Dream Log 5/3/2009

The dream begins with a couple of guys pushing down big metal rails down what appear to be a single-line train track. This occurs on one of the largest roads in my hometown. It's as old-fashioned as it sounds. Except there are also cars going down this particular street, so I'm having a dream which is anachronistic in its own world.

At one point, what seems to be some sort of 1800s police car: it looks like an old-fashioned firetruck, with blinking lights, including a circle of lamps which flash in sequence. They're not red and blue; however, I can't tell what color they are, because inside the dream, it's sepia-toned black-and-white.

The rail-runners finally get to the bottom of the hill, where they talk with other rail-runners. There are hundreds of boxes with other rails and building parts... and flashlights. Several of the men (some are boys) have come to the conclusion that some of them will die down there, because they'll be building something underground. Let's jump back for a second, some company, apparently in the late 1800s, has built a DIY underground building that comes in hundreds of boxes. It turns out they're making a jail.

He's were it gets weird. Without jumping forward in time, we arrive at the "underground" jail, which is already built, and accessible by car. In the car are my mom, my brother, his girlfriend, and I.

We approach the front, where there is an entrance and an exit door. For some reason we're trying to be crafty. My companions attempt to go in the exit all stealthy-like. I wait outside because I have spotted the guard, an imposing-looking woman. I make it seem like my family has just made a silly mistake and she lets me in. I fear the worst, but it turns out they are waiting for me, having also manipulated the guards.

As we tour the place, we talk about our expert emotional manipulation. Just assume for the rest of this recap, we're some sort of genius thieves or secret agents.

We pass by a black family, which is only notable because they're talking street and I was about to say a phrase that suburban, middle-class society has adopted as their own.

Moving along, we finally make it to our destination: the bathrooms. All the inmates are having their bathroom break. Kermit the Frog is being coerced into doing #2. He's been specially fed for it. The reason is, is they want to fish out his droppings. I didn't know why until some inmate screamed out, "I ain't eating some frog's s***." So, Muppet frog turd are yummy apparently. Fruit-flavored is the dream's excuse. (I am not making this up.)

Anyway, this is where it gets really weird. The cast has morphed (as it often does in my dreams) to the cast of TNT's television series Leverage, about a group of expert thieves. (Hey, that sounds familiar!) Anyway, through some action that does not translate to logic or reality, they set up a massive pencil-and-paper game, which when solved creates a maze which explains how to escape from the jail. The jailers, after the board is nearly finished, panic.

Now, this brings up the point that one of my group was smart enough to create a game on the fly which would produce a map disguised as a simple children's workbook maze.

Anyway, the dream internally retcons the point of the map to lead not to the free world, but to the pantry, where all the inmates have an orgy of gluttony and eat months worth of food.

At this point in the dream, it's now a documentary instead of a narrative. Apparently the inmates just waited around (hibernating?) until another shipment came in, at which point they again participated in an orgy of gluttony. It's explained as if we've screwed with their eating schedules.

And the dream ends without much of a conclusion.

There was then a small minifilm following the feature presentation. My new kitten, Chloe, was playing around in my TV chest, fighting off some bug. Turns out it was a wasp. Who proceeding to grow as large as she and sting her in the tail. The wasp then came after me, and I squished him in my hands, and I got stung, after remembering that, unlike bees, wasps regenerate stingers and don't die. I check for the stinger, hoping to pull it out, but I can't find it, but I still feel the pain.

About the time my brain gets around to replaying the first dream (as it's apt to do), I wake up and there's still a pinprick feeling on my hand where the dream wasp stung me. I haven't found any reason for it. Just a phantom prick I suppose.

And by "phantom prick" I mean an unexplained glitch in one's nervous system causing an unexplained pain (analogous to "phantom limb"), and not a jerky ghost. Jerky as in mean-tempered and not dried meat.

Anyway, I read online that eating certain foods may make you dream better. Here's what I had:

Bacardi and coke
A crescent roll
Yogurt
Leftover Peach Kuchen (a German cobbler dish)

Let me not that this is not my normal dinner; I had an early supper with my dad, who I picked up at the airport, so I just snacked before bed. Perhaps this is the way to go.