…said Jack Kerouac. If that’s the case, the whole of humanity must be going as crazy as I am. Sorry about that.
I don’t usually remember my dreams, and often the ones that do stay with me into the waking hours are fairly dull and mundane – me sitting at my desk working, for instance. Any psychologists out there may now be stroking their chins and going “hmm…” in a bored sort of way, but it gets better.
For instance, the first nightmare I remember having was about a dinosaur. This would have been understandable had it been about a real dinosaur, but no; it was bad stop-motion effect, a comedy Harryhausen creation towering over an unconvincing city, crying out in existential horror “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die !”. I woke up freaked out, thinking an asteroid was about to hit.
Then there was the time I woke up, convinced I’d heard a voice saying “IF YOU GO TO NEW YORK YOU WILL DIE!”. This was only a couple of months before I was due to fly to NY, and while it was probably a subconscious reaction to 9-11 the previous year, it still left me terrified and aerophobic.
And then there was the time I woke up realising that I was going to fail my degree because I hadn’t handed in my dissertation. After a few moments I remembered that I’d actually graduated four years earlier. I got a 2:1 with honours. My dreams are weird; I had a similiar one after which I was wandering around around the house thinking my girlfriend had disappeared. She was fine, but safely back at home forty miles away.
Sometimes I have awesome dreams that would make me a fortune if I had the ability to turn them into screenplays. The best of these was a Deliverance-style story of a patrolling Home Guard unit being stalked by a vicious alien – Dad’s Army vs Predator. I’d watch it.
All of which leads me to last night’s dream, in which I was trapped in a secret underground toilet. I discovered a crack in the wall and managed to pull it apart, ceramic blocks scraping away from each other as I squeezed my way into sunlight, and…
Oh Sweet Zombie Santa, it’s an obvious birth metaphor!
This actually makes the next part interesting, as left on the site of this hidden exit were a hundred different pieces of graffiti, all of them esoteric, all of them enigmatic, as if somehow they contained the secrets of the universe.
I am aware that this is complete piffle, but you have funny thoughts go thtough your head when you’re stuck in an underground toilet.
(If you live locally to me, I think it may have been underneath Stourbridge.)
So, what’s your weirdest dream story?