Dreams
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05-05-2013, 08:59 PM (This post was last modified: 05-05-2013 09:06 PM by Misanthropik.)
RE: Dreams
Lately, I've been having multiple dreams a night. (That I remember, anyway; we always have multiple dreams, but don't usually remember them). I guess it's because I'm under a lot of mental duress as of late. They're usually a bunch of vague, bizarre, short-lived sequences; followed by one, big, cinematic dream before I finally wake up.

Last night, the big dream was that I was a DEA agent working on an operation in a really shitty part of Mexico. It started as I walked through the front doors of a very small church to meet with my team before the mission. There were a hundred or so agents sitting in the pews; all suited up in kevlar vests and combat boots with little ear pieces in their ears. Some of them were cops I know from my town; others were anyone ranging from faceless bystanders to old classmates to people I used to work with. But they were all agents like me, and we were getting psyched up for the task at hand.

That task was to transport a highly dangerous member of a mexican drug cartel across the border to the US, where he was to stand trial for some horrific thing he had done. After we mingled for a bit inside the church, someone came through the front door and announced that it was time to get moving. With that, we all unholstered our guns and placed them at the ready. We then marched down the aisle in two long rows headed toward the entrance of the church. Directly outside the doors, there was an armored vehicle - the kind they carry money in - with both doors open. Inside, I saw our prisoner. He was wearing only a pair of black shorts and he had a black mask over the lower half of his face - kind of like Hannibal Lecter, but it was leather and had stainless steel spikes on it. (No prizes to whoever guesses where I got that) He was on his knees with his hands tied behind his back. But also wrapped around his torso and legs were big, thick chains which spread out in a fan around him; securing him to the inside of the truck. I can remember thinking the chains looked like the outstretched arms of a spider, and it gave me a chill. But what chilled me the most was the sinister, evil look in his green eyes as he glared at us.

I saw him for no longer than a second or two before two heavily-armored officers closed the doors of the truck and locked him inside. Then, the truck's engine came to life and the two rows of agents - of which I was a part - marched out of the church and along either side of the vehicle. The truck then began to drive down the street as we marched along beside it; our weapons pointed outward in defense of the truck. Some had AR-15s, others had their Glocks, but for some dream-related reason I had a sawed-off lever-action rifle like the one Woody Harrelson used in "Zombieland".

We rounded the side of the church onto a lengthy stretch of cobblestone street which was carved straight through the ghetto. The houses were tall and made of stone and had orange roofs splotched with the brown decay of rust incurred from many years of wear. We kept our sights trained on the open windows and alleyways; sure that members of the cartel would be coming for their prized member who was within our capture. We were nervous. Our goal was to make it across town to a large warehouse where a government plane was waiting to transport our prisoner across the border. Because it was a dream, I knew the journey was long and uneasy, but I remember being at the warehouse only a moment later. Before we took our prisoner inside, I and a few other agents - including my long-time partner Darell (thank you, Walking Dead shirt I saw yesterday at the mall) - were tasked to go inside first and confirm that the area was secure. When we got inside, we slowly crept around the wood pallets which sat in large numbers around the warehouse floor; our weapons at the ready and hoping to find nothing. Unfortunately, when we rounded a group of pallets, we saw many members of the cartel standing around whispering to one another with AK-47s in hand. The area had been compromised. Who knows what happened to the agents waiting on the plane. What we had to do then was engage our plan B, which consisted of planting C4 throughout the warehouse, detonating, and rerouting the convoy to a backup site.

I followed Darell as he crept around, planting small bricks of C4 in various nooks and corners amidst the pallets and boxes around the warehouse walls. I'm not sure he knew I was following him, because he began to turn his head to look at the other agents who were with us; who were busy planting their own explosives on the other side of the warehouse. He would look to see if they were watching, and then he'd try to scurry away. Almost as if he didn't want them to see him. He then began making his way toward the side exit of the building without relaying his actions to any of us over the comm. system. I thought that was weird, but he was my partner and I trusted him, so I followed him. Eventually, he bursted out of the exit door and began running for his life across a gravel parking lot. I ran after him, and as I made my way across the lot, I heard voices shouting to my right in latin accents. Members of the cartel were outside, and I knew they had seen us both. So I ran faster to catch up to Darell as we neared another side door to a warehouse nearby. When I caught up to him, he seemed surprised and angry that I had followed him, but before we could address it, we had to get inside and away from the cartel.

We bursted through the door and into another large storage room; this one full of large, round clothing racks you see at any clothing store. There were hundreds of them and near the middle of the warehouse, there were mexican guys walking around with clipboards and taking inventory of the clothing on the racks. I somehow knew it was a Good Will warehouse. The men had not noticed our hasty entry, and we knew the cartel was right on our asses, so, thinking quickly, we dove underneath a nearby clothing rack to hide. (As I so often did as a kid when I went clothes shopping with mom)

I made my way to the center of the rack and laid flat while Darell scurried in behind me. But as he did so, I felt like he was going to get us found; because I could tell by the size of the rack and my position in it that his legs were sticking out. But before I could say anything, I heard the cartel burst through the door and start yelling at the inventory guys to tell them where we went. I just laid perfectly still and listened as the footsteps closed in around us. Then I heard a latino voice say "Here's those punk motherfuckers. Gimme a second while I stomp his ass." Suddenly, Darell was dragged away and the men started to lift the rack from on top of me. Instinctively, I immediately decided to play dead; hoping they'd just leave me there. When they saw that I was just laying there, I could hear the disappointment in their voices. They would have prefered to take me alive so I could be tortured later. They began to poke and prod me with their shoes to see if I was really dead, and when I didn't respond, one of them started to lift me up by my vest. He got his mouth really close to my left ear and began whispering all sorts of inaudible but angry things at me. That's when I blacked out for some reason.



