Thursday, December 7, 2006
My rings are missing. Where are my rings? One was just here. Where is the other one? There it is! It's in the bottle. What is it doing in the bottle? I can't reach it in there. I can't get it out. The bottle won't break. The waters are rising. I'm drowning, help me. I can't stop it.
What am I doing home? Where are my rings? My rings are like my focal points. Fissures of incredible amounts of my body's energy, pouring through my focus points. My watch is missing now. Where has the time gone? What has become of my time here? What has it come to? The shining silver of eternity is too far from me. I cannot find it. It is out there somewhere, like oblivion.
It's raining outside. I have Sheri's truck, am I moving? all of my furniture has just been ruined... what was the point of me having it? Where are my clothes? I am cold. My car looks like it's new, but it isn't talking to me. What is wrong with you car? It's raining still. The waters are rising. I'm drowning, help me. I can't stop it.
The sun is shining brightly. My face is being warmed by the brilliant energy. It feels very good to me. Everything is upside down. My cat has one eyeball. She looks like a cyclops. Remnant of experiences past, she now speaks in a british accent and pulls out a clove cigarette to smoke. "What are you doing hanging from the ceiling there, ye ole bloke?" She says. She fades into mist and dissipates, leaving only the strong odor of a clove cigarette.
Electricity is breaking across my room. I am trapped in my bed like a prison. I can't break free. There are bars around it, as though I''m an infant. I do not understand what is going on. The bars turn from a warm oak to a cold steel. They burn to touch. I get frostbite. I scream in agony as gangrene takes over my hands, crawling like a plague across my body. My limbs fall off.
It's sprinkling outside. I wake up to the sound of NPR. It's 0500. What happened? Why is my gun out? It's supposed to be locked away. I check it. It's loaded. I hear a roar from my left. I see only a black figure. I fire 8 rounds. I scream as it falls on top of me, spilling blood all over me. Sweat beads from my brow. I never have 8 rounds in my gun. I never leave it chambered, it's dangerous to do such a thing, even living alone.
It's sprinkling outside. I wake up to the sound of NPR. It's 0500. My gun isn't there. There's an eery silence. The only thing that I can hear is the sound of my cat's purr.
My rings are missing. Where are my rings? One of them was just on my left middle finger. The other on my right ring finger. There they are, on the nightstand.
The glass to my bedroom window shatters and electicity flares around the room as though I'm in the middle of a powerful tesla coil. Everything disintegrates around me. All of my furniture has been ruined. My rings are like focal points, the lightning goes to them instead of me. I lay there, with the smell of burnt hair all over. This stings, and stinks too.
I get up to look in the mirror on my bedroom wall. Why are my eyes so red? Why are my pupils white? There are no answers to my questions. I hear a voice, a booming voice from behind me. I don't understand its language. It frightens me briefly, but I suddenly understand what it is saying, more in understanding of intent rather than words.
My house disintegrates around me. My cat is purring in my arms, protected around the shield. Everything is going away. My neighbors stand around stunned as their houses have all gone away. They are all immediately rebuilt, as everyone just kind of stares at each other blankly, especially at those who sleep in the buff. I thank the cold winter months for my pajamas.
It's quiet outside. I wake up to the sound of NPR. It's 0500. My gun isn't there. My cat is on my lap purring. My rings are where they should be. I look at my watch. Time is still with me. My car isn't talking to me, and never will.
How much more strange can a dream get?