So while homelessness is bad for my nightly sleeping allotment, it's been doing wonders for dreams. Maybe futon fibers are more conducive to a vivid subconscious. Maybe my brain is just trying to keep me from thinking about how very homeless I look, smell and feel. I don't know. I'm no Sigfried Ford. Nonetheless, here are three recent winners, presented in narrative form for your enjoyment.
Number One: "Miyazaki meets the Die Unendliche Geschichte"
I'm driving through the hills to my house in Hollister, only I'm not headed there like I'm coming from Santa Barbara. I live there. I realize I've taken a wrong turn when I come to a dead-end. It looks unfamiliar. I get out of the car to investigate, and as soon as I avert my attention, the car and the road vanish. Soon, I'm just standing in grass and hills under chilly blue sky.Your guess is as good as mine.
Soon, I realize that one hill in front of me is rising up from the rest — not suddenly, but just enough that I notice it. In an instant, I can see that this hill has eyes and big, broad grin, not unlike one you'd expect from a Muppet with an especially wide-set face. It sounds goofy to explain it now, I know, but it was scary at the time. For a lack of any better response to this hill monster, I ask it if it knows where I am.
"This is home, isn't it?"
It says that it's not. In fact, it's far from anywhere anybody has ever considered home. I should note that I don't remember the thing speaking or even moving its mouth, though I do remember this dialogue being important to the dream.
"Then I should leave?"
The hill explains that I'll be walking for a long time — and that I should take a shovel. It then promptly turns its head and begins moving away. I realize that the thing isn't fixed to the ground like a normal hill. It kind of swims around just beneath the surface of the ground, like a mouse moving beneath a piece of cloth or something. As I stand there and watch, the beneath-the-surface monster ripples across the ground, away from me.
Number Two: "Based on Actual Events"
I'm walking through campus, like I'm on my way to class again — late again, I feel like. I turn a corner and I pass these girls I saw at the bookstore a few days earlier. One of them shoots me a strange look as the other pulls her away.Less of a plot than the last one I know, but this is probably more accurate to what I actually dreamed. It's a snapshot, really, or maybe a series of three taken over a few seconds. For whatever reason, I remember it the way it was — without me having filled in the holes once I've awakened. Like the previous story, for example — I'd guess that I invented most of it immediately after the dream ended, as a means of making sense of otherwise meaningless images.
I really did see these girls a few days ago at the bookstore. They had boyish faces and the severely angled hairlines one associates either with lesbianism or the women artsy-cool enough to publicly flirt with it. When I had asked them if they need help, the shorter of the two told me no, yet the other girl kept making eye contact with me as we shadowed each other around the store. Eventually, they left, with the shorter one pulling the other by the arm.
Just before they hit the exit, the quiet girl looked back, right at me, and gave me a look I interpreted at direct, intentional and panicked. The image apparently lingered in my mind.
Number Three: "My Heavy Foot"
Some unknown accident has torn the skin on top of my right foot. When I examine the wound I realize that it hasn't bled. Beyond that, what's exposed inside is flat, metal and shiny. My foot would appear to be metal. I go to my friends — nameless, faceless youths instead of cameo appearances from long-forgotten one-time regulars — and they agree that I should indeed be concerned. I may, after all, be some kind of robot.And it's probably better I didn't try swimming with a metal foot, either.
Worried, I stumble away. Walking has become difficult with my new metal appendage, you see. Outside, I see that I'm apparently at the pool at some kind of mountain resort. My old roommate Cory is there, though he's younger than he was the day I met him.
"There's another pool underneath the cement," he tells me.
I lean over the edge of the pool to realize that the walls do not, in fact, meet at the lip of the pool edge. The water drains into this little space and goes into what clearly is a second, completely subterranean pool.
"I don't think I could fit in there," I say, referring to the narrow space.
I'm not looking for anyone to pick my dreams apart and use the pieces to build some character analysis. I just know that I had these dreams and my brain is holding on to them. Why should one thing linger when I can scarcely remember to take my vitamins in the morning? I suppose I'm not looking for an answer to that question either.
Here's a bonus: In my junior year of high school, I had a snapshot dream about a building made of wind. And not any natural-looking wind, either. The yellow, swirling kind of visible wind that you could imagine seeing in an old "He-Man" cartoon, with evenly shaped cyclones for towers. I can see it clearly now as I did six years ago.