So, after reading blogs about dreams and having a long conversation about them the other day in between episodes of Buffy, here's a recent recurring one that I've been having for nearly a year. Some of you might have already heard about it, because I talk about dreams all. the. time.
Dreamwise, It's my birthday, and Alan Dale* bought me bad ass presents. Basically, I have no fucking clue why Alan Dale gave me dream gifts. Most likely it's because he's on Lost.
The dream gifts are four vehicles, all taxicab yellow:
1. Civilian Jeep, with a roof and tires made from bonded bouncy balls
2. ATV with clashing WWII sidecar
3. Magic carpet (fuckin’ what what)
4. Honda Civic Hybrid
I start test driving them in a parking lot. Which, of course, is fun.
You know how dreams work. It’s like, you start driving slowly in the parking lot, loop left around a gothic streetlamp shaped like a dragon, and then in one minute you’re bouncing down the side of Mt. Schilthorn in an elastic Jeep, the next you’re flying on a woven carpet and shattering through waterfalls, then you’re coasting quietly on a quaint country highway in your Honda, and then you’re popping your ATV across the Alaskan tundra.
I fucking love dreaming.
So like I said, I’m riding my ATV in the tundra, and in the distance I see this soft pink glow, and I can’t think of anything better to do than get my ass over there.
Six hours later I hop off the ATV and start walking down into a valley, where there’s a small backwoods cabin.
The front of the cabin is dominated by a chopping block and a heavy-looking axe, and although there are shavings, there’s no firewood. The cabin itself is illuminated from within. With like, pinkness. The polarity is awkward.
The door opens easily, and inside it’s nearly empty, all but for a shredded couch perched on cinder blocks, an open, toppled refrigerator, and a broken grandfather clock. I walk slowly around them towards the glow, which is coming from the back.
After exploring for about thirty seconds, I note that there’s only three rooms: the entry room, a kitchen, and an enclosed back porch. The door to the porch is backlit with this pink fire, so I need to go there. I unhinge the door trying to get it open and shield my eyes, since hovering in the middle of that porch is a burning, rippling, pink sun.
I walk slowly towards it, because the heat is intense, and I don’t like it. Once I’m within arms reach, I stare at the sun for awhile, then quickly stretch my hands out and snatch it from the air.
It burns, it freezes, it alternates between the two. It fucking hurts, and my hands are on fire. I carry the sun outside and it lights up the valley. I laugh and chuck the sun straight into the trees, and the trees throw it right back. Catching it again is easy, even though it's like catching a smoldering kickball that's on fire. We play catch for awhile, and I throw it straight up in the air, where it stops abruptly and starts to spin. Rocks and sticks and shit are flying and gravitating towards it in this like superfast orbit.
So I’m sitting on the chopping block, watching this pink, glowy galaxy grow right in front of me, smiling and captivated for several dreamdays. Eventually I get bored, and I reach up and grab the sun out of the sky, yank the axe from the block and head back into the cabin. I walk into the kitchen and lay the sun on the countertop.
My stomach growls.
I raise the axe over my head and slice the sun right in half. I carve it all up, put it in a bowl, and go sit outside and eat the whole thing like a melon.
* Why it's Alan Dale, I don't know, I've never had a thing for him, but I used to have a crush on the idea of the character of Alan-a-Dale, even though I'm not the biggest fan of Alan-a-Dale on the BBC Robin Hood. Which is probably because he's completely overshadowed by the supreme sexiness that is Robin Hood. I used to believe that it was impossible to make Robin Hood unattractive, and then Kevin Kostner made it his own personal dharma to prove me wrong. So, thank you BBC, for restoring my faith.