skin here, and I could see between the ribs. The heart was definitely stopped. I pointed this out to the little boy, and he seemed relieved. He was a very brave kid. I don't know what the intruder had been doing to he and his father, but whatever it was, it was more disturbing than looking at a melted dead person.

I then proceeded to peel the blanket (it was yellow acrylic) away from the guy's face (another CSI no-no). Bits of skin were stuck to it like Silly Putty. I think an eyeball was sticking to the blanket fibers, too. I could see his grinning jaw and feel the tacky visceral sensation of pulling textile away from stringy, cooked human skin. The last thing I saw before the alarm went off was that death's-head grin and an empty eye socket.

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