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When the dream started I was in "my house." Felt feverish, my body wracked with pain. I called someone and was telling them that I wanted painkillers or just anything to help me not feel like death, and then she showed up. It was Maura Tierney the actress, who is a good bit older than me but beautiful in my opinion. In the dream we'd known each other a while and it seemed like she worked at a hospital because she started writinng some kind of application for me to make things easier when I see a doctor. It seemed like we had a tenuous relationship, like there had always been some unspoken sexual tension there, and I was tempted to say something about it but didn't. A few "friends" started showing up, some I know and some I don't. Maura left and one of the friends handed me a bottle of vodka or something which I gladly hit hoping to reduce the physical pain, and handed it off. They'd been invited to a friend's house, someone I didn't know, and were eager to head off. I was invited out of what seemed like social obligation, bored, and left with them.
CUT (DAY): We were outside the friend's house and the crew was now about 7 strong. It was your typical horror-movie assembly of beautiful assholes. It was a plain, faded white, average-size two-floor house among many others. No one was answering the front door so we went around back and tried there, but still no answer. The lead guy was checking his cell phone and looking in windows. He said, "I know this is the house, I swear. This is it. I don't know where he is, but he said he'd be here." He quickly got impatient and kicked the back door in. My view cut like a camera to the inside where I saw the door come off its hinges and then very slowly fall flat, kicking up a huge cloud of dust and revealing our concerned-looking group peering inside carefully, then it cut back to my view again.
It looked like no one had been in there in years. It was a fully stocked house with all the basics, there were even two cats running around, and yet it had been unoccupied by humans for a long time. As soon as we walked in I got this foreboding feeling, like I could sense the presence of evil. Something was very wrong with this house.
(NIGHT) Everyone started partying, busting out the weed, the booze, smoking cigarettes, and I felt very excluded. No one shared anything and I was largely ignored. We sat down to watch a horror movie after a while. We all sat on the floor and I was leaned up against the wall. One of the pretty girls with us sat next to me with a smile and layed her head on my shoulder. By about an hour in she was much more cuddled close and I was getting a strong vibe so I kissed her on the neck and pulled her in tighter, and she immediately pulled back and said, "I don't want my friends to think something's going on when it's not." I stood up completely and said loudly, "No problem, absolutely nothing is going on here, now is it? It's all a joke." Immediately I thought, "I just messed up any chance I had with her. No chance now." I thought about it for a moment and realized that there was nothing to mess up, she was a dumb bitch more concerned with what people think of her than about a guy trying to be romantic and treat her right, so fuck her. I spent the next several hours following the crowd room to room. They'd start a movie and after a few minutes I'd realize I was by myself again. A rainstorm was building up outside, howling wind and pattering against windows. Eventually I gave up and started wandering the creepy, dark house, occasionally seeing one person who would actively avoid me.
I think at this point I probably woke up very briefly, because the dream got fuzzy and then when it became clear I was much more lucid. I walked into the room they were in and they all just gave me this look, like, "You again?" It was the final straw. I said aloud, calmly, "You know what? Fuck this." I pulled out a heavy caliber revolver and the girl's eyes went wide before I shot her in the forehead, blood and brain matter splattering the wall. Before the rest could really react fully I'd put a bullet in each of them. I thought, "How convenient, six people, six bullets." The other shots weren't as accurate so there were a couple people writhing around in pain. I reloaded and finished them off and walked out the kicked-down door into the rainstorm.
Once I got outside all hell broke loose, literally. It was as if it was destined, like the house was some kind of black-magic ritualistic catalyst to release Satan and I'd been the dupe who had been driven crazy by it. I had a funny thought when the ground opened up beyond me and a 1000 foot tall demon made of lava rose up with a roar. "Shoulda stuck with Maura Tierney." Then I woke up.
Man. Pretty intense, right?
I've been feeling like a paraiah lately. But it's more of a subtle thing. I see it in peoples' eyes and it doesn't need to be spoken. I'm broke, can't find work because I have no car. I catch interest from women and as soon as they find that out contact suddenly breaks off. I want it to not be that important because I can't do much about it right now, and people get that so they're not forthcoming with things, but that doesn't mean I'm not picking it up in a tangible way. People see me as a burden and I'm starting to feel like I'm homeless again, even though I'm not.
It was raining when I woke up. And just nasty outside. Grey. Cold. Ugly. It's the kind of morning where I wake up depressed, knowing winter is coming and my prospects are dimming.
As fucked up as this dream was, it was likely a good bit of catharsis.
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(DAY) I'm in a prison-like place looking for a way out. Everything has a blue-ish tint to it and the effects of shafts of light coming from barred tiny windows along the tops of walls have a pronounced effect. I enter a hallway and follow it to an empty 10x10 concrete room with these windows at the top of the walls and notice that one of them doesn't have bars so I jump up and start climbing out. The dream cuts and I'm in the passenger seat of a police van with fellow inmates. We've somehow acquired crowd control gear and it appears as though we've appropriated the van by dressing as police. We're speeding through the outskirts of the jail but there's no way out except through a brick wall so the driver guns it for the wall and crashes through it. Everyone's rocked and bouncing around. Another brick wall; the driver guns it again. Again we crash through it. The van is in bad shape at this point but there's one more brick wall we're heading for and this one is a perpindicular junction of walls intersecting, though not as tall. I'm about to speak up about how we don't have enough momentum to get through something with that kind of structural integrity but it's too late to turn and we smash into it. Instead of breaking through, the shortness of the wall causes the van to flip over the wall slowly and crash down upside-down on the other side. The dream cuts again and we've escaped, now hiding out in some kind of small caves dispersed on a sandy plain with tiny bodies of water. It's like a desert oasis in appearance, everything's orange and clay colored. The sun is setting. We're still in riot gear and the crew is working on setting up barricades made from furniture and random items.
