carousel of mud

I am sliding down a muddy hill on a mattress inside a wooden house that is lit by thousands of candles. Everytime I reach the bottom of the slide the floor swallows me and the ride begins again. I am never tired, I will ride this muddy slide forever, and I am at peace.

– – –

It’s night, I am with Katie on a shifty, oddly constructed carousel. It rotates and spirals up and down a very modern, unconventional house. It is as tall as a tree and has many portals of entrance and exit that resemble round steel ship doors. Steam shoots out of some of them with an eerie screech. The woman in front of us is annoyed that I keep holding on to her bullet-shaped car. She stands up and starts dismantaling it with her bare hands. We are hundreds of feet off the ground; a few times she comes close to falling or being knocked off. Eventually she reconstructs it and sits back down. I hop off our seat to go in search of a special pocket knife. I only have a few minutes to find it, during the commercial break — I’ve paid good money to watch this show on this carousel and I don’t want to miss a minute of it. I roam an endless, beachless boardwalk, lit by floating yellow lights, looking for the shop where I saw the knife — there are shops in every direction I turn. I never find it, and call Katie — she tells me the show is starting. I race back and get there just a few minutes after the show has started. But everyone is missing. They must have entered the house. I start shouting into one of the portals and my echo streams out of all the ports in different tones. The home shrinks and becomes a musical instrument. I know all the people are still inside, but the sound it makes is so beautiful and I am hypnotized by it. I continue my shouting into the shrunken house and the sound emanating from it starts shifting the trees on the forest’s edge not to far away. A path forms as a dark hole in the woods. My cell phone rings, it’s my buddy Ken, he wants me to meet him at a bar in the forest. I go in search of him through the dark woods and find my way into a hostel with wooden beds. The halls are narrow and to get to the front desk I have to crawl over countless sleeping people. I am with a woman. I don’t know her well, but we have been flirting for a long time now. I don’t know if we will be sharing a bed or not. She hands the desk clerk $18 and vanishes down the hall. The face of the woman at the front desk is obscured by her long curly blond hair, but I can see she has many scraps and scabs and is wearing deep red lipstick. I know her. She knows me, but pretends she doesn’t. When the beds start mysteriously shifting beneath us she nervously tells me we have met before . . . a long time ago . . . in a land with a sun. ♨

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red blood bed

I am a police officer. It is my first days on the job, the same goes for my partner. We’re driving in our patrol car. For some reason my partner stops the car and gets out–he is holding someone in the sights of his gun. I don’t know why, or what provoked him. He fires. The man dies fairly quickly. I’m not comfortable. I don’t know why he shot. Back at the station our supervisor makes him fill out a bunch of paperwork concerning the death.
A few days later I am in a similar situation. I am holding a man in my gun’s sights–he raises his arms and he is holding a gun. I fire. The man appears to die, and I have to go and fill out paperwork.
More days pass. I am in my room (though it does not represent any room I have every had). The man I shot comes in. My partner is sitting in a car in the corner, laughing, constantly laughing. I shoot the man, and he begins to bleed out of his chest. He is cheerful about the situation, and moves to my bed. He begins to taunt me and is proud that he is bleeding all over my bed. I start to reload my gun. It is taking too long for him to die. My partner hasn’t stopped laughing. I then notice that the bleeding man is trying to put a gun together. So I grab at it and wrestle it away from him. We end up on the floor before I successfully get the gun pieces out of his hand. He returns to bleed on my bed, and my partner never ceases to laugh. I put the gun together with the intention to shoot him in the head. But for some reason I put my two guns down in order to get something. He lunges for them and gets the guns. He is weak but manages to tackle me and pin me under him. He is bleeding all over me and attempting to muster enough strength to pull the trigger. I conjure myself awake before it he manages–my partner’s laugh still in my ear as I rouse into the waking world. ♨

a game

I am in a bedroom. It’s cast in an orange hue. In front of me someone is sitting at a desk with his/her back towards me. To my left there is a large bed. There is a little girl and little boy playing a game on the bed. I don’t know them. I’ve never seen the game before; but it strikes me as being ancient. The game pieces are made up of many-sided, hollow geometric shapes. There’s about 5 of them, maybe 6; and they are as big as the kids’ hands. The little girl begins to explain the game to me, though without vocal language. The game isn’t competitive. It involves transforming one of the shapes so that it opens up and another smaller shape can be enveloped within it. The transforming of the shape is done through efforts partially physical and partially psychic. She begins the demonstration — and when she merges 2 of the shapes together, I awaken. ♨

never to awaken

I recently moved into a new house with new roommates. Every night I would go to sleep, have dreams, and awaken in the morning inside my room (but still in the larger dream). Hideous monsters would come and chase me. One monster had these sharp white teeth that I would knock out, but they would come back even sharper and longer each time. One time I realized that I was dreaming so I asked it to eat me and chew me up. It obliged. But when it swollowed me I woke back up in my new bed. I found myself questioning the nature of reality often, when this happened I would go to a mirror to figure out if I was dreaming or not. I would sit in front of it and stare at myself. Sometimes it would bubble or do something that tipped me off to the fact that I was still dreaming and sometimes it wouldn’t and I would go ahead and begin my day–until something went obviously wrong. For some reason, no matter how hard I tried I never could get out of my house. During one day my new roommates rushed into my room and started saying that I had to do all these things that made me feel like I was being taken advantage of. I stood up for myself and refused. I was congradulated by someone for doing so later.
I don’t know how many times I dreamt and “woke up” in this dream, but it was many. Each time felt more real than the last. At some point it occurred to me that an acute schizophrenia was settling into my mind, and that this must be the bewildering process people go through during its onset. ♨
Note: Dreamt on March 31, 2010 — 6 months prior to the creation of this journal; and one day prior to moving into my new home in Hanoi, Vietnam.