When I woke up, I was laying face-down on a cold tile floor and heard voices around me. Not sure of where I was or who I was with, I simply kept my eyes closed. I listened to the voices as they discussed what to do with my "dead" body. To my bewilderment, I realized that one of the voices belonged to Darell; who was the exact voice of David Carradine (in both sound and manner). I heard him puffing a cigarette and drinking from an icy glass of scotch while he told another gentleman that he was "disgusting" for wanting to do whatever it was he wanted to do with my corpse. (I believe they were discussing feeding me to dogs or butchering me and putting me into meat product) They continued their conversation and I opened my eyes for just a split second to gauge my surroundings. I saw that I was now in a Chinese laundromat, which was a front for a branch of the Chinese mafia. The man to whom Darell was speaking was the leader, and they were discussing how they would dispose of my corpse. They sounded like old friends. I immediately realized that Darell had been working with them the entire time, and convinced the cartel to turn me over to the Chinese for whatever reason. I knew I had to get out of there somehow.



Sitting in a chair next to me, I could hear a young chinese guy talking about the numerous DVDs he had taken off of me - even though I have no idea how or why I had a bunch of DVDs on me. Dream logic. Anyway, he commented that I was better off without them because they were so numerous and cumbersome, and he was looking foreward to adding them to his collection to be sold later on the black market. Using my sense of hearing to gauge where everyone was in the room and in what position the man closest to me was sitting, I readied myself to act. Laying underneath me was my sawed-off, which had been concealed by my body and was thus undetected by the cartel.

I listened very carefully to the man's movements in his chair. When I heard that he was in the perfect position, I sprang up and wrapped my arm around his neck and swung myself behind him to make him my hostage. I jammed the muzzle of my rifle into his throat and stood up to face where I heard Darell's voice. He and the chinese boss were on the other side of a glass wall with a door in it. It was the type of "glass wall" you'd find in an old school; glass windows framed by old, flimsy wood, and the door had a 1x1 foot opening in the center through which mail or other packages could be passed. After I yelled for Darell and the chinese boss to drop any weapons they had on them, they immediately walked in my direction. No longer wearing his tactical gear and now doning a brownish-yellow jacket with dress shirt and tie; Darell pulled a snubnose from the inside of his jacket and held it pointed upward. I immediately repeated my demand for them to drop their weapons or I'd "blow this motherfucker's jaw off of his goddamn body!" Darell just looked at me with disappointment and I shouted some sort of angry beratement to him for having betrayed us. He then pointed his snubnose at me and I clarified that "I am a DEA agent! If you kill me, your ass is getting buried under the goddamn prison, you fuck!"

At this point, a black security guard standing near the front doorway (who was wearing a New York City police uniform, and somehow hadn't caught on to the fact that bad things were happening until that moment) marched over to Darell and tried to grab his gun-holding arm. Darell just continued looking at me with an empty stare and made it clear that he intended to kill me by raising the gun directly at my head. The situation quickly escalated (more so than it already had) and the guard had no choice but to pull his Glock and jam it into Darell's abdomen. Darell then started firing at me and I yelled repeatedly in a panic for the guard to "Fucking shoot him! Shoot him! Shoot him!" The guard began unloading his magazine into Darell's abdomen - spraying blood everywhere - and Darell began unloading his cylinder in my direction. In a split second, I decided I couldn't do anything worthwhile with my rifle so I tossed it down and collapsed onto the floor; bringing my chinese hostage down on top of me. He was squirming and struggling but I was strong enough to hold him in place as a human shield while Darell tried to shoot me. He and the guard struggled and bullets were flying everywhere and someone's blood was spraying, but I don't know who's. (It logically should have belonged to Darell, but it was a dream and things were chaotic, so I was unaware of who's blood was flying around the room) None of Darell's bullets hit me; both because the guard was making it difficult and because he was a crappy shot.



I knew that his gun only held 5 rounds, so I decided I'd wait in the chaos for him to go empty, but he never did because it's a dream and guns are magic in dreams. So he just kept shooting and I was screaming from underneath the chinese guy, who eventually took a bullet to the face and splattered blood and brain matter all over my face and neck. I shook the gore from my eyes and looked up to see the guard gain an advantage on Darell, who's gun-wielding arm was forced into the opening in the door; which he then gripped with his forearm to stabalize himself. I acted fast and threw the dead guy off of me before pouncing Darell's arm. As I grabbed his arm, I threw my full weight into the door and blasted through it like a freight train; bringing it down onto him and knocking him to the floor with me on his back. The guard was thrown back by this and slid across the floor on his rear. I quickly reached down and grabbed Darell's wrist and began slamming it into the tile floor so make him drop the gun, but it was to no avail.

