This is a dream I had last night. I was going to post 'A Very Whiteman Christmas (aka All People from Long Island are Scumbags)' last night, but it ended up being a little too decadent for popular consumption. At the point I was at in the story, it had devolved into a cautionary tale about being careful using Rophynol. At one point, I yell at a potentially sexually abused person because they upset my chess board in the middle of a quite brilliant dismantling of a well-played Caro-Kann defense. I underestimated my opponent there. Ergh, anyway, this is kind of long, and I sort of gave up at the end because I don't even expect anyone to read that far. Environment-based bits are hardly my strong point. There is a little ending bit, though.
Don't bitch if it's too long. I warned you.
A dream (long)
It started out in a classroom type of room, with a few end-to-end set-up tables. One friend was there, along with a dozen or so strangers, all seated in folding chairs. The walls were dirty, but white, and overhead a dying fluorescent light revealed blank, bored faces and cracked floor tiles, unswept and breaking apart into a cracked and broken squared grid. No one was saying anything. I kept twitching, looking around, the only one doing any moving. No paper, pens, or books adorned the table. An almost empty pushpin board on the front facing wall was the only other decoration. I pulled the lone object, a single pin, from it, and sat back down. I idly looked at my left knuckle, and starting lightly pushing the pin through my skin and into the upper regions of my left index finger. No reaction. No blood. I could feel the pin inside me, and I couldnt get it out.
I stood and walked out a door in the corner of the room. The rest of the building was akin to a 70s brown shopping mall, abandoned and empty. Dead modern fountains marked the center of the wide walkway, but no doors or openings were immediately evident. A draft of unknown origins swirled about my head, making the echo of my lonely steps move around me in a Doppler-like fashion. My hands felt cold and stiff, as if they had just been submerged in freezing water. Their movement was restricted as though I was wearing a pair of tight leather gloves. Frantically, my head and eyes mapped every area I passed, and my eyes were over my shoulder every 30 seconds, looking for signs of anything, but no movement existed for them to track. I was alone and nervous. Moving forward, the floor forked into a pair of walkways overlooking another floor below it, dark, but with enough light to make out a dark floor with a bizarre landscape painted in gaudy, florescent greens, blues, and oranges. Indistinct, but a landscape featuring rolling hills, trees, and water. A dull red fractal, or series of plants, was painted over the picture. Shadows waxed and ebbed on the borders of the bizarre picture.
It was a decimated room. Rotted walls lay gutted by moisture. The smell of mildew filled the air, and I kept my mouth closed for fear of nausea or sickness. It was brown and empty. I felt a wall, and immediately started punching it, breaking it apart. After hitting a stud with my hand, I switched to kicking and shouldering the wall, revealing wooden, cracked baseboards of layered plywood, with bright light faintly seeping through the horizontal spaces between the individual boards; light that would soon paint a pin-striped grid all over the room, illuminating the growing pile of debris I was creating. A couple friends eventually came and helped me out with my project. In a corner of the room, behind the last bit of rotted wall, I found an old and rusty safe, locked and unbreakable.
I left the building to find a locksmith, or someone that could help. Outside the mall the area was similar to Wisconsin Ave. in Georgetown DC, a few blocks from where I used to live. The are remained as I last saw it several years ago, when the roads, streets, and pavements were torn up to install fiberoptic cables. Everything was deserted, and the sky shown down grey, making the time of day completely indistinct.
I found a locksmiths shop, in a building eerily set up like the bookshop I used to work at in Georgetown. The locksmith showed me a photo, indicating that this was something he was afraid of. The photo showed a room similar to the one I had come from. The picture was old, black and white, and fading, so I couldnt figure out exactly how similar my location happened to be. There were some basic differences anyway. I didnt tell him my concern over the similarity about his fear and the task at hand, and I got him to come with me.
My friends had left in the meantime. The locksmith refused to enter the room when he saw its condition. I grabbed him and tried to pull him in by the his shirt, causing him to get all hysterical. Letting go, he ran down the balcony, towards the entrance we had come in. Frustrated, I saw no one else around to help me. I left through a nearby fire exit. The exit opened up to a long white hallway, unlit but bright and plain white on all sides, floors and ceilings. Completely smooth and perfect.
Coming to a white door at the other end, I took one last look over my shoulder and gave the door a frustrated kick. It opened to a wooden deck, similar to something youd find attached to an old cabin in the woods. Skies were overcast. The deck overlooked a hilly decline, flooded with trees whose boughs formed a delicate overlapping net holding up heavy, wet snow endangering a cobblestone , crooked path that twisted down the hill, ending at a shaky wooden dock on the bank of a lake, where thin ice sheets played a scale model game of plate tectonics. A light breeze threatened the nature of the branchy barricade protecting that path. The only movement in this world seemed to be a flock of birds circling overhead in a mathematically sound mandala pattern. All was silent, save the breeze. After all the shoulder looking in the previous scenes, I felt calm and melancholy. I wouldve liked to stay there to explore those woods and that water, but I woke up.
