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Watery globe, werewolves, and leeches
Dec. 29th, 2022 08:39 amI dreamed South Korea was hosting some kind of global event, like an Olympics of some kind. The event was transpiring within a massive cathedral-like structure, metal and glass, with myriad interior pillars holding the structure up. There were thousands of people from around the world in attendance inside the building, milling about. At the center of it, high on a platform suspended by two pillars, was an immense globe of water, presumably representing the Earth itself, maybe 30 feet in diameter.
I had somehow fallen in with the president of South Korea and her entourage. She was a short, pudgy woman in a white T-shirt, prone to fits of paroxysm and laughter. She went everywhere with a tall, European fellow who apparently used to be a kind of exotic dancer/gigolo and now was using her as a "sugar mama." They were in turn surrounded by swarms of adoring sycophants, waiting on their every whim.
There was some kind of fracas occurring in the main event area. The South Korean president urged in no uncertain terms that we use deadly force on the crowds—and she was expecting me to carry that message to the security forces patrolling the perimeter of the place. I feigned ignorance. The din inside the event hall made it hard to hear. The president and her gigolo boyfriend made signals to meet me up in a sort of suite where there was less noise.
Sitting down at a table, anticipating their arrival, I set up my phone against a napkin dispenser and had it start recording. My plan was to record their demands and get it to a journalist friend, expose them to the world. The president and her escort arrived and sat down, and once again urged me to use violence against the spectators. I made like I understood. Then they noticed the phone, and asked if I was recording them.
I was caught out, and didn't know what to do. The pair went to raise the alarm. Guards rushed forward to grab me. I grabbed the phone and overturned the table and ran out of the suite, the guards in hot pursuit.
There was a full-blown riot now going on in the place. It was chaos. I picked my wait through the seething crowd, looking for my journalist friend, hoping that security wouldn't suddenly open fire on us all.
Just then there was a horrific cracking sound. The globe high above shattered, and water cascaded down upon the crowd, flooding the building, washing the scrabbling fighters away, and me with them.
*
I dreamed it was night down by a riverfront apartment complex. My wife and I drove up in an old pickup. I bit my wife on the neck, and we both became werewolves, massive hulking beasts. We infiltrated the apartments, killing anyone we came across and eating them raw. It was a bloodbath, a true nightmare—and we were the nightmare.
*
I dreamed my son's soccer team had a travel tournament across the pond. We had gone there to accompany them. My wife and I exited the aged hotel we'd be staying in and helped the kids get onto the bus, which would take us to the tournament, apparently in a place called Derry. Just then my wife realized the coach hadn't gotten up, and ran to rouse her; my wife said she and the coach would go separately and meet us there.
I shepherded the lads onto the bus, one of those slinky extended deals, and we settled in for a long haul. There was an old lady sitting next to me, corpse white and bundled up. As we rode on, gold-colored leeches began to crawl out from her clothing and climb across the seats. They settled on my arms and legs, and I began frantically to squash them and peel them off; the bites were ferocious.
At that point our area of the bus had a virtual infestation of them. I asked the lady if she would help killing them, but she said, in a proper British accent, that they were her friends and she couldn't possibly do that. Meanwhile, the boys were in another part of the bus causing a ruckus. I left the infested area and went to settle the kids down.
We arrived at our destination, and I ushered the boys off the bus. As the bus began to pull away from the curve, I realize that, while being assaulted by leeches, I had taken my shoes off. Barefoot, I ran and chased the bus down and scrambled back on. The bus driver, a congenial fellow who looked the actor Russell Brand, gestured to a large cabinet standing near the front of the bus—the "lost and found." Shoes are in cubby #2, he said. I rummaged through it, and found, at the very back, my Converse and socks.