As we struggled, he kept pulling the trigger and in the chaos, the guard was shot in the chest and head. I continued slamming his wrist harder and harder against the floor and eventually broke his hand; at long last forcing him to drop the gun from his limp, bloody fingers. I was then going to start doing with his head what I had done with his hand, but there were suddenly 3 agents at the nearby doorway to my left. One of them bent down and slid a huge revolver toward us. But as it slid, I realized they were sliding it to Darell, not to me. Darell was pretty much incapacitated, and when I looked up at the 3 agents, they were all looking at me with a mutual expression that said "You're pretty much fucked, now".

They started some cliche speech about how I had been beaten and readied their guns. It was apparent that they were working with Darell and the cartel as well. I realized that everyone was corrupt and I was completely alone, so looked down at the revolver hoping to make a final stand against these assholes. Suddenly, though, the three men were distracted by something down the hallway to their left, and they became horrified. They screamed "What the fuck?!" and began to fumble with their weapons. One of them put his revolver to his chest and shot himself; the other shot himself directly in the face; causing the bullet to exit his skull with a spray of blood and hit the third guy behind him. All three men lay dead in a sudden burst of chaos.



It was then that I knew my good friend, the most powerful district attourney in the US, had arrived. His presence scared them so much because of what legal things he could do to them, that they simply shot themselves. He was an old guy - looking like an old actor from '80s comedies who's face I can see but who's name I cannot recall - wearing a black suit befitting a man of his position and shiny black dress-shoes. He peeked around the corner of the doorway and examined the bloody bodies at his feet. After a moment, he raised his stern expression to me without saying a word.

He then smirked, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew I was safe at last.

Through profound pain comes profound knowledge.
Ridi, Pagliaccio, sul tuo amore infranto! Ridi del duol, che t'avvelena il cor!
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05-05-2013, 09:11 PM
RE: Dreams
(05-05-2013 03:46 PM)TheGulegon Wrote:  The last one I can remember was a couple nights ago. It was me, my father, and someone on the other side of him I couldn't see. We were sitting on his porch watching a spectacular lightning storm. The strikes lit up the world, but the unidentified person had a darkness surrounding them that couldn't be penetrated by the light. I couldn't see anything more than it's silhouette, and it "felt" unnatural, that darkness! Then the outline of it's head turned to look at me, and I just knew it was smiling, even though I couldn't see any facial features, which struck me with terror. Like heart stopping fear. Then I woke up. Don't want to call it a nightmare (cause the lightning show was awesome), but I certainly woke with a start, breathing hard, and heart pounding.

My mind is not very coherent at this time. I shall reread this tomorrow Big Grin I found it quite interesting.

"It was life, often unsatisfying, frequently cruel, usually boring, sometimes beautiful, once in awhile exhilarating." -Stephen King
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05-05-2013, 10:37 PM
RE: Dreams
(05-05-2013 03:25 PM)amyb Wrote:  ^I've had dreams I was a serial killer, and that Shaquille O'Neal showed up at my door to help me hide the bodies, because I'm 5'4" and he's a big dude, so it'd be easier for him to pick up the bodies wrapped in black garbage bags. He was sort of my accomplice, but I did all the killing, he only showed up after to help me clean up. Maybe I'm mentally practicing so I can become a serial killer, I don't know.

So it's been you all these years!

Yikes! I don't want to go to sleep now!

"All that is necessary for the triumph of Calvinism is that good Atheists do nothing." ~Eric Oh My
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05-05-2013, 11:07 PM
RE: Dreams
(05-05-2013 08:59 PM)Misanthropik Wrote:  Lately, I've been having multiple dreams a night. (That I remember, anyway; we always have multiple dreams, but don't usually remember them). I guess it's because I'm under a lot of mental duress as of late. They're usually a bunch of vague, bizarre, short-lived sequences; followed by one, big, cinematic dream before I finally wake up.

Last night, the big dream was that I was a DEA agent working on an operation in a really shitty part of Mexico. It started as I walked through the front doors of a very small church to meet with my team before the mission. There were a hundred or so agents sitting in the pews; all suited up in kevlar vests and combat boots with little ear pieces in their ears. Some of them were cops I know from my town; others were anyone ranging from faceless bystanders to old classmates to people I used to work with. But they were all agents like me, and we were getting psyched up for the task at hand.

That task was to transport a highly dangerous member of a mexican drug cartel across the border to the US, where he was to stand trial for some horrific thing he had done. After we mingled for a bit inside the church, someone came through the front door and announced that it was time to get moving. With that, we all unholstered our guns and placed them at the ready. We then marched down the aisle in two long rows headed toward the entrance of the church. Directly outside the doors, there was an armored vehicle - the kind they carry money in - with both doors open. Inside, I saw our prisoner. He was wearing only a pair of black shorts and he had a black mask over the lower half of his face - kind of like Hannibal Lecter, but it was leather and had stainless steel spikes on it. (No prizes to whoever guesses where I got that) He was on his knees with his hands tied behind his back. But also wrapped around his torso and legs were big, thick chains which spread out in a fan around him; securing him to the inside of the truck. I can remember thinking the chains looked like the outstretched arms of a spider, and it gave me a chill. But what chilled me the most was the sinister, evil look in his green eyes as he glared at us.