At this point, around 2:30 AM, I wake up and use the bathroom. Takes about 20 minutes to fall back asleep fully.
(DAY) I'm in bed in a nice house in the morning. My old band Holy! Holy! Holy! from Portland shows up to visit unexpectedly and Micheal (vocal/guitar), Angela (accordian) and their kids Whitman and Faire come into my bedroom where I'm watching TV. Whitman jumps on the bed and I scoop him up while saying "WHITMAN! I missed ya buddy!" and give him a hug. They've brought a bottle of some kind of chocolate liquor which from a short, stout brown glass container that looks fancy and they pour some into a glass for me. We all drink and shoot the shit for a little while until Michael and Angela fall sleep on my bed. I'm still watching TV but commercials come on so I put a cigarette in my mouth and start heading outside to smoke.
The other people they brought, because it's always a large crew, are walking around the house cleaning it and keeping an eye on the kids. One guy's sitting in an armchair in the kitchen adjacent to a stove heater. He says, "We need someone to keep an eye on this thing so the kids don't mess with it. I'm nominating you!" I say while lighting my cigarette, "I'm going outside to smoke right now." He waves the smoke away and looks dejected. There's a baby monitor on the kitchen table through which I can hear people in the guest bedroom talking.
Through the back of the house to go outside, I end up in some kind of attached liquor store. One of the guests comes in and grabs a bottle of the chocolate liquor, grins mischeviously at me and walks out with it. I'm think, "Wow, she just walked right in and stole it, just like that?" A guy who seems to be stocking bottles drops one nearby, breaking the top of it and getting alcohol all over the carpeted floor. He quickly picks it up and puts the broken bottle in his pocket. Another one drops but he catches it, puts it back, and shakes out his hand splattering me with droplets of booze. I walk around the back of an aisle and space out staring at the wall for so long that the store is shut down when I go back around. Lights off, doors locked, no one there, thick and heavy plastic sheets hanging for no apparent reason. A blessing in disguise, locked in a liquor store all night, maybe I can find a way to smuggle many bottles out? Worried about an alarm on the door. The guests come by and see me inside and let me out, but I fumble over my words trying to explain what happened.
I called an old member of the band last night and talked about his new band and my potential new band so it all makes sense. Except for the jailbreak, I suppose.
I don't know where my brain came up with that house but it could very well be my dream house. The layout was perfect aesthetically. And a liquor store attached to the back? Even more perfecter.
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I'm working in the 30 Rock office. Liz Lemon is with me and we approach Jack Donaghy about something and are competing with each other for his approval in a playful way. The office is busy and Jack is running around, asks us, "Find my cell phone, will you?" In keeping with our competing we both take off looking for it and I find it on a desk and bring it to him. Liz Lemon and I go down a flight of stairs to a basement level. It's a finished basement looking like it belonged more in a suburban home than the offices of NBC. There's a lot of boxes and one couch, upon which sits Will Arnett and my friend Eric. They're discussing a party. Will Arnett says, "This sucks. How can we have a party with all these boxes in the way?"
(DAY) Will Arnett, Eric and I have apparently given up on the party and decided to go to a music festival instead. We're sitting at our camp which has no tents, it's just sleeping bags layed out on the grass in a circle around a firepit. We're sitting on our bags facing each other. Will Arnett breaks out a healthy-sized joint, lights it and starts passing it around. We're talking about whatever while we smoke and I notice Will Arnett is beginning to look completely baked, eyes red as the devil. He says he wants to go look for a place to buy a bowl because joints of this particular weed are just too much, and a bit wasteful. I offer to go with him, but he says he wants Eric to go with him. Eric says, "I'm way too high to do anything at this point, man. There's just no way." I think about it and realize I feel the same way, as does Will, and we all slowly end up laying down and falling asleep.
(NIGHT) I wake up at night on my bag. There's a small fire going in the pit and the other two guys are gone. I notice there's a camera set up pointed at our camp and intuitively know that Will set it up to do a time-lapse project. Will walks over from somewhere and sits down. He asks, "Hey, uh... just out of curiosity, how much do you make a year?" I answer, "I've made about two thousand dollars a year for the last several years." He says, "Hmm... I don't know how you deal with that. Wow. Well, I just found out I'm losing my job."
I've probably had less than five dreams in my entire life that included celebrities. I've gotta say, hanging out with Will Arnett was awesome. He was the kind of playful dick that's fun to be around if you don't take insults seriously, which is in line with how I picture him to be.
The sad truth is that my statement about making 2 grand a year is true. I noticed my responses in dreams to questions or statements are always exactly what I would say in real life. I often wonder if other people's dreams tend to have them being completely unlike themselves.