"Get back in here and get to bed."

"How about you come to bed with me."

"But your sick."

"Not that sick."

Robert Redford and Jane Fonda, Bare Foot in the Park

Ok, so I had a bit of a strange dream the other night that I'm going to share with you. Now, Gawain and another friend of mine called the Ghost Lord have refused to hear my dreams anymore, and I quote Gawain....

yeah, me and Ghost Lord both decided your dreams are like some kind of strange mirror into insanity.

You know, if he keeps telling me shit like this and calling me a psycho, along with a bunch of other people. I might just have to start taking this shit seriously and try and get some help for myself.......heh heh naaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Well, the dream starts off in a preaty normal looking upstairs apartment in a two apartment house. Not very big, in fact the living room acts also as the bedroom. Which doesn't make much sense cause the next room over is a dinning/sitting room. But lets not argue lagistics here. Now everything starts out preaty normal, tell I get a wee bit to curious and start fiddling with all the nic nacs on his shelf. I remember distinctly lifting the lid off this old fashion sterling silver coffee pot which opened up this secret compartment in the shelves. Inside was weapon after weapon stacked in heaps in there. Thats about when I realized shit was about to go down. I'm preaty freaked about seein all these weapons, but a couple friends of mine totally flip out and lock themselves in the bathroom leaving me out in the dinning/sitting room alone with this guy.

Ungratefull bastards....

So this guy, who's face was never clear to me but I could distinctly see he had long dirty blonde hair, proceds to stap me in my left shoulder. I remember starring down at this thin slit with a tiny trickle of blood running out and panicking. "Did he stab me in the heart?? Oh don't tell me he hit my heart??" Heart?? Jeez, as you can see I was not very good at biology if in my dreams I'm thinking my heart is in my left shoulder. Then I started thinking how strange that there was very little blood when the pain shot right through me. Damn I can tell yeah that hurt like a mofo, enough to make me think it was a lethal hit. Now I don't get how I can feel shit in dreams, but on a occasion I do and this was a preaty nasty pain I will tell you. Well despite the pain, I had about as much as I can stand of this bitch boy. So jump into his collection of weapons and pick out one of dozens of Katanas sitting there. I turn around to take him out myself.

Thats when my dream flashed to my two friends in the bathroom. They end up finding a big messy pile of dead bodies in the shower. I'm preaty amazed at how bright the blood looks in contrast of the all white bathroom. Thankfully my dream vision didn't pan down to get a good look at the pile of bodies. I'm preaty sure it was preaty nasty judging by all the blood and my friends puking at the sight of it.

Now I flash back to me in the dream, standing there holding a katana in my hand, sort of dazed by my little mind's eye jaunt to the bathroom. I look up and the killer is standing there with the nastiest weapon I have ever seen. A long pole with wickedly curved blade after wickedly curved blade on each end. And he is looking at me with the most wicked grin on his face, though the grin was clear as day to me, I still couldn't really identify his face. I frantically start whiping the katana around, trying desperately to keep all those wickedly curved blades away from me. Every time the katana I was holding came in contact of his weapon, big chuncks of his weapon went flying everywhere. Finally I knock the weapon out of his hand and have him at my mercy. Thats when I decide that killing him would be in my best interests. So I get him to kneel down in front of me and lean over so the only thing I can see is the back of his dirty blonde head. I try desperately to chop his head off, but all the swords are so dull, they can't even to seem to cut him. In my frustration, the killer starts laughing evily at me. So I run back to his little cubby hole of weapons-o-plenty and grab me this big ass bowie knife. I then leap at him and stab him twice with the knife, astonished that it only left to slits in his chest, like the one in my shoulder, with barely any blood. I know he is dead, but it just doesn't seem like I did enough. As he lays sprawled out dead on his bed, I realize this guy is part of some large organization of killers. I just know since I killed him there going to hunt me down.

Yeah I know, preaty violent, and doesn't make much sense... but my dreams never seem to make much sense anyway.

As I'm standing there freaked out, I hear foot steps in the hallway outside the apartment. So I run back to the cubby hole and grab another bowie knife, then stand there holding it ready to through at whoever is coming through the door. The door finally opens, and in walks this little old woman who just stands there and does nothing. Doesn't freak about the dead guy on the bed a few feet away, or me standing there ready to through a bowie knife at her. I know, just outside that door stands one of the men part of this organization of killers, and this is a trap.

I must be freaking psychic in my dreams, cause I seem to know a lot of things in dreams that I shouldn't know.

Now the only thing to do is try and escape this apartment with my friends. So I look out the front windows, and standing all around the house is all these memembers of this organization. I don't know if they had leprosy or really bad achne, but all of there faces where preaty fucked up looking. Then I see my only salvation, a yellow school bus full of children who look like there part of a traveling circus. Some how my friends are already safe on the bus, but I still have to get on. So, katana in hand, I bust through the window screen and come crashing down in to the ground below. All goes dark as I feel my body jar from the crash landing...then I wake up wondering what the fuck that was all about.

Strange thing is, this has been my most violent dream I can remember, but nowhere near the creapest dream I ever have. Maybe someday I will talk about that dream, if you all can handle what my mind can conjure up in my dreams that is heh heh...

Well, I want to try a little experiment here and I need all your help. I want to get an idea how many readers I have out there, cause writting this shit and not having readers has to be the online equivelent of talking and answering yourself. So, if you have a few minutes, sign my guest book, and I don't care what yeah write about in it. Be it telling me how fucked in the head I am *get that a lot*, to how your meal had some funky after taste , to pledging your undying love to me heh heh .....

LATER

It's about time - Wednesday, Jul. 07, 2004
An Honor for Chrome - Friday, Feb. 20, 2004
A great loss - Monday, Oct. 20, 2003
a terrible announcement. - Tuesday, Sept. 09, 2003
Chrome speaks: - Friday, Sept. 05, 2003