Tuesday, 17 November 2009

Morning Terrors

I’ve just woken up from some of the ugliest dreams I think I’ve ever had. I was married, and evidently rich. I know I was rich because when my wife took off in the middle of the night to make skanky, horrible, bukkake-esque love with numerous menfolk, she took my convertible Mercedes with her. I know of her betrayal because she told me. She told me because I confronted her, and she told me in that horrible, vindictive, ‘I want to make you suffer’ way that people sometimes adopt when they’re brimming over with hatred.

Then there was the violence, courtesy of someone I used to know at school. At school he had mental issues – I think he was schizophrenic; in his teens he became possessed by the devil and heard messages from the government in children’s TV. In my dream he approached me and was about to beat me up. He was very powerful and there was nothing I could do. To my right, there were eight or so people seated in a large four-wheel drive vehicle. As my tormentor approached me, slowly, I looked to the people in the SUV and begged for their help. I could see by the expressions on their faces that they knew it was wrong to just sit there and watch, but that’s what they did. One of them was my tormentor’s father. I don’t know who the others were. They watched as my tormentor began to beat me viciously and relentlessly. I saw his fists hurtling toward me, and felt their impact. It went on for ages. Then I woke up.

Unfortunately, I know exactly what it means.

Have a nice day!

x



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10 comments:

justrestingmyeyes said...

Recent dream I had while trying to give up:

A hugely exciting, epic, Bourne-esque chase - me and someone I loved running from nameless and faceless Uzi-toting adversaries. Adrenaline-charged, high-octane, a popcorn thrill ride, which even had its own tension-heightening but catchy score. What fun!

Until a sudden moment when I was trapped in a dead-end corridor with no escape. Knowing the adversaries were round the corner, knowing that was it, all I could do was whisper to the one I loved to lie down, put his arms around me, and pretend we were going to sleep. I actually felt the bullets rip through me; the worst part was the few seconds of nothingness after I died...

I'd inhaled a whole Marlboro Light before the duvet hit the floor.

So my subconscious hates me as well. But MAN it gives killer narrative!

La Bête said...

That's nice. Well, not nice, but cool. Is it cool? Yes. Feeling the bullets is cool.

Mu subconscious wants me to be punished.

Anonymous said...

The most worrying thing about that dream is the convertible Mercedes. C'mon now. No self-respecting self-loather would be caught dead driving one of those.

A Twitter Friend

La Bête said...

I watched an episode of Entourage last night. That is my only excuse.

'No self-respecting self-loather'. I like that.

Tim Footman said...

Hey, at least you woke up.

clumpf said...

There there Bete, let me hold you to my bosom.

BPP said...

Do you arse know what it means. For all you know, it could be subconscious anxiety about not having enough cheese in the fridge.

RUBBISH!

La Bête said...

Tim, I did, yes, and I am thankful for that.

Ah, Clumpf, bosom, pillow. Thank you.

OK, BPP. You know best. You arrogant buffoon.

Sammy said...

Hey! You could use it as the title for your paperback. The self-respecting self-loather's quest for love. Pithy. Catchy. Good?

So, what DOES the dream mean? Enquiring minds wanna know...

A Twitter Friend

PurestGreen said...

I used to have a lot of dreams that I was looking for a toilet, and when I found one there was never a door or all the toilets were in a huge open room and everyone could see you. The dreams always revolved around me trying to get somewhere private, or hide myself. I never knew what they were about until a friend explained them. All about my inability to express my emotions, to air my negative feelings. After I split with my husband I stopped having them.

The subconscious is a strange, wondrous thing.