sleep

Just One of Those Days?

Today is one of those days where I woke up and had so much to say and nothing to say at all. Confusing? Certainly. Annoying? Definitely. The actuality is not that I have nothing to say, rather the reality is that I am tired of shouting at the wind.

We all do that from time-to-time. Maybe that is a bit too general and assuming. That may even be a bit arrogant – assuming that I know that everyone spends time talking/shouting/yelling at the invisible energy that gently pushes the leaves and petals and plants or tears apart life in a dynamic show of Earth rage. I can afford that arrogance. Not only is the Foundation loaded like the diaper on a over-eating baby with diarrhea, but I am a narcissist (I think I may have said this a couple of times).

I had the dream again last night. The empty dream. My dreams typically start the same: a small figure in a blue dress with no facial features except for black eyes (yes, the iris and the sclera for you anatomy freaks) appearing on the silent, mouthless visage.  The figure dances and points to a hallway: a two-story, wide-fucking hallway that is lined with several doors. Some are simple wooden doors. Some are futuristic doors like those on the Enterprise (1701-D or E). Still others are secure, metal doors like bank vault doors or dungeon doors. Some are old-timey. This is what occurs in the beginning of the normal dreams. She points to the hallway, points to a door, and I go through the specified door and the night thoughts begin.

That is the norm for my nights. But not last night. Last night, the hallway was black. A faint, white light illuminated a single chair in the center of the hallway. A disembodied voice told me to sit. So, I sat. I sat in this chair under the white light like I was about to be interrogated by fiends while other fiends watched from the darkened perimeter (I could see no further than the circle of light illuminating the seat and myself). There was no music. The funny thing is that I did not notice that the music was missing right away, it was after I had been sitting and waiting in that chair for some time. So, I guess I really should say that I cannot remember whether there was music the whole time, music that stopped when I noticed there was no music, or if there was never any playing at all.

"I hear that song, too! I am in the darkness..."

“I hear that song, too! I am in the darkness…”

I sat. I sat. I sat some more. After a while, it seemed like I could hear murmurs coming from the dark surrounding my little light-patch. I yelled at the murmurs: “I can hear you out there!” No reply. I got angry. No, I got pissed. I started to walk to the darkness, but the light and the chair followed me, but not really followed me. I would say the experience was more like walking on a “moving sidewalk” in a direction opposite of that in which the sidewalk was moving. I walked, but got absolutely no where. Eventually, I decided that I had not been hearing anything and sat back down. All of that walking made my legs very tired. Painfully tired.

I sat. I sat. I sat some more. And this time, while I sat, I waited. I waited for quite some time before I stood up, announced that I was leaving, and started to head, well, I do not know where I was going to head. There were no doors. There was no light beyond the perimeter. The voice that told me to sit then asked me where I would go. The voice reminded me that all there was for me there was that circle, that chair, that darkness…the voice wanted to know where I thought I could go. I yelled that I did not know, and demanded to be let out of this dark, and increasingly foreboding place.

“For you, there is this circle. For you, there is this chair. Good luck finding a door…there is no more for you.”

Now shit got really creepy. For a moment, I could see everything. The doors, the hallway, the figure – everything. The figure usually danced, she was still and lying on the ground in the darkened circle. I called to her. She turned over and faced me. Her black eyes pits of nothing focussed on whatever and however they managed to focus on something. For a second, a black tear fell down her cheek. Then everything was gone. Except for the chair, the circle of light, and the blackness.

Since she is not on this iPad, here is what she would look like as me.

Since she is not on this iPad, here is what she would look like as me.

Since I knew there was something there, I ran for the darkness. Surely I could outrun this circle and chair and find my way out, or at least through a door with something behind it. Fuck me with a seven iron I would even settle for a nightmare that ended with me dying in the dream, and waking up dead in the morning. Okay, so I would not wake up dead, but you get what I am saying. I headed full-sprint toward the darkness and crashed into something. A wall, a barrier, a force field…a giant tree? I have no idea. But it hurt. Blood ran from my face and down my shirt. My nose was broken, teeth were smashed. It all healed as quickly as it began; the blood and mess of my clothes vanished.

Frustrated. Enraged. I sat down and put my head between my knees and tried to think. No thoughts would come. I looked up periodically to see if my Hell was gone. It was not over. It was only just beginning. Soon, many faces began to appear. All of them filled with hate and venom. All of them focusing hate and venom. Some of it at me, some of it at the circle, some of it at the darkness. All of it intense…and red.

