Doom Dreams

[Drunk Monk]

... and Cole is there. It's a small kitchen table, like something I might have partied around in high school or college. There are a few people there - Cole is definitely there although I can't see him. I get this very palpable sensating of being stoned, very odd for my dreamstate, very euphoric - I wish I could recreate that sensation regularly in my dreamtime. I'm laughing really hard and I lean back and hit my head on something, something that leaves a huge dent. It doesn't hurt. It's very funny to me. The strangest thing was the high feeling in the dream - it was so convincing. I can't remember feeling so high in a dream before, except when I actually was high.

[Drunk Monk]

I've been working on the Reggae on the River crew for 2006 in my conscious state, so it's really been on my mind lately and I've had a few dreams about it, mostly anxiety because I have to be responsible for my crew. It's just like Capt. Kirk and a squad of redshirts sometimes. Anyway, LB has been one of my trusted accomplices in this venture so for him to enter one of the RotR anxiety dreams seems natural.

We're at the new site and looking at our geodesic dome. They've added a parachure tent canopy behind it and we're pretty happy about that. We decide that we should set our tents up under it. Suddenly the parachute spontaneously bursts into flame. LB is underneath and because he's so tall, it spreads to him immediately. The rest of us escape quickly and the flaming parachute burns up in an instant, leaving a flaming LB running about madly. We all yell 'tuck and roll! tuck and roll!' but there's something comical about a flaming LB in a slapstick looney toons sort of way and before we know it, we're all doubled over with laughter. LB is still on fire, but he begins to see the humor in it and starts doing this funny little dance. That fans the flames, but his skin doesn't seem to be burning, so we all start clapping along to encourage him. I think to myself 'this isn't right'. Eventually he crumples and the flames die out. For a moment, there's silence. Then some one turns to me and asks in a bored tone 'so now what?'

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

Should have used the butt plug

[cranefly]

I’m back in Indiana driving around. There’s two people with me. One might be Lady Cranefly, but this never resolves. I realize I’m driving past Steve’s place. I used to hang out with Steve a lot. We were both crazy about airplanes, radio-controlled ones. His dad was the master, always building something new, and eventually he went full-scale, refurbishing two old planes that he kept in a large barn out back.

I took my first plane ride out of their front yard. That’s right. A residential neighborhood, and Steve’s dad is taking off out of the front yard. You had to wonder if the neighbors ever complained, because he’d go low over their lawns while gaining air.

About a year ago Steve’s mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. A week later she died. Yep, that sudden. Due to the family history, the doctor ordered the kids in for tests. Steve came up positive. I heard about this from my mom. During a trip back there last year, I thought about trying to track him down, see how he was doing. But I never did.

Anyway, that’s all backfill -- to give the dream its context.

So I’m driving past, and when I realize it’s Steve’s place (actually his parents), I just have to stop. For some reason there’s no place in the driveway to park, and I end up driving far back into a housing development looking for a parking spot. I finally park in someone’s lawn, because I don’t expect we’ll be staying long.

The three of us go up to the house, and Steve appears out of the back yard. He’s thin, but he’s always been thin, and he’s got hair. Yet his hair is a lot different, like he’s been sick. He welcomes us inside, and the two people I’m with start chatting with him. Me, I’m struggling to figure out what to say. Steve busies himself with stuff while my friends talk to him. He’s got stuff to finish in what time he has left, it seems. I wonder if we’re just getting in the way. But he’s smiling a lot and seems totally relaxed with us.

Then I remember my car. We’ve stayed longer than I thought. I need to move it out of that yard. I go outside and see flashing lights on the main road. Something is going on. Someone calls my name. I look around and spot Janet in the distance. She was in my high school class. She’s cupping a cell phone while calling to me, “Gary, what do I dial for long distance?” I’m thinking it must be a 1, but someone else tells her 260 or something like that, and then she’s busy making the call. I look aside and see a glowing house surrounded by fire trucks and lots of commotion.

I go back in the house. My friends are still talking with Steve. I still don’t know what to say. Suddenly I realize I’ve turned on the TV and I’m flipping channels. How rude can I be! I quickly down the volume on the remote, then decide I really should shut the TV off. But when I click the power-off button, nothing happens. No problem. I’ll just turn the TV off directly. But as I make my way towards the TV, I step on something. It’s some clear plastic tubing. I recognize it from when my dad was all tubed up near the end, providing a steady supply of morphine for the cancer in his bones. Back then, a nurse had made a terrible terrible blunder, clamping off the tube while replacing the morphine, but forgetting to unclamp it (the clamp was hidden under a stand). My dad thrashed around for a week, which the doctors explained as a sign of the end. But it wasn’t. It was morphine withdrawal. My sister finally discovered the clamp, and when it was removed, my dad came back to life and lived another month.

Realizing I’m partially standing on the tube, I jump back. He’s wired up with lots of tubes. They’re all over the room. I feel more and more like I’m in the way, that I’m not being helpful at all, and I still don’t know what to say. Then I remember the car again.

I go outside and realize I’m barefooted. But I don’t want to go back inside for my shoes. The path back into the housing development to my car is asphalt with sharp stones; but I convince myself I can walk it.

As I start walking, I wake up.

As far as I can recall, I never said a word.

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

What are you people eating before bedtime? Freakin' 'shrooms or somethin'? Are you all gargling with absinthe right before beddy-bye? Free-basing before night-night? Why can't you all have normal, American, God-fearing dreams about, you know, stuff, and not all this weird "look at me, I'm really deep and all Jungian" crap! Jumpin' jesus on a freakin' pogostick, people! Just have some normal goddam dreams, you drugged-out hippy freaks!!!!

[cranefly]

I'm going to bed now.
I'm going to try to dream about Madonna. That would be okay, wouldn't it?
Or maybe an orphan assassiness. I wouldn't mind that either.
Both would be even better.
Please don't let Dennis Rodman show up again - unless that's who the assassiness assassinates.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

The old broad?

Do you remember when she use to be really sexy and provocative?

I don't either

[Drunk Monk]

What are you people eating before bedtime? Freakin' 'shrooms or somethin'? Are you all gargling with absinthe right before beddy-bye? Free-basing before night-night?

We don't do that before bedtime. We do that when we rise. mt030

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

There is a new little store next to AFS (The Sword Shop in SF where DM used to craft tire-irons...

And this new little shop is a Beer Tasting Bar!!!!! Great, great selection of bottled beers + a few on tap. The guy used to work for Pete's Wicked Ale and really knows his stuff. Next DOOM event should be up here, maybe...?

[Drunk Monk]

AFS must be in heaven. There is a Valhalla! Huzzah!

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

every single day!!!!!

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

I thought it was Beer o'clock every day already at AFS.

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

It is "Crack-o'clock" every day

PPFY

aka: Zatoyeti

[Drunk Monk]

It's the same for Greg when he bends over at work. bwahahahahaha! aaaah, I kill myself.

PPFY for 2006 - just say no to Zatoyeti!

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

I would really like to say good by to ZatoYeti. My local Mac-spert and friend is gone this week and next, so hopefully, I can get some solution to the "Blind Typist" syndrome when he returns.

PPFY, ZY