Actually, theres a bit more to this, but I realize Im probably droning on to myself at this point.
Don't bitch if it's too long. I warned you.
A dream (long)
It started out in a classroom type of room, with a few end-to-end set-up tables. One friend was there, along with a dozen or so strangers, all seated in folding chairs. The walls were dirty, but white, and overhead a dying fluorescent light revealed blank, bored faces and cracked floor tiles, unswept and breaking apart into a cracked and broken squared grid. No one was saying anything. I kept twitching, looking around, the only one doing any moving. No paper, pens, or books adorned the table. An almost empty pushpin board on the front facing wall was the only other decoration. I pulled the lone object, a single pin, from it, and sat back down. I idly looked at my left knuckle, and starting lightly pushing the pin through my skin and into the upper regions of my left index finger. No reaction. No blood. I could feel the pin inside me, and I couldnt get it out.
I stood and walked out a door in the corner of the room. The rest of the building was akin to a 70s brown shopping mall, abandoned and empty. Dead modern fountains marked the center of the wide walkway, but no doors or openings were immediately evident. A draft of unknown origins swirled about my head, making the echo of my lonely steps move around me in a Doppler-like fashion. My hands felt cold and stiff, as if they had just been submerged in freezing water. Their movement was restricted as though I was wearing a pair of tight leather gloves. Frantically, my head and eyes mapped every area I passed, and my eyes were over my shoulder every 30 seconds, looking for signs of anything, but no movement existed for them to track. I was alone and nervous. Moving forward, the floor forked into a pair of walkways overlooking another floor below it, dark, but with enough light to make out a dark floor with a bizarre landscape painted in gaudy, florescent greens, blues, and oranges. Indistinct, but a landscape featuring rolling hills, trees, and water. A dull red fractal, or series of plants, was painted over the picture. Shadows waxed and ebbed on the borders of the bizarre picture.
It was a decimated room. Rotted walls lay gutted by moisture. The smell of mildew filled the air, and I kept my mouth closed for fear of nausea or sickness. It was brown and empty. I felt a wall, and immediately started punching it, breaking it apart. After hitting a stud with my hand, I switched to kicking and shouldering the wall, revealing wooden, cracked baseboards of layered plywood, with bright light faintly seeping through the horizontal spaces between the individual boards; light that would soon paint a pin-striped grid all over the room, illuminating the growing pile of debris I was creating. A couple friends eventually came and helped me out with my project. In a corner of the room, behind the last bit of rotted wall, I found an old and rusty safe, locked and unbreakable.
I left the building to find a locksmith, or someone that could help. Outside the mall the area was similar to Wisconsin Ave. in Georgetown DC, a few blocks from where I used to live. The are remained as I last saw it several years ago, when the roads, streets, and pavements were torn up to install fiberoptic cables. Everything was deserted, and the sky shown down grey, making the time of day completely indistinct.
I found a locksmiths shop, in a building eerily set up like the bookshop I used to work at in Georgetown. The locksmith showed me a photo, indicating that this was something he was afraid of. The photo showed a room similar to the one I had come from. The picture was old, black and white, and fading, so I couldnt figure out exactly how similar my location happened to be. There were some basic differences anyway. I didnt tell him my concern over the similarity about his fear and the task at hand, and I got him to come with me.
My friends had left in the meantime. The locksmith refused to enter the room when he saw its condition. I grabbed him and tried to pull him in by the his shirt, causing him to get all hysterical. Letting go, he ran down the balcony, towards the entrance we had come in. Frustrated, I saw no one else around to help me. I left through a nearby fire exit. The exit opened up to a long white hallway, unlit but bright and plain white on all sides, floors and ceilings. Completely smooth and perfect.
Coming to a white door at the other end, I took one last look over my shoulder and gave the door a frustrated kick. It opened to a wooden deck, similar to something youd find attached to an old cabin in the woods. Skies were overcast. The deck overlooked a hilly decline, flooded with trees whose boughs formed a delicate overlapping net holding up heavy, wet snow endangering a cobblestone , crooked path that twisted down the hill, ending at a shaky wooden dock on the bank of a lake, where thin ice sheets played a scale model game of plate tectonics. A light breeze threatened the nature of the branchy barricade protecting that path. The only movement in this world seemed to be a flock of birds circling overhead in a mathematically sound mandala pattern. All was silent, save the breeze. After all the shoulder looking in the previous scenes, I felt calm and melancholy. I wouldve liked to stay there to explore those woods and that water, but I woke up.
Actually, theres a bit more to this, but I realize Im probably droning on to myself at this point.