I saw him for no longer than a second or two before two heavily-armored officers closed the doors of the truck and locked him inside. Then, the truck's engine came to life and the two rows of agents - of which I was a part - marched out of the church and along either side of the vehicle. The truck then began to drive down the street as we marched along beside it; our weapons pointed outward in defense of the truck. Some had AR-15s, others had their Glocks, but for some dream-related reason I had a sawed-off lever-action rifle like the one Woody Harrelson used in "Zombieland".

We rounded the side of the church onto a lengthy stretch of cobblestone street which was carved straight through the ghetto. The houses were tall and made of stone and had orange roofs splotched with the brown decay of rust incurred from many years of wear. We kept our sights trained on the open windows and alleyways; sure that members of the cartel would be coming for their prized member who was within our capture. We were nervous. Our goal was to make it across town to a large warehouse where a government plane was waiting to transport our prisoner across the border. Because it was a dream, I knew the journey was long and uneasy, but I remember being at the warehouse only a moment later. Before we took our prisoner inside, I and a few other agents - including my long-time partner Darell (thank you, Walking Dead shirt I saw yesterday at the mall) - were tasked to go inside first and confirm that the area was secure. When we got inside, we slowly crept around the wood pallets which sat in large numbers around the warehouse floor; our weapons at the ready and hoping to find nothing. Unfortunately, when we rounded a group of pallets, we saw many members of the cartel standing around whispering to one another with AK-47s in hand. The area had been compromised. Who knows what happened to the agents waiting on the plane. What we had to do then was engage our plan B, which consisted of planting C4 throughout the warehouse, detonating, and rerouting the convoy to a backup site.

I followed Darell as he crept around, planting small bricks of C4 in various nooks and corners amidst the pallets and boxes around the warehouse walls. I'm not sure he knew I was following him, because he began to turn his head to look at the other agents who were with us; who were busy planting their own explosives on the other side of the warehouse. He would look to see if they were watching, and then he'd try to scurry away. Almost as if he didn't want them to see him. He then began making his way toward the side exit of the building without relaying his actions to any of us over the comm. system. I thought that was weird, but he was my partner and I trusted him, so I followed him. Eventually, he bursted out of the exit door and began running for his life across a gravel parking lot. I ran after him, and as I made my way across the lot, I heard voices shouting to my right in latin accents. Members of the cartel were outside, and I knew they had seen us both. So I ran faster to catch up to Darell as we neared another side door to a warehouse nearby. When I caught up to him, he seemed surprised and angry that I had followed him, but before we could address it, we had to get inside and away from the cartel.

We bursted through the door and into another large storage room; this one full of large, round clothing racks you see at any clothing store. There were hundreds of them and near the middle of the warehouse, there were mexican guys walking around with clipboards and taking inventory of the clothing on the racks. I somehow knew it was a Good Will warehouse. The men had not noticed our hasty entry, and we knew the cartel was right on our asses, so, thinking quickly, we dove underneath a nearby clothing rack to hide. (As I so often did as a kid when I went clothes shopping with mom)

I made my way to the center of the rack and laid flat while Darell scurried in behind me. But as he did so, I felt like he was going to get us found; because I could tell by the size of the rack and my position in it that his legs were sticking out. But before I could say anything, I heard the cartel burst through the door and start yelling at the inventory guys to tell them where we went. I just laid perfectly still and listened as the footsteps closed in around us. Then I heard a latino voice say "Here's those punk motherfuckers. Gimme a second while I stomp his ass." Suddenly, Darell was dragged away and the men started to lift the rack from on top of me. Instinctively, I immediately decided to play dead; hoping they'd just leave me there. When they saw that I was just laying there, I could hear the disappointment in their voices. They would have prefered to take me alive so I could be tortured later. They began to poke and prod me with their shoes to see if I was really dead, and when I didn't respond, one of them started to lift me up by my vest. He got his mouth really close to my left ear and began whispering all sorts of inaudible but angry things at me. That's when I blacked out for some reason.



When I woke up, I was laying face-down on a cold tile floor and heard voices around me. Not sure of where I was or who I was with, I simply kept my eyes closed. I listened to the voices as they discussed what to do with my "dead" body. To my bewilderment, I realized that one of the voices belonged to Darell; who was the exact voice of David Carradine (in both sound and manner). I heard him puffing a cigarette and drinking from an icy glass of scotch while he told another gentleman that he was "disgusting" for wanting to do whatever it was he wanted to do with my corpse. (I believe they were discussing feeding me to dogs or butchering me and putting me into meat product) They continued their conversation and I opened my eyes for just a split second to gauge my surroundings. I saw that I was now in a Chinese laundromat, which was a front for a branch of the Chinese mafia. The man to whom Darell was speaking was the leader, and they were discussing how they would dispose of my corpse. They sounded like old friends. I immediately realized that Darell had been working with them the entire time, and convinced the cartel to turn me over to the Chinese for whatever reason. I knew I had to get out of there somehow.