Red! Something new (well, besides those horrid faces) and it was welcome. I began to feel a little less anxious, and then, just a quickly as it all appeared. It was all gone. I was standing in the white circle again. The chair was gone. There was only the light. A door appeared. Slap my ass and call me “French Patio,” there was a god damned door. I started toward the door. The voice spoke again, only it was from behind me:

“Through there is what is to come.”

I turned to the voice and saw that it was the figure speaking. Speaking through her no-mouth. I do not remember hearing her speak before. She did not dance. She turned and walked and sat in the chair. She and her chair and her circle of light vanished. I was left with the door. I opened the door and was greeted by nothing. More darkness. I entered the darkness and opened my eyes. I was now looking at the ceiling in my darkened bedroom, my alarm ringing in my ears.

I got out of bed and headed down for a smoke and some coffee (I did remember to set the auto-brew before I turned in last night). I walked to the window. The dark Samurai City morning peppered with cold air and snow flurries. It is still snowing. It will keep snowing. I noticed that I had not turned on the lights. I was standing and looking out into the pepper-colored morning and sipped my coffee. I heard the voice in the back of my head; so loud that it felt like it was in the room with me. I turned and saw no one. The voice was there and clear as water:

“…there is no more for you.”

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Can’t Sleep, Brain Will Eat Me

The dream is always the same. It starts with an interesting night with wonderful company that eventually turns into naked people, pornography on the television, and crazy sexual antics. After the guests have passed out, the night ends with me going up to my room and leaving the arriving morning staff to remove the guests from the grounds…after a nice breakfast and apologies for “Mr. Rothechilde was called into the Thunderdome this morning and regrets that he was not here to see you on your way.” When I get to my room, I discover that a couple of guests had decided to explore the house, found my room, and proceeded to have their own grand old time.

They are sexy, and invite me to join the fun (which amuses me since it is my room and the only reason I had not gone nuts and started shooting at them or something was because they invited me to join before I could grab the Sig hidden on the bookshelf behind me), and I join them in the bed

Strangely, I am not disturbed by their lack of facial features.

One of them notices the collection of cuffs and collars and whatnot hanging on the far wall and goes to retrieve a set of leather wrist restraints. I am asked if I wanted to be restrained; I said that is not typically my role.

Strangely, I consent.

After I am secured to the bed, helplessly bound by my own devices. One of them pulls out a long knife and stabs me in the chest.

This is when the dream leaves and I am suddenly awake. Shaking like Charo’s tits at a hoochie coochie bonanza, and drenched in cold sweat. Now, I am remembering the lack of faces and get even more disturbed.

I wander downstairs to shake off the ickies, and wonder how long this dream is going to be a part of my now horribly non-circadian sleep cycle (no, that is not a thing, but it felt good to write) while chain smoking and sucking down absinthe and listening to the television in the background drone on with Sanjay Gupta talking about eating a dish that seemed to consist only of animal penises. He asked if he wanted tiger penis, would they have it. Apparently, the lamb balls and dog penis are not enough critter dick to sate his appetite.

Normally, I do not have nightmares, and when I do, they tend to involve judges and lawyers, or hippies, or having to buy clothes off of the rack. But this is weird. It has made me so paranoid that I may even be starting to fear trying to go to sleep. Instead of getting a little rest, here I am typing away (which feels good since I have had a block on writing for so long). Typing away and not even sure that I am making much sense. Really, this all sounded great in my head, but seeing it printed is not really pumping my nads.

Common sense is telling me that this must mean that I am pretty tired; I mean my title even has a fucking contraction in it, and I am too lazy to change it (or I may like the title, which probably means that I am pretty tired). Hell, I am even feeling too lazy to make sure that my tags are in alphabetical order; I think WordPress does that when the blog is published, but I am not certain at the moment, and have no desire to go and double-check.

This is dangerous. Is my anxiety regarding this dream actually trumping my OCD? Where the Hell is my ADHD during these dreams?! I mean, it would seem that I would get as distracted by the faceless fuckers (pun intended) that were trying to fuck and kill me in my dream and the scene would change to a Soundgarden concert or Saints Row or a nice cheese pizza. This is all pretty unsettling.

It was suggested that this nightmare may be the result of guilt or remorseful feelings regarding the unfortunate incident with Lord and Lady Phant, but I think it is something else. I am not sure what it is, but definitely something else. One of the night staff suggested that maybe having all of the dark imagery around the estate and grounds was doing the damage. Perhaps this is the result of having skulls and hearses and deathly erotic sculptures scattered through the lawns and orchards. I suggested to her that the problem may have been that I had too many smartass night staff people working around and should start cutting back on my overhead. She brought me another bottle of absinthe and retreated to the kitchen. I could hear another staff member trying to comfort her. Strangely, I feel guilty for snapping at her. I’ll have to leave a bonus for her tomorrow.