I've always been a fan of dreams. I don't look too much into it really, I'm just constantly amazed at what my brain (And other brains,of course but they're of an obviously inferior quality) can conjure up. In a way, dreams make us all storytellers of the finest stock, regardless of whether we actually know how to convey it.
However (Yes, yes, there is always a however), there are times when a dream takes a form which is almost tangible and it impedes on daily life. Normally, I, who don't exactly have the sort of daily life that can be impeded upon, will not be bothered by this, in fact I relish it but there are times when I am made painfully aware of the downside to being a heavy dreamer.
(On that note, has anybody else watched the movie 'The Dreamers'? Mother of fucking incest, eh?)
I had a dream where I worked in Penang. It was very clear, I stayed at the Penang house alone, went about my business and acted like a general cunt who do not have time for other people. Somehow or rather, while I was minding my own fucking business, I became acquainted with this girl who was still studying. I remember her so clearly; something that is odd because the people in my dreams are usually physically incomplete. What I mean is that my dreams have always focused on the character of the person rather than their looks, they have the normal features of a human being but nothing ever so specific. I digress.
So I became friends (That might be too strong of a word) with this girl. She had long curly hair that extended to the level of her back, face pale as the moon, eyes always skeptical, lips thin and condescending and she dressed in a manner that told everyone she did not give half a flying fuck to what they thought about her. In short: Not exactly attractive. Intriguing more like.
Somehow she seduced me. Now, this might seem like a very foolish thing to say but that was what happened. In my dream, I had become what I've always feared: Alone for too long to the point where I no longer knew how to talk to people. No, I do not mean it in the deplorable 'Tumblr' way where preferring to stay at home becomes a basis of mental disorder. The me in my dreams had zero social skills. Went to work (No idea what I did, I believe it was business), came home and that was it. I realise that this becomes a problem due to the gaping plot hole on how I became friends with this woman in the first place but let's put that aside for now.
Where was I? Ah yes, she seduced me. She got me into bed (Quite literally), we had a quick tumble and then she told me to fuck right out of her room. So I was left butt naked outside of her room, trying to figure out what the hell happened. It was like the scene in 'Trainspotting' only I wasn't Scottish, was not a heroin addict (I think?) and she happened to be legal (I hope).
From that moment on, the dream consisted of her playing borderline cruel tricks on me. She forced me to walk home from her place and woe be upon fucking me; I seem to not have a bloody car in my dream. And the worst part: I did as she told me. I walked half of Penang to get home and just when I was about to reach my house, she pulls up on the side of the road and told me rather casually that if I had put up a fight, she would've sent me home.
Being the social retard that I am in the dream, I somehow took this as how normal people interact. Then, somehow, I came to the acute realisation that we had become lovers, regardless of the mistress-slave relationship that we had. The best part: It was obvious that this demonic being that plagues my existence also loved me, even though she's a budding sadist.
One night, she told (Ordered) me to meet her at Gurney Drive and I duly obeyed. She sent her group of harpies (I believe they were her friends) in a little fucking Kelisa to pick me up (Seriously, why the fuck do I not have a car?!) and before I could enter the car, they demanded that I dress up in something fancier. Those giggling little bitches, if I could set the whole lot of them on fire at no risk of retribution (I forgot that this was a dream) I would have. So I went in and out of the house, each time coming out in something straight out of a fucking disney movie. Then at one point, I felt so tired, I slept. I woke up in the real world and the first thought I had was one of crippling fear. I have stood up the mother of Satan herself and I feared for my fucking life. Then I did a reality check and realised that I was no longer dreaming and I thanked the heavens for sparing me.
Right. That was the dream. Now comes the part where it fucked up my life.
I had to go to the supermarket to buy some chicken. So I washed my face, did the usual things people do when they wake up and I set out. Immediately after leaving my house, I remembered the dream and the scourge of the earth I called a lover and I could not help but smile and chuckle a little. I do not naturally chuckle so the sound that came out was probably the sound of a rhino being slaughtered. As if this was some sort of fucking film, this girl came out from the corner and thought that I was doing the whole chuckle/grunt thing at her and well... The trip down the elevator was not a comfortable one.
Cursing myself, I walked towards the supermarket, got my shit and was waiting in line (There wasn't actually a line, let's call it the Egyptian way of queuing) when I thought about the she-leviathan reborn and I smiled again. Somehow, this old lady who happened to be standing beside me took that as a sign of extreme friendliness on my part and she began to talk to me about fucking cheese. How it never really expired and some sort of other cheese related trivia that my brain filtered out.
At the end of it all, what I'm trying to convey is that these illusions are somewhat dangerous. I'm going to be honest in saying that I was blissfully happy in the dream. It didn't matter that I was dating the spawn of Yog Sothoth, there was an undeniable electricity in our relationship, a twisted form of affection that was very subtle. The problem is that there are people who cannot differentiate between that and reality. I probably can't either, living in fantasy has been the way I find escape.
Strange how my escape consists of being enslaved by some woman. This would make Freud jizz his pants for sure.
I was happy, you know. When I woke up, the little dying emo part of me was like 'I need to get 80 benzo pills so that I can be with her!' and while it's a funny sentiment, it's not very healthy.
I've lost the will to write for some reason, probably because Cromok's discography is distracting me.
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