Sitting in a chair next to me, I could hear a young chinese guy talking about the numerous DVDs he had taken off of me - even though I have no idea how or why I had a bunch of DVDs on me. Dream logic. Anyway, he commented that I was better off without them because they were so numerous and cumbersome, and he was looking foreward to adding them to his collection to be sold later on the black market. Using my sense of hearing to gauge where everyone was in the room and in what position the man closest to me was sitting, I readied myself to act. Laying underneath me was my sawed-off, which had been concealed by my body and was thus undetected by the cartel.

I listened very carefully to the man's movements in his chair. When I heard that he was in the perfect position, I sprang up and wrapped my arm around his neck and swung myself behind him to make him my hostage. I jammed the muzzle of my rifle into his throat and stood up to face where I heard Darell's voice. He and the chinese boss were on the other side of a glass wall with a door in it. It was the type of "glass wall" you'd find in an old school; glass windows framed by old, flimsy wood, and the door had a 1x1 foot opening in the center through which mail or other packages could be passed. After I yelled for Darell and the chinese boss to drop any weapons they had on them, they immediately walked in my direction. No longer wearing his tactical gear and now doning a brownish-yellow jacket with dress shirt and tie; Darell pulled a snubnose from the inside of his jacket and held it pointed upward. I immediately repeated my demand for them to drop their weapons or I'd "blow this motherfucker's jaw off of his goddamn body!" Darell just looked at me with disappointment and I shouted some sort of angry beratement to him for having betrayed us. He then pointed his snubnose at me and I clarified that "I am a DEA agent! If you kill me, your ass is getting buried under the goddamn prison, you fuck!"

At this point, a black security guard standing near the front doorway (who was wearing a New York City police uniform, and somehow hadn't caught on to the fact that bad things were happening until that moment) marched over to Darell and tried to grab his gun-holding arm. Darell just continued looking at me with an empty stare and made it clear that he intended to kill me by raising the gun directly at my head. The situation quickly escalated (more so than it already had) and the guard had no choice but to pull his Glock and jam it into Darell's abdomen. Darell then started firing at me and I yelled repeatedly in a panic for the guard to "Fucking shoot him! Shoot him! Shoot him!" The guard began unloading his magazine into Darell's abdomen - spraying blood everywhere - and Darell began unloading his cylinder in my direction. In a split second, I decided I couldn't do anything worthwhile with my rifle so I tossed it down and collapsed onto the floor; bringing my chinese hostage down on top of me. He was squirming and struggling but I was strong enough to hold him in place as a human shield while Darell tried to shoot me. He and the guard struggled and bullets were flying everywhere and someone's blood was spraying, but I don't know who's. (It logically should have belonged to Darell, but it was a dream and things were chaotic, so I was unaware of who's blood was flying around the room) None of Darell's bullets hit me; both because the guard was making it difficult and because he was a crappy shot.



I knew that his gun only held 5 rounds, so I decided I'd wait in the chaos for him to go empty, but he never did because it's a dream and guns are magic in dreams. So he just kept shooting and I was screaming from underneath the chinese guy, who eventually took a bullet to the face and splattered blood and brain matter all over my face and neck. I shook the gore from my eyes and looked up to see the guard gain an advantage on Darell, who's gun-wielding arm was forced into the opening in the door; which he then gripped with his forearm to stabalize himself. I acted fast and threw the dead guy off of me before pouncing Darell's arm. As I grabbed his arm, I threw my full weight into the door and blasted through it like a freight train; bringing it down onto him and knocking him to the floor with me on his back. The guard was thrown back by this and slid across the floor on his rear. I quickly reached down and grabbed Darell's wrist and began slamming it into the tile floor so make him drop the gun, but it was to no avail.

As we struggled, he kept pulling the trigger and in the chaos, the guard was shot in the chest and head. I continued slamming his wrist harder and harder against the floor and eventually broke his hand; at long last forcing him to drop the gun from his limp, bloody fingers. I was then going to start doing with his head what I had done with his hand, but there were suddenly 3 agents at the nearby doorway to my left. One of them bent down and slid a huge revolver toward us. But as it slid, I realized they were sliding it to Darell, not to me. Darell was pretty much incapacitated, and when I looked up at the 3 agents, they were all looking at me with a mutual expression that said "You're pretty much fucked, now".

They started some cliche speech about how I had been beaten and readied their guns. It was apparent that they were working with Darell and the cartel as well. I realized that everyone was corrupt and I was completely alone, so looked down at the revolver hoping to make a final stand against these assholes. Suddenly, though, the three men were distracted by something down the hallway to their left, and they became horrified. They screamed "What the fuck?!" and began to fumble with their weapons. One of them put his revolver to his chest and shot himself; the other shot himself directly in the face; causing the bullet to exit his skull with a spray of blood and hit the third guy behind him. All three men lay dead in a sudden burst of chaos.



It was then that I knew my good friend, the most powerful district attourney in the US, had arrived. His presence scared them so much because of what legal things he could do to them, that they simply shot themselves. He was an old guy - looking like an old actor from '80s comedies who's face I can see but who's name I cannot recall - wearing a black suit befitting a man of his position and shiny black dress-shoes. He peeked around the corner of the doorway and examined the bloody bodies at his feet. After a moment, he raised his stern expression to me without saying a word.

He then smirked, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew I was safe at last.

Now THAT'S a dream! Bowing

"IN THRUST WE TRUST"

"We were conservative Jews and that meant we obeyed God's Commandments until His rules became a royal pain in the ass."

