Dream Journal

Like the old song goes - "I had too much to dream last night." Or in my case, this morning. I decided to try to get some rest without resorting to my usual dosages of melatonin or sleeping pills. Which means I didn't pass out until a little after 5 am. I began dreaming heavily about riding the subway in New York again. I was trying to find this comic shop in Manhattan my dad and granddad used to take me to as a kid - 'Forbidden Planet'. However I couldn't remember what stop or what train I was supposed to take to get there and soon found myself lost. There was no help or assistance to be found as every platform I departed and each car I boarded was completely deserted. Eventually I realized that I was going deeper and deeper into the city's underground with the interval between stops growing longer. I found myself frightened that I would never see daylight again if I kept riding. Finally when the train rolled to a stop I disembarked quickly and went running down the platform looking for an exit back to daylight. I came across a gated tunnel that opened for me the way doors do in video games when you find the 'key'. The gate just dissolved at my touch. I stepped through and there was another one. When I passed through that I was met by someone in a red robe and whose face was obscured by a hood. I was led by the stranger through a labyrinth of corridors and passageways that were lit solely by candles lined along the walls. I was taken inside a room. There was a crowd of similarly hooded people and they were all seated around a stage. On the stage was a series of mutilated animal corpses stitched into one eviscerated beast. As I approached closer to the stage I could see the animal/animals were still alive. The head of what appeared to be a pit bull blinked at me and began singing. I realized then (in that intuitive exposition dreams provide their audience) that the hooded people were telepathically projecting their consciousness into the carcasses and making them sing karaoke style. Horrified I attempted to flee the scene but found that the entrance to the room was gone and there was no apparent exit. One of the hooded men approached me and told me it was my turn. I told him that I wasn't going to sing. The hooded man told me that that was okay, because I was there to join the animal/s on stage and that the audience would sing through me. Then I was surrounded by the hooded men and I tried to fight my way free, but every punch and kick I made at them came out sluggish as if I was trying to box underwater. What few blows I landed did nothing and I was soon seized by the hooded men and they dragged me up to the stage. My final memory before bolting out of sleep was that of the decapitated pit bull singing - 'Row, row, row your boat' - while the hooded men laughed.

After that I just laid in bed cold and awake, staring at the room as the light filtered through the drawn curtains. Tonight, I think I might go back to the melatonin and sleeping pills.