Dreaming of . . .

Dreams are really bizarre things that rarely make any sense. You can try to think about them and their “meaning”, but most of the time that gets you nowhere. A lot of folks never seem to remember their dreams, but I on the other hand since I constantly wake up throughout the night tend to remember most of my dreams. Some of them have turned into some of my fiction work, or are in the works to be started as short stories (one case maybe a novel), movies, and poems. I keep a notebook by my bed at all times (actually multiple with more in the drawer on my nightstand, but who’s counting) to jot these ideas down before they are lost forever.

While some of these dreams may be great for my fiction work others are just pointless and I have no idea what I can do or make with them. Well the following is an actual dream I had one night, it has stuck with me for a long time and since I like it I am writing about it. I mean after reading it you may wonder what the fuck is happening in my head sometimes, but take a ticket and get in line. I’ll keep you posted on my progress of figuring that one out; I may need to be taken in front of a panel of the world’s greatest psychiatrists to get to the bottom of it. Even then they might just send me on over to Shutter Island for some crazy experimental therapy and the inevitable lobotomy.

I’ll just have the lobotomy now, with a side of fries and a 6 piece spicy chicken nuggets. Thanks.

Barring the results of the lobotomy we will finally see what’s going on in my cranium. Thank god I’ll be a lifeless vegetable afterwards so I won’t ever find out the fucked up malarkey that is in there.

Ah, sorry, I ranted. I tend to do that. My mind likes to wander I’m trying to figure out how to stay on topic. Obviously with more of my bullshit being posted on this here blog and over on Reddit (which you can read and up vote just by clicking on this http://www.reddit.com/user/danperrucci/, wasn’t that easy?) I have been focusing a bit better, though at times I am still all over the map like a cartographer.

Fuck. I wandered again.

Now what did we come here for today? Ah yes, some dreams and shit. Let’s get to it then. The following is some weird fucking dream I had that I could turn into a coherent piece of fiction. Enjoy it, or don’t as long as you read it I don’t care about your feelings (though you’ll like it because it’s interesting, pop shrooms prior to enhance the experience*)

The Dream

I stood in the kitchen of my friend Alyssa’s house (side note she is one of the best writers I know, and is currently writing a lifestyle blog and if you are a female in your 20’s you can relate to her stuff and I suggest you wander over and read her stuff. She is also a fantastic creative writer much better than yours truly and sometimes she still posts some of that work. Just go read her fucking stuff) we were racking our brains on where we should go to eat. I’m sure it would end up being sushi. Her kitchen was a large room with stainless steel appliances and a granite top island that I leaned on.

Mind you this not what her kitchen looks like, not sure where it came from. Was it Ryan Gosling’s kitchen from Crazy Stupid Love? I have no idea; my brain makes people and places up. Anyway, I was leaning there trying to rack my brain over what to eat and apparently in dream world I’m as awful at making decisions as I am in real life.  I mean I go into Sublime (the bar I frequent and so should you) and I make the poor bartender surprise me with a beer.  I am really sorry Danielle: also, sup girl. But really, who can’t even decided what they want to drink? Hopefully they find out why I have a problem making decisions during the lobotomy.

Back to the dream.

 While we are in the midst of picking my roommate Stephanie came into the kitchen and started prepping dinner, her puppy Stryker stood by her side hoping for some scraps (he thinks all food is for him, he is like me in that respect). Fuck asking her why she was in Alyssa’s kitchen; we just ignored her because there was a knock on the door.

I walked over to the glass door to see who was there. I opened it up and who was it other than my good friends Corey Matthews, Topanga Lawrence, and that rebel Shawn Hunter. Eric had something else to do that night so he wasn’t there.

“What’s up guys?” I asked.

“We are headed to this sweet party, you guys want to come?” Corey replied with super excitement.

Alyssa agreed to head to the party and abandon sushi, which if you know Alyssa would not happen in the real world, but this is dream world and in My dream world and in my dream world I want to party with Boy Meets World.

                We piled into a red convertible and headed to the party: Topanga looked hot, I smiled at her..

                We arrived at a house near a dark patch of woods and walked in. The place was packed and we all went our separate ways and roamed to party. I headed over and grabbed a beer from one of those plastic tubs full of ice that people like to use instead of a cooler. It wasn’t a memorable beer, because I don’t remember what is was. Considering this was some shitty house party I’m sure it was something awful. I cracked it open and scanned the party trying to find Topanga. I spotted her across the way, so is started making my way over to her when the door was busted in and the police stormed in.; I tossed my beer and ran out the back door.

 Many problems with this one:

1.       I’m a grown man having a beer with other grown people, why am I running?

2.       I left my friends behind, which is something I would never do in the real world, but I do in dream world.

3.       Sorry guys, I wish I knew what happened to you. I bet your fine, better than I anyway.

4.       Why were the cops crashing the party? Was someone murdered or raped in one of the upstairs bedrooms?

All things we won’t get answers to; dreams suck that way; they never give you a complete story.

As I rushed through the back door and out into the dark woods I felt someone behind me. I ran faster, and faster, and then, just as in any horror movie, a tree stuck out its leg and I tripped to the ground (trees don’t have legs; it is a dope analogy for a root.).

                I rolled on to my back and the person who was chasing me approached slowly (why I couldn’t get up and keep running is another mystery). He came into my sight I saw his retarded looking face clearly; it was Sylvester Stallone dressed in his police outfit from that shittastic film Copland. For those of you have never see the movie, don’t it is bad, but here is an image of what I saw in my dream:

                He reached down to grabbed me, but he had no skin or muscles on his hands he hand skeleton hands.

                He grabbed me with his Italian Stallion skeleton hands . . .

                I woke up sweating (probably because it was summer) and confused as fuck as to what had just occurred in my head cinema.

The Aftermath

                So, I mean, that happened. I dreamt it, so go ahead Freud and look that up in your dream book and get back to me.

                I get why Alyssa, Steph, Stryker, and the  Boy Meets World cast were in my dream they are a part of my life (at the time I was watching a lot of Boy Meets World and Fresh Prince: judge me), but what the fuck was with Skeletor Sylvester Stallone? I avoid the movie Copland at all costs and I hadn’t watched any Stallone film in a long time, yet there he was creeping me the hell out in my dreams.  

                This dream has been with me for a little over a year and I still have yet to figure out what the hell was going on, so if you have insight please let me know, because I am dying to hear what you think.







*I have never done shrooms, so I am only assuming it will enhance you experience.