- Joel Chastnoff, The 188th Crybaby Brigade
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07-05-2013, 12:27 AM
RE: Dreams
(05-05-2013 11:07 PM)Carlo_The_Bugsmasher_Driver Wrote:  
(05-05-2013 08:59 PM)Misanthropik Wrote:  Lately, I've been having multiple dreams a night. (That I remember, anyway; we always have multiple dreams, but don't usually remember them). I guess it's because I'm under a lot of mental duress as of late. They're usually a bunch of vague, bizarre, short-lived sequences; followed by one, big, cinematic dream before I finally wake up.

Last night, the big dream was that I was a DEA agent working on an operation in a really shitty part of Mexico. It started as I walked through the front doors of a very small church to meet with my team before the mission. There were a hundred or so agents sitting in the pews; all suited up in kevlar vests and combat boots with little ear pieces in their ears. Some of them were cops I know from my town; others were anyone ranging from faceless bystanders to old classmates to people I used to work with. But they were all agents like me, and we were getting psyched up for the task at hand.

That task was to transport a highly dangerous member of a mexican drug cartel across the border to the US, where he was to stand trial for some horrific thing he had done. After we mingled for a bit inside the church, someone came through the front door and announced that it was time to get moving. With that, we all unholstered our guns and placed them at the ready. We then marched down the aisle in two long rows headed toward the entrance of the church. Directly outside the doors, there was an armored vehicle - the kind they carry money in - with both doors open. Inside, I saw our prisoner. He was wearing only a pair of black shorts and he had a black mask over the lower half of his face - kind of like Hannibal Lecter, but it was leather and had stainless steel spikes on it. (No prizes to whoever guesses where I got that) He was on his knees with his hands tied behind his back. But also wrapped around his torso and legs were big, thick chains which spread out in a fan around him; securing him to the inside of the truck. I can remember thinking the chains looked like the outstretched arms of a spider, and it gave me a chill. But what chilled me the most was the sinister, evil look in his green eyes as he glared at us.

I saw him for no longer than a second or two before two heavily-armored officers closed the doors of the truck and locked him inside. Then, the truck's engine came to life and the two rows of agents - of which I was a part - marched out of the church and along either side of the vehicle. The truck then began to drive down the street as we marched along beside it; our weapons pointed outward in defense of the truck. Some had AR-15s, others had their Glocks, but for some dream-related reason I had a sawed-off lever-action rifle like the one Woody Harrelson used in "Zombieland".

We rounded the side of the church onto a lengthy stretch of cobblestone street which was carved straight through the ghetto. The houses were tall and made of stone and had orange roofs splotched with the brown decay of rust incurred from many years of wear. We kept our sights trained on the open windows and alleyways; sure that members of the cartel would be coming for their prized member who was within our capture. We were nervous. Our goal was to make it across town to a large warehouse where a government plane was waiting to transport our prisoner across the border. Because it was a dream, I knew the journey was long and uneasy, but I remember being at the warehouse only a moment later. Before we took our prisoner inside, I and a few other agents - including my long-time partner Darell (thank you, Walking Dead shirt I saw yesterday at the mall) - were tasked to go inside first and confirm that the area was secure. When we got inside, we slowly crept around the wood pallets which sat in large numbers around the warehouse floor; our weapons at the ready and hoping to find nothing. Unfortunately, when we rounded a group of pallets, we saw many members of the cartel standing around whispering to one another with AK-47s in hand. The area had been compromised. Who knows what happened to the agents waiting on the plane. What we had to do then was engage our plan B, which consisted of planting C4 throughout the warehouse, detonating, and rerouting the convoy to a backup site.

I followed Darell as he crept around, planting small bricks of C4 in various nooks and corners amidst the pallets and boxes around the warehouse walls. I'm not sure he knew I was following him, because he began to turn his head to look at the other agents who were with us; who were busy planting their own explosives on the other side of the warehouse. He would look to see if they were watching, and then he'd try to scurry away. Almost as if he didn't want them to see him. He then began making his way toward the side exit of the building without relaying his actions to any of us over the comm. system. I thought that was weird, but he was my partner and I trusted him, so I followed him. Eventually, he bursted out of the exit door and began running for his life across a gravel parking lot. I ran after him, and as I made my way across the lot, I heard voices shouting to my right in latin accents. Members of the cartel were outside, and I knew they had seen us both. So I ran faster to catch up to Darell as we neared another side door to a warehouse nearby. When I caught up to him, he seemed surprised and angry that I had followed him, but before we could address it, we had to get inside and away from the cartel.

