Dream Journal
Sep. 20th, 2012 01:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonI didn't fall asleep until 8am this morning and bolted up two hours later from the midst of a exceptionally vivid nightmare. Now I don't dream much, by which I mean I don't often remember the majority of them. Also unlike those rare dreams that do manage to filter through to the waking world, this one didn't disperse from my thoughts by the first sip of coffee. Instead it lingered throughout the course of the day, haunting the alone moments and flickering on the periphery of my silence.
So I've decided to exorcise these visions from my solitude and banish them here across the clean blank white page.
I was apartment sitting for a super-villain somewhere up in the New York City of my subconscious. I'm not sure which one for some reason, but intuitively knew that he had battled the Flash a few times. The super-villain however had succeeded well enough to earn himself a swank little pad, where every surface was mahogany or glass and polished to reflection. The wood paneled walls revealed, with a touch, secret walk-in closets filled with different costumes hanging up and strange ray guns tissue stuffed neatly inside shoe boxes. On his terrace, through the wide sliding glass door, there was a tree whose bare branches were filled with little stone statues of birds. Behind it loomed an ornate gothic cathedral that blocked off much of the view but for some reason when you stood there you could see the stars filtering over the church's spires.
Then an old friend of mine arrived to visit. He proceeded to get drunk from the super-villain's bar and decided that we should have a party at the super-villain's apartment. Knowing the consequences of such an endeavor I steadfastly refused. My friend insisted it would be alright, that nothing was going to happen and the super-villain wouldn't be any the wiser. I repeated again that there was no way this was going to happen but my friend just smiled at me sadly and told me it was too late - the party had already started.
And indeed it had. In full force. The place was packed with all his friends, folks who know little of me beyond my name and barely at that. They got rowdy. They got rambunctious. They raided the bar down to the last drop. They scuffed up the mahogany surfaces with their muddy boots. They smudged the glass and cracked the mirrors. Then my friend found the secret arsenal and started handing out the weapons to the guests as party favors. I tried stopping them but they just ignored me as if I wasn't there. I finally got pissed off, I stood on a couch or a chair and shouted at the top of my lungs that it was time for everyone to leave.
And that's when they all just laughed at me before turning back to their prior reveleries.
Well, knowing that the super-villain would find out how I allowed his lair to get trashed in his absence, I did the only sensible thing I could think off and left. As in immediately. The plan was to get in my car and drive as fast and as far as I could before the owner got home. But my friend, seeing me about to go, got upset. He insisted I give him a ride to his dealer's house to get some coke. I agreed, believing perhaps if my friend would leave then the party wouldn't be too far behind him.
As we were driving there, the roads grew increasingly tricky, unlit to the point of looking as if I would drive off into oblivion and filled with roller coaster sharp turns. The whole drive my friend was getting impatient with me. I wasn't driving fast or adroitly enough for him. He couldn't stop berating me the whole ride before he decided to take the wheel from my hands. I told to at least let me pull over at least and trade seats with him. No, he barked, this was the only way I'd learn. We began to wrestle for control of the ride before it spun out of control into oncoming traffic.
Which is when, in true Hollywood fashion, I woke up.
So I've decided to exorcise these visions from my solitude and banish them here across the clean blank white page.
I was apartment sitting for a super-villain somewhere up in the New York City of my subconscious. I'm not sure which one for some reason, but intuitively knew that he had battled the Flash a few times. The super-villain however had succeeded well enough to earn himself a swank little pad, where every surface was mahogany or glass and polished to reflection. The wood paneled walls revealed, with a touch, secret walk-in closets filled with different costumes hanging up and strange ray guns tissue stuffed neatly inside shoe boxes. On his terrace, through the wide sliding glass door, there was a tree whose bare branches were filled with little stone statues of birds. Behind it loomed an ornate gothic cathedral that blocked off much of the view but for some reason when you stood there you could see the stars filtering over the church's spires.
Then an old friend of mine arrived to visit. He proceeded to get drunk from the super-villain's bar and decided that we should have a party at the super-villain's apartment. Knowing the consequences of such an endeavor I steadfastly refused. My friend insisted it would be alright, that nothing was going to happen and the super-villain wouldn't be any the wiser. I repeated again that there was no way this was going to happen but my friend just smiled at me sadly and told me it was too late - the party had already started.
And indeed it had. In full force. The place was packed with all his friends, folks who know little of me beyond my name and barely at that. They got rowdy. They got rambunctious. They raided the bar down to the last drop. They scuffed up the mahogany surfaces with their muddy boots. They smudged the glass and cracked the mirrors. Then my friend found the secret arsenal and started handing out the weapons to the guests as party favors. I tried stopping them but they just ignored me as if I wasn't there. I finally got pissed off, I stood on a couch or a chair and shouted at the top of my lungs that it was time for everyone to leave.
And that's when they all just laughed at me before turning back to their prior reveleries.
Well, knowing that the super-villain would find out how I allowed his lair to get trashed in his absence, I did the only sensible thing I could think off and left. As in immediately. The plan was to get in my car and drive as fast and as far as I could before the owner got home. But my friend, seeing me about to go, got upset. He insisted I give him a ride to his dealer's house to get some coke. I agreed, believing perhaps if my friend would leave then the party wouldn't be too far behind him.
As we were driving there, the roads grew increasingly tricky, unlit to the point of looking as if I would drive off into oblivion and filled with roller coaster sharp turns. The whole drive my friend was getting impatient with me. I wasn't driving fast or adroitly enough for him. He couldn't stop berating me the whole ride before he decided to take the wheel from my hands. I told to at least let me pull over at least and trade seats with him. No, he barked, this was the only way I'd learn. We began to wrestle for control of the ride before it spun out of control into oncoming traffic.
Which is when, in true Hollywood fashion, I woke up.