Dream Log: Burroughs-esque?
By Giania • Jul 27th, 2008 at 12:25 pm • Category: Dream Log| Hot: |  |  | | | |
The bathroom was a terrible place to be. All the stall doors were slightly ajar and the terrible placement of the typical office fluorescent lighting gave the shadows life that they certainly wouldn’t have possessed on their own. I kept turning back in terror from what I assumed was a malevolent face in the handicapped stall. The wall by the sink provided me something to look at to occupy my mind, but this too became a source of vile fascination. Whether the talk was all in my mind or if there was someone there I do not know. Kindly and reassuring it spoke to me of demons, and angels, and paths to power sometimes being fraught with dangerous-looking things. There was no need to worry though of course, not if you were prepared.
People came and went out of the bathroom during all this, I played it off, made small talk. No one seemed to notice anything amiss, though I distinctly remember talking about the bathroom being haunted. More common knowledge than I’d assumed, I guess. It was late, these were after-hours types of people. Just sales floor looking to bag a couple extra bucks for the week, that’s all. Trying to get in those calls to Malaysia or wherever-the-fuck.
My benefactor guided me around to a room I’d never seen before, one that seemed like it shouldn’t exist, since it was approximately 10 feet too big, and had no windows. There were no outward bulges on this building! No way this could exist without breaking some serious physics laws. Nevermind that. The floor looked sort of like a chalkboard, the green kind. There was also an actual green chalkboard on the wall. Other than this and some boxes on the side it was empty.
So much younger, I looked about me in wide-eyed vulnerability, eager to begin my education on these demons of which my kindly old benefactor had spoken. The room was now fitted with a bed, and candles, and shelves full of books. Yet it was as if no time had passed at all. Securely I was strapped down on the massive, fluffy bed. Legs spread wide to reveal that holiest-of-holies, and the blood that was trickling from it. Eagerness made squiming fools of us both, and he crossed to ensure the door was bolted. After all, on the other side of that were working stiffs. They wouldn’t understand the complexity of what was at hand, all they would see is an old man raping a barely pubescent girl.
There was no desire for the predictable fallout of that, so he pulled the first of two doors to a close as quietly as possible and pushed in the lock with a wincingly audible click. As he pulled the second door into place, cracked white paint flaking pathetically, there was a pull at the first. The sliding bolt of door number two held, but only just barely. Small talk ensued. Oh yes, don’t worry about a thing, just trying to get some things buttoned up afterall, ha ha. He could see in her eyes she wasn’t really buying it, and a furtive glance got past his careful guard to what looked like and for all intents and purposes was a young girl strapped spread eagle to a bed.
Satisfied that he’d prevented disaster, he approached me. I didn’t question why I was suddenly so young, so vulnerable, so eager to have my brains fucked out by this stranger, so willing to be filled with dark knowledge of the kind of beings I had been utterly terrified of only a short while before. As he plays with my bloodied, virginal body I become possessed of all types of knowledge I never before suspected to have. I become something else. A vessel for this knowledge, for things dark and unknowable and realize with no small amount of fear that fear is no longer an option.
Cue the out of body experience. She who had so suspciously checked the room that shouldn’t be and seen something which clearly couldn’t be looked around and discovered a convenient can of translucent purple stuff. It was a kind of paint that induced the surfaces it was spread on to be translucent. Smearing this on the wall outside the room, nothing happened. Yet slowly an image formed, and she saw precisely what she was conerned she would see. A solidly built but somewhat out of shape older man was humping away at the young girl strapped down to the bed. The dark shapes and amorphous smokey clouds of energy which surrounded them were of no consequence in this horrific view. Inspired to action she frantically sought a way to bring this man to justice for what surely had to be the rape of a young girl.
Blood. Terror. Struggle to control the newly reborn demons within. Nothing really came of this. Or maybe a lot came of it. Hard to say now.
I was in an elevator with a boy I’ve always found tremendously attractive. We only needed to go to the fourth floor or so, but the digital output of the elevator stated our destination as 26. I played along with this, flirting heavily and rubbing up against him when it seemed appropriate. The elevator jerked periodically, in a way that felt much more like a subway car than your standard issue elevator. At some point late in the journey, the sensation changed from a straight upward motion to an up-and-over motion, as the elevator changed tracks and followed a curve while still rising higher in the building. There was a distinct sense of deja vu, and I felt fairly certain what I would see when the journey came to an end. Alas, not enough time to try to talk my elevator companion into a quickie, and I wasn’t confident that the elevator could handle being stopped.
When the doors opened it was on to other things. I stood beside a table of people in suits, loudly proclaiming how much I missed working with the model at the far end of the room. Oh he had been such a delight to work with, so much fun, so understanding. A purse with a colorful floral pattern caught my eye and I began to rifle through it, looking for identification to see who it belonged to, since it looked familiar. Inside was an address book I have not used since my freshman year of high school, leading me to think that this was perhaps my purse. I was not convinced and continued to paw through it, to no avail.
A woman with a flyer in her hand stopped me on the street and asked if the person metioned in a poorly photocopied ad was me. Well yes, it was. An amaturish ad for eyebrow tweezing and graphic design which distinctly mentioned me. I clarified to her that a dear friend of mine (the model mentioned before) that I used to do work for had put that together, trying to help me get business. Of course I don’t really do eyebrow tweezing, but I am pretty good at graphic design, so do keep in touch. The woman seemed suddenly repulsed and unimpressed, despite the fact that she had approached me about the ad, and wandered off.
Fortunately I ran into that model friend of mine after I got off the elevator. I tried to talk to him about the flyer but he was too busy for me.
The room was sterotypically dark. A long table lit by one or two overhead lamps with green cones that didn’t really serve to diffuse the glare of the bare bulb. A long, plain table at which three people sat, doing coke and looking bored. They barely talked. Time flashed forward in little fits and spurts, and the baggies got less fun, but the people no more animated than before. It struck me as wrong, but I was only an observer in this case.
Cue the naked girl wrapped up in plastic, more like an impossible collection of plastic bags. The bag over her head simultaneously covered her head, but was open at the front, the blue and yellow (make green!) top portion of the bag left open in front of her face to allow her to breathe, and to allow the three from the previous scene to keep feeding her drugs. Whatever it was, she was out cold most of the time. White pills and white powders floated in and out of view during all this. At one point, Bag Girl came to and saw the dashing male model. Recognizing him, she begged for his help, struggling in her plastic prison with the energy that hope provided her. A spoon filled with a pink substance that looked remarkably like Pepto Bismol came into view and seemed to slosh around in slow motion. This substance was meant for her and was given to her. Bag Girl blinked stupidly and blacked out.
Apropos of nothing, three older men dressed like greek gods stood about, discussing their power. When the insense power of the sun was brought into the conversation, sun screen was splashed haphazardly onto two of the three men. This was fortunate, because the clouds opened up and as the sun shone on the three, all the skin which had not been coated with sunscreen split and ruptured violently. They screamed like mighty warriors.
The last part is now the fuzziest, although it inspired me to make sure I wrote this all down in the first place. I should spend less time on exposition and make sure I get the base notes down first. Once I’ve written out the basics of a dream, I can typically remember most of it with ease. So now I give you loose snippets and notes of what I dreamt just before I awoke.
giant insects.
Green and almost puppet-like or cartoony in nature.
giant insects that fuse with and incubate in people.
people totally cool with it until bugs burst out of their bodies.
then they just die in a flood of green gunk.
Somehow it all tied in with the three drug-doing people and Bag Girl.