We bursted through the door and into another large storage room; this one full of large, round clothing racks you see at any clothing store. There were hundreds of them and near the middle of the warehouse, there were mexican guys walking around with clipboards and taking inventory of the clothing on the racks. I somehow knew it was a Good Will warehouse. The men had not noticed our hasty entry, and we knew the cartel was right on our asses, so, thinking quickly, we dove underneath a nearby clothing rack to hide. (As I so often did as a kid when I went clothes shopping with mom)

I made my way to the center of the rack and laid flat while Darell scurried in behind me. But as he did so, I felt like he was going to get us found; because I could tell by the size of the rack and my position in it that his legs were sticking out. But before I could say anything, I heard the cartel burst through the door and start yelling at the inventory guys to tell them where we went. I just laid perfectly still and listened as the footsteps closed in around us. Then I heard a latino voice say "Here's those punk motherfuckers. Gimme a second while I stomp his ass." Suddenly, Darell was dragged away and the men started to lift the rack from on top of me. Instinctively, I immediately decided to play dead; hoping they'd just leave me there. When they saw that I was just laying there, I could hear the disappointment in their voices. They would have prefered to take me alive so I could be tortured later. They began to poke and prod me with their shoes to see if I was really dead, and when I didn't respond, one of them started to lift me up by my vest. He got his mouth really close to my left ear and began whispering all sorts of inaudible but angry things at me. That's when I blacked out for some reason.



When I woke up, I was laying face-down on a cold tile floor and heard voices around me. Not sure of where I was or who I was with, I simply kept my eyes closed. I listened to the voices as they discussed what to do with my "dead" body. To my bewilderment, I realized that one of the voices belonged to Darell; who was the exact voice of David Carradine (in both sound and manner). I heard him puffing a cigarette and drinking from an icy glass of scotch while he told another gentleman that he was "disgusting" for wanting to do whatever it was he wanted to do with my corpse. (I believe they were discussing feeding me to dogs or butchering me and putting me into meat product) They continued their conversation and I opened my eyes for just a split second to gauge my surroundings. I saw that I was now in a Chinese laundromat, which was a front for a branch of the Chinese mafia. The man to whom Darell was speaking was the leader, and they were discussing how they would dispose of my corpse. They sounded like old friends. I immediately realized that Darell had been working with them the entire time, and convinced the cartel to turn me over to the Chinese for whatever reason. I knew I had to get out of there somehow.



Sitting in a chair next to me, I could hear a young chinese guy talking about the numerous DVDs he had taken off of me - even though I have no idea how or why I had a bunch of DVDs on me. Dream logic. Anyway, he commented that I was better off without them because they were so numerous and cumbersome, and he was looking foreward to adding them to his collection to be sold later on the black market. Using my sense of hearing to gauge where everyone was in the room and in what position the man closest to me was sitting, I readied myself to act. Laying underneath me was my sawed-off, which had been concealed by my body and was thus undetected by the cartel.

I listened very carefully to the man's movements in his chair. When I heard that he was in the perfect position, I sprang up and wrapped my arm around his neck and swung myself behind him to make him my hostage. I jammed the muzzle of my rifle into his throat and stood up to face where I heard Darell's voice. He and the chinese boss were on the other side of a glass wall with a door in it. It was the type of "glass wall" you'd find in an old school; glass windows framed by old, flimsy wood, and the door had a 1x1 foot opening in the center through which mail or other packages could be passed. After I yelled for Darell and the chinese boss to drop any weapons they had on them, they immediately walked in my direction. No longer wearing his tactical gear and now doning a brownish-yellow jacket with dress shirt and tie; Darell pulled a snubnose from the inside of his jacket and held it pointed upward. I immediately repeated my demand for them to drop their weapons or I'd "blow this motherfucker's jaw off of his goddamn body!" Darell just looked at me with disappointment and I shouted some sort of angry beratement to him for having betrayed us. He then pointed his snubnose at me and I clarified that "I am a DEA agent! If you kill me, your ass is getting buried under the goddamn prison, you fuck!"

At this point, a black security guard standing near the front doorway (who was wearing a New York City police uniform, and somehow hadn't caught on to the fact that bad things were happening until that moment) marched over to Darell and tried to grab his gun-holding arm. Darell just continued looking at me with an empty stare and made it clear that he intended to kill me by raising the gun directly at my head. The situation quickly escalated (more so than it already had) and the guard had no choice but to pull his Glock and jam it into Darell's abdomen. Darell then started firing at me and I yelled repeatedly in a panic for the guard to "Fucking shoot him! Shoot him! Shoot him!" The guard began unloading his magazine into Darell's abdomen - spraying blood everywhere - and Darell began unloading his cylinder in my direction. In a split second, I decided I couldn't do anything worthwhile with my rifle so I tossed it down and collapsed onto the floor; bringing my chinese hostage down on top of me. He was squirming and struggling but I was strong enough to hold him in place as a human shield while Darell tried to shoot me. He and the guard struggled and bullets were flying everywhere and someone's blood was spraying, but I don't know who's. (It logically should have belonged to Darell, but it was a dream and things were chaotic, so I was unaware of who's blood was flying around the room) None of Darell's bullets hit me; both because the guard was making it difficult and because he was a crappy shot.



I knew that his gun only held 5 rounds, so I decided I'd wait in the chaos for him to go empty, but he never did because it's a dream and guns are magic in dreams. So he just kept shooting and I was screaming from underneath the chinese guy, who eventually took a bullet to the face and splattered blood and brain matter all over my face and neck. I shook the gore from my eyes and looked up to see the guard gain an advantage on Darell, who's gun-wielding arm was forced into the opening in the door; which he then gripped with his forearm to stabalize himself. I acted fast and threw the dead guy off of me before pouncing Darell's arm. As I grabbed his arm, I threw my full weight into the door and blasted through it like a freight train; bringing it down onto him and knocking him to the floor with me on his back. The guard was thrown back by this and slid across the floor on his rear. I quickly reached down and grabbed Darell's wrist and began slamming it into the tile floor so make him drop the gun, but it was to no avail.

