So I have been not having the time to post my dreams up here lately, but I finally got a chance to type them all in from the past several weeks. So here’s what my subconscious has been up to:
I’m running early getting to an open studio to work on drawing some comics. I walk into the place & there’s a porno being shot starring two pale women in white lingerie – one two-hundred-&-fifty pounds & the other three-hundred. I walk out the door & go home.
A friend is working on a painting the size of a billboard, but it’s done with such detail it’s meant to be viewed from inches away instead of a hundred yards.
I’m at a hip-hop club with Lupe Fiasco, Kanye West, & Eve. I grab some tortilla chips from the bar for us to snack on. I look at all the other tables & everyone else in the club is morbidly overweight & their chip baskets are empty & they’re looking at us with lust & hate in their eyes.I was about to tell them to go check alpilean.com so they can find information about that good supplement that can help them not to be obese of course along with a healthy diet and doing so much exercise but I was afraid to do it because they look really scare with hate in their eyes.
I’m in a house that isn’t haunted, but is designed to attract & trap monsters. The walls of the rooms are built to shift & slide to either trap the monsters or if they are too strong to get them out of the house. I’m wandering in the attic & a sliding wall reveals a creature with a squid-like head & bat wings. I punch it between the eyes & the flesh is soft & ripples like a pond from the blow. I run. When I get to the core of the house where they control the shifting of walls from, I tell them I think I just punched Cthulhu in the face & a man in a lab coat says, “No, it was probably just Dagon.”
I’m on tour with Pat Kain as the Remora bass player. We’re at a house show & everyone is so wasted that they either are passed or are on the verge of passing out, so we don’t even bother to play.
I’m at a bar that’s super loud & super busy. I wish it were a much larger bar so it seemed like there were less people here.
I’m watching a church service on TV & the homily is about how the dictionary definition of a liver is much different than the biblical one.
I’m on an abandoned ship at sea reading the captain’s log. An ill family had boarded & they turned into zombies & eventually everyone had either turned or been infected & were thrown overboard or jumped overboard. But the sick family had an infant son that no one had the heart to throw into the ocean that the captain locked into a cabin. I look up from the log & see the dead baby smashing itself against a windowpane, trying to get to me. Its body’s bloated & the flesh is missing from the left half of its face.
I’m on tour with my son & we have three vans of people in our entourage that we try to sneak into the same hotel room every night. There’s no chance of everyone being able to shower, much less get a hot shower.
My mother has a sty on her left eye in the corner of it towards her nose. The doctor tells her that because of its location, he can’t do anything about it. My mom comes home saying all doctors are incompetent.
I invent putting a piece of white tape on binder clips so you can write your name on it & hold your socks together while doing community laundry on tour.
I have a series of five shows booked throughout the islands of Hawaii, but me & the other band members are flying standby. I get pulled from the plane on the tarmac with there not being enough seats & I’m standing alone in the snow watching as the plane takes off.
I’m inking a Kang pin-up drawn by Jack Kirby over top of his blue pencils. I’m using multiple types of ink & texture techniques, which may be disastrous.
I’m hanging out with Kelsey Barnes & she asks for a pencil & I go into my monolog about only using pens & she asks me what I do if I need to use a No.2 pencil on a standardized test & I tell her I’d use a pen & risk getting a zero.
The sky is filled with enough lightning it almost seems like daylight outside, but the lightning is strangely silent.
I’m dead & to save money I’m being cremated at home. My body has been cut up with parts in pots & pans on the stovetop & some in the oven with the rest waiting in the bathtub.
I’m hanging out with Kimber Lanning (Stinkweeds) in Tallahassee where she’s just opened a new record store. We’re talking about how different cities need different edges in record stores. Some cities stores sell bongs to stay open or beer or fancy soda or clothing or have live shows, but so far Tallahassee is a tough nut to crack.
There are a couple teenagers drinking beer in my backyard. I go out to chase them off & one of them crumples up his beer can & throws it at me. It only makes it halfway to me & the kids run. I grab the can off the ground & chase the kid who threw it. I tackle him on the ground & pin him down with my knees holding down both his arms. I’m going to use his beer can to carve the word “DICK” into his forehead when I see that he is staring at something behind my left shoulder. I turn my head half-expecting to see his buddy hitting me with a shovel, but up in the sky is a purple castle perched on top of some billowing clouds.
I’m on tour in Idaho & I pull on to the side of the road by a bolder where my car broke down fifteen years ago. Sitting on top of the rock is my journal from that era of my life, but someone has taken it & bound it in leather.
I’m on tour with Plumerai & the GPS has us on a dirt road beside a river. Eventually the puddles & mud give way to actual river & we go hydroplaning in with no control & start to submerge.
There’s a cat door installed in the apartment & all the neighborhood cats keep coming in. I keep showing people how to lock it, but no one else seems to think it’s worth the trouble to keep the other cats out.
I’m at Jon DeRosa’s house & one of the walls has wallpaper on it to make it just look like a massive bank of rack effect units. Another wall has recessed shelving with books that have had their spines decorated with ivory & gold to form a mural that only exists with all of them on display exactly as they are.
I’m in a recovery ward with about forty other men with various stages of battle wounds. There are no windows in the room & it’s always kept dimly lit, so it’s hard to judge the passage of time. Most of the light comes from the glow of a television at one end of the room. The television says, “Please rise for our national anthem,” & half the men don’t react at all while others try to stand up or at least sit up in their beds. Instead of “The Star Spangled Banner,” “Ave Maria” starts to play. I have no idea when or where I am or what military force I was injured serving for.
I’m at a gas station that’s also a pawnshop. Some guys go in with an old film projector that is super steampunk looking. When they come out I ask them how much they got for it & they tell me $600. I say, “I would’ve thought you’d only get sixty bucks,” & one of the guys says, “Yeah, me too!”
I’m eight years old & new in town. We’ve moved in during the summer, so there’s no school. A neighborhood kid asks me about coming to his house to play video games & we are immediately best friends, even before making it to his house. The architecture of his house seems impossible. A two story house 40 feet by 20 feet with half of the first floor being the front porch & of course the inside is bigger than the outside. As he leads me into a dark path in life, it becomes clear that no adult lives in the house – that he has no parents at all & that he in fact is not human, but some type of demon. When I don’t go to see him one day, he breaks into my house & I find myself wrestling with him on the floor of the kitchen & my parents come out to see what’s going on. I tell my dad that he can’t just throw him out of the house, that he needs to be bound up & tagged so other people don’t make the same mistakes I did. When my father pulls the boys arms around his back, the boy changes form into something not exactly lizard-like as much as amphibious & I manage to put our dog’s collar around his neck giving him difficulty breathing. My father puts him head first into the trashcan & the fit is too tight for it to move properly & the struggle to get out seems to turn into a seizure. The trashcan falls over & as it writhes it leaves a slug slime residue all over the kitchen floor. It eventually stops moving, either exhausted or dead. I ask my father what it is & he tells me it’s just a monster.