Categories
Dream Journal

Port-a-Potty Stabbing Samurai

Entering an abandoned hospital in the future where there are much fewer people. We’re here to scavenge parts, including an alarm clock block of wood. In the bathroom, I have a strange feeling of understanding: I’ll be one of the last people to know what a place like this was before the fall. In the bathroom, I imagine finding a hidden wall panel to go through a secret corridor, a way to escape the ward — the kind of fantasy someone I would have been trapped here would have, the kind that one day won’t be understood anymore.

A samurai race: one samurai leaves the starting line early, chasing the quarry into a port-a-potty. He stabs his samurai sword strongly right through the middle at first, then seems to have a moment of reflection and genre-savviness, realizing his victim would probably kneel to avoid the strike. So he then thrusts the blade diagonally down into the porta potty, likely killing the victim (who was seen to enter). It is never confirmed, though. The race was scheduled to start at dawn, but the other samurai remains asleep at the starting line. The winner hopes his opponent will not notice his cheating.

A magazine from January 2005 features a light green background. It’s eye-catching, seemingly an intentional misuse of chroma key. More to do with it that is now forgotten (I used to be better at leaving myself hints… hmm).

Categories
Dream Journal

Best One Before the Knife Dance

Sword swinging event. I get all my practice in beforehand and I’m home of the best dancers. At the last minute though I find a scimitar and curved dagger on a shelf and switch to those. I possess a lot of knives, it turns out. During the actual event I just need to pee, and I spend most of my time in a corner trying to get my underwear on. Before I know it, it’s over and they’re doing the ceremonial awards. I know I failed and never actually did the mock combat dance, but everyone watched me enthusiastically swinging around beforehand — I was the best one, before it counted. So I don’t get an award. Instead the host passive-aggressively tries to get me to sing along to a famous song I did by playing it without the lyrics (not sure if matters, but this was a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan song). I refuse to song along for free and hover haughtily above a fence.

Categories
Dream Journal

House of Ukraine

Escaping a house which represents Ukraine, as besieged by the Russians. I was a journalist and accidentally became stuck there, making the most of it going from room to room. Noticing near the end they finally changed everything and cleaned up all the rooms, and are dragging away my big metal box. Yank it away and flee through the front hayloft door. I manage to warn incoming friends about a girl with a vagina between her digits (middle and ring finger), that she secretly works for the Russians. The paper topper for my box detaches and blows across street — I walk to retrieve it, thinking about the image of the Angelic Sword of Michael.