As we struggled, he kept pulling the trigger and in the chaos, the guard was shot in the chest and head. I continued slamming his wrist harder and harder against the floor and eventually broke his hand; at long last forcing him to drop the gun from his limp, bloody fingers. I was then going to start doing with his head what I had done with his hand, but there were suddenly 3 agents at the nearby doorway to my left. One of them bent down and slid a huge revolver toward us. But as it slid, I realized they were sliding it to Darell, not to me. Darell was pretty much incapacitated, and when I looked up at the 3 agents, they were all looking at me with a mutual expression that said "You're pretty much fucked, now".

They started some cliche speech about how I had been beaten and readied their guns. It was apparent that they were working with Darell and the cartel as well. I realized that everyone was corrupt and I was completely alone, so looked down at the revolver hoping to make a final stand against these assholes. Suddenly, though, the three men were distracted by something down the hallway to their left, and they became horrified. They screamed "What the fuck?!" and began to fumble with their weapons. One of them put his revolver to his chest and shot himself; the other shot himself directly in the face; causing the bullet to exit his skull with a spray of blood and hit the third guy behind him. All three men lay dead in a sudden burst of chaos.



It was then that I knew my good friend, the most powerful district attourney in the US, had arrived. His presence scared them so much because of what legal things he could do to them, that they simply shot themselves. He was an old guy - looking like an old actor from '80s comedies who's face I can see but who's name I cannot recall - wearing a black suit befitting a man of his position and shiny black dress-shoes. He peeked around the corner of the doorway and examined the bloody bodies at his feet. After a moment, he raised his stern expression to me without saying a word.

He then smirked, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew I was safe at last.

Now THAT'S a dream! Bowing

It's because he's an artist. His mind is always thinking of amazing stories. He's gonna be famous one day, I guarantee it Big Grin

"It was life, often unsatisfying, frequently cruel, usually boring, sometimes beautiful, once in awhile exhilarating." -Stephen King
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08-05-2013, 05:45 AM
RE: Dreams
(05-05-2013 02:37 PM)Peanut Wrote:  
(05-05-2013 06:32 AM)robotworld Wrote:  tl;dr - Exploration based dreams which involves a changing environment.

Man! I was gonna say that Dodgy Cool

I would like to add that dreams like the ones you described make me think the person is constantly wanting to learn something new. It's like the dreamer is never satisfied with what they've been told; the dreamer feels the need to "find it out for HIMSELF." It's kinda like they are trying to "test out" what they already know.

Yes, as Carlo mentioned, I play quite a lot of video games Big Grin

You are very right in the sense that I have this urge to continue exploring my dream when I realise I'm dreaming. Kind of applies to my attitude towards things in real life. Nearly all the time I try to learn more about the landscape. But there's this one time I somehow summoned the ability to break the rules, and conjured fire from my hands. I felt searing heat and pain for doing that.

Still, dreams are fun. Whether they really have a true meaning behind them, I will remain open and skeptical. (I think given current technology it is possible to make a machine that allows a dream to be visualised on screen)

Welcome to science. You're gonna like it here - Phil Plait

Have you ever tried taking a comfort blanket away from a small child? - DLJ
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09-05-2013, 08:30 PM
RE: Dreams
Also, lets talk about flying dreams.

Everyone has them. Some people say hey swim through the air, others soar.

Mine are a little strange. I just will myself to fly and I levitate in them.(maybe that's like how Superman does it when he wants to fly, I dunno.)

Usually there is some kind of barrier ie I can never seem to climb high enough, there are obstacles, power lines, etc, in the way.

I also have a lot of dreams of falling. Usually I'm standing on some high precipice and for some reason slip off the edge. Strange?

I dunno

"IN THRUST WE TRUST"

"We were conservative Jews and that meant we obeyed God's Commandments until His rules became a royal pain in the ass."

- Joel Chastnoff, The 188th Crybaby Brigade
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09-05-2013, 09:06 PM
RE: Dreams
Flying dreams!

In a lot of them, I'm in an enclosed space, a room with a very high ceiling. It takes much work to get higher, I have to concentrate and swim through the air, and I always feel like I might fall back down. In one dream, in order to levitate, i had to sit cross legged and hold a VHS tape, and really concentrate. I never fly like superman in my dreams at all, it's more swimming in the air, mostly a sort of breaststroke with my arms but my legs don't need to move.
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09-05-2013, 10:18 PM (This post was last modified: 09-05-2013 10:36 PM by GirlyMan.)
RE: Dreams
Vast majority of dreams are just detritus, flotsam and jetsam and shit as the brain shuffles today's shit from short-to-long term memory and throws away the flack and irrelevant shit. But I believe there are exceptions. I had a dream the other night where my ex-sister-in-law put a bullet into my brothers heart by cheating on hm after 25 years of trust, GirlyBro died from a broken heart, but the bullet in the heart that really caused it was from a cheating mate after 25 years of marriage is the gun. GiirlyBro died from a broken heart. .... And left me to clean up the shit. I got your back brother.
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