Dream Log: March 28, 2003

I was prince of a coastal area in ancient times. There was no electricity or real transportation/mass communication devices. The main problem was trying to keep my people alive, as our main source of living was the ocean, yet there were prevailent sea snakes (but you could get a shot that would make you invisible to them). Not to mention the sea dragons that occasionally showed up and the Land-walking killer whales.

It was forbidden to kill a sea dragon by order of the gods, but one of the walking whales had eaten one and walked into the center of our town. Then it died, flopping in the middle of town with the sea dragon's head hanging out of it's mouth. For some strange comedic affect, right then, as it fell, another land whale came up and bit it on the ass and likewise died.

We knew the gods were going to be very angry at us, and as prince, I would be the first one they dealt with.

I was on some sort of intra-USA quest, while simultaneously evading the authorities. I had a travelling companion, another male, and he kept encouraging me to go farther, do more, stretch myself.


The harrowing end-part of the dream was me hanging from a high ledge of the unused balcony of the oldest continually operating bowling alley in Pennsylvania.


Finally, daylight came.


Mind, this came the very night I posted my very first writeup. Fascinating.

• Clean cloths piled high and warm on top of me in snuggled in the laundry room cot. Criminal business activities in the living room are troubling.
• Kneeling beside the burning bush suddenly a fire extinguisher appears. Enlightened I make it clear to God,
  “Your little Zen joke is not funny.”
• Still life Hieronymus Bosch paintings come into being. Russian soldiers put on their version of Moulin Rouge in the bombed out section of apartments. All three rooms are scenes of terrible violence. Rape murder beatings. Suddenly lights go out and the screaming stops. Militias crept everywhere with guns to protect the audience. The back alley was even darker. Inside was much safer.
• The scanner refused to read the price of the wart remover. The cashier opened a matchbook read it and leaned over kissing me softly on the lips. “There,” he said kindly, “now those warts will go away.”