Butcher box
Jan. 20th, 2022 03:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
boccaderlupoI dreamed a firefighter I know from New York City found an adder underneath a car. It woke me up. Second time of the serpent dream imagery in a week, I should note.
*
I dreamed I took my daughter to the movies. The theater was dark but open and shared, such that if you're watching your movie in front of you, you need merely turn your head to see the next screen, showing an entirely different movie, and then another one beyond that. It was confusing. The screen seemed to be about the size of a large postage stamp, and flickered in and out. She seemed happy, though, and laughed.
*
I dreamed I had to go visit my cousin Ernesto ("Ernie"), who lived down on the edge of the Pinelands and the sea, somewhere between suburb and swamp in Ocean County. I don't actually have a cousin named Ernie. This guy was evidently the black sheep of the family, and had been in and out of prison for years. No one really spoke of his existence, and no one kept up with him, but here I was having to pay him a visit. Someone had shipped a large, flat, rectangular, black box to our apartment, but it was intended for him, and I had to return it.
As with many of my cousins, he was more of a fifth cousin of some kind, and was in his late 50s or early 60s. The kids asked about him, but I didn't say anything about the rumors of his criminal past. They wanted to come down and visit him with me, but I said no. They kept begging until finally I acquiesced. As I was moving the box to my car, it opened up to reveal a weird kind of stand or altar, all made of black, with two huge scimitars hanging from the top. I knew it had something to do with butchery; apparently Ernie butchered wild animals he trapped in the pines, and this would expedite the process. It looked like something out of Edgar Allan Poe.
I placed it back as best I could into the box, and we proceeded down to Ernie's place. It was night. The home was a kind of light-blue ranch, but I knew, as sometimes one does in dreams, that Ernie had carved out a luxury concrete bunker that ran about two stories beneath it. No one seemed to be home. We walked in through the open attached garage, and there was wisps of smoke. We descended stairs beneath the home, and it turned into a kind of carnival club atmosphere, with people lounging about and loud music.
Ernie suddenly came down the stairs behind us. The kids were startled. He looked like a version of my dad, except very pale and with stark white hair and a crooked smile. I told him who I was, and that I hadn't seen him since I was a child. He gurgled in acceptance, and then started talking about some of our shared relatives; he was very deracinated, not a trace of an accent, and hinted that he wanted us to leave. Some of his party friends began to gather around us, conspicuously a short guy with a snaggle tooth and a bedraggled salt-and-pepper beard who was ogling the butcher box with a glint in his eye. Too gleefully, in my opinion.
The kids and I got out of there and didn't look back.
*
I dreamed I took my daughter to the movies. The theater was dark but open and shared, such that if you're watching your movie in front of you, you need merely turn your head to see the next screen, showing an entirely different movie, and then another one beyond that. It was confusing. The screen seemed to be about the size of a large postage stamp, and flickered in and out. She seemed happy, though, and laughed.
*
I dreamed I had to go visit my cousin Ernesto ("Ernie"), who lived down on the edge of the Pinelands and the sea, somewhere between suburb and swamp in Ocean County. I don't actually have a cousin named Ernie. This guy was evidently the black sheep of the family, and had been in and out of prison for years. No one really spoke of his existence, and no one kept up with him, but here I was having to pay him a visit. Someone had shipped a large, flat, rectangular, black box to our apartment, but it was intended for him, and I had to return it.
As with many of my cousins, he was more of a fifth cousin of some kind, and was in his late 50s or early 60s. The kids asked about him, but I didn't say anything about the rumors of his criminal past. They wanted to come down and visit him with me, but I said no. They kept begging until finally I acquiesced. As I was moving the box to my car, it opened up to reveal a weird kind of stand or altar, all made of black, with two huge scimitars hanging from the top. I knew it had something to do with butchery; apparently Ernie butchered wild animals he trapped in the pines, and this would expedite the process. It looked like something out of Edgar Allan Poe.
I placed it back as best I could into the box, and we proceeded down to Ernie's place. It was night. The home was a kind of light-blue ranch, but I knew, as sometimes one does in dreams, that Ernie had carved out a luxury concrete bunker that ran about two stories beneath it. No one seemed to be home. We walked in through the open attached garage, and there was wisps of smoke. We descended stairs beneath the home, and it turned into a kind of carnival club atmosphere, with people lounging about and loud music.
Ernie suddenly came down the stairs behind us. The kids were startled. He looked like a version of my dad, except very pale and with stark white hair and a crooked smile. I told him who I was, and that I hadn't seen him since I was a child. He gurgled in acceptance, and then started talking about some of our shared relatives; he was very deracinated, not a trace of an accent, and hinted that he wanted us to leave. Some of his party friends began to gather around us, conspicuously a short guy with a snaggle tooth and a bedraggled salt-and-pepper beard who was ogling the butcher box with a glint in his eye. Too gleefully, in my opinion.
The kids and I got out of there and didn't look back.