Thanking the bus driver, I exited, pulling socks on one at a time as I ran down the street towards the boys, who were entering what looking to be a stadium that resembled a grey fortress. My wife had given them explicit instructions about whether to defer the ball on the coin toss, and that they all should know what to do, if the coach didn't arrive on time. The lads stared at me blankly; none of them remembered, and neither did I. I finishing lacing up my Cons, and we strolled onto the pitch.
I had somehow fallen in with the president of South Korea and her entourage. She was a short, pudgy woman in a white T-shirt, prone to fits of paroxysm and laughter. She went everywhere with a tall, European fellow who apparently used to be a kind of exotic dancer/gigolo and now was using her as a "sugar mama." They were in turn surrounded by swarms of adoring sycophants, waiting on their every whim.
There was some kind of fracas occurring in the main event area. The South Korean president urged in no uncertain terms that we use deadly force on the crowds—and she was expecting me to carry that message to the security forces patrolling the perimeter of the place. I feigned ignorance. The din inside the event hall made it hard to hear. The president and her gigolo boyfriend made signals to meet me up in a sort of suite where there was less noise.
Sitting down at a table, anticipating their arrival, I set up my phone against a napkin dispenser and had it start recording. My plan was to record their demands and get it to a journalist friend, expose them to the world. The president and her escort arrived and sat down, and once again urged me to use violence against the spectators. I made like I understood. Then they noticed the phone, and asked if I was recording them.
I was caught out, and didn't know what to do. The pair went to raise the alarm. Guards rushed forward to grab me. I grabbed the phone and overturned the table and ran out of the suite, the guards in hot pursuit.
There was a full-blown riot now going on in the place. It was chaos. I picked my wait through the seething crowd, looking for my journalist friend, hoping that security wouldn't suddenly open fire on us all.
Just then there was a horrific cracking sound. The globe high above shattered, and water cascaded down upon the crowd, flooding the building, washing the scrabbling fighters away, and me with them.
*
I dreamed it was night down by a riverfront apartment complex. My wife and I drove up in an old pickup. I bit my wife on the neck, and we both became werewolves, massive hulking beasts. We infiltrated the apartments, killing anyone we came across and eating them raw. It was a bloodbath, a true nightmare—and we were the nightmare.
*
I dreamed my son's soccer team had a travel tournament across the pond. We had gone there to accompany them. My wife and I exited the aged hotel we'd be staying in and helped the kids get onto the bus, which would take us to the tournament, apparently in a place called Derry. Just then my wife realized the coach hadn't gotten up, and ran to rouse her; my wife said she and the coach would go separately and meet us there.
I shepherded the lads onto the bus, one of those slinky extended deals, and we settled in for a long haul. There was an old lady sitting next to me, corpse white and bundled up. As we rode on, gold-colored leeches began to crawl out from her clothing and climb across the seats. They settled on my arms and legs, and I began frantically to squash them and peel them off; the bites were ferocious.
At that point our area of the bus had a virtual infestation of them. I asked the lady if she would help killing them, but she said, in a proper British accent, that they were her friends and she couldn't possibly do that. Meanwhile, the boys were in another part of the bus causing a ruckus. I left the infested area and went to settle the kids down.
We arrived at our destination, and I ushered the boys off the bus. As the bus began to pull away from the curve, I realize that, while being assaulted by leeches, I had taken my shoes off. Barefoot, I ran and chased the bus down and scrambled back on. The bus driver, a congenial fellow who looked the actor Russell Brand, gestured to a large cabinet standing near the front of the bus—the "lost and found." Shoes are in cubby #2, he said. I rummaged through it, and found, at the very back, my Converse and socks.
Thanking the bus driver, I exited, pulling socks on one at a time as I ran down the street towards the boys, who were entering what looking to be a stadium that resembled a grey fortress. My wife had given them explicit instructions about whether to defer the ball on the coin toss, and that they all should know what to do, if the coach didn't arrive on time. The lads stared at me blankly; none of them remembered, and neither did I. I finishing lacing up my Cons, and we strolled onto the pitch.
