Dream Log: April 14, 2000

It happened several times; sometimes it was visually represented, and sometimes I just felt it.
A wasted piece of paper uncrumpled before me, stretching slowly, floating in air as in water, uncreasing itself, becoming useful again.
Something like fog dissipated.
My forehead uncrunched, and it became easier, by tiny degrees, to relax my shoulders and let myself circulate a simpler rhythm. Unfolded, even affection could make sense to me.

I was waiting at Euston station then I saw my two friends Hina and Shelia run past. They gestured to me to catch the train on platform 11. One problem that was the wrong train. So I start to run after them carring my 24 pack of beer, which is bloody difficult to do! I just barely managed to catch them up, they were at the front of the train (usually where the train driver is except there wasn't one). I tried to motion to them they were on the wrong train. I was gonna jump on the train cause I saw a lil gap, but I felt the train moving too fast to try to board it. I also had this weird feeling the train would try (as if it was an animated object) push me off if I tried.

I think we were meant to be going to some party - I keep seeing images of a house party I'd went last year. Anyway back to the train station.

As I started to walk back to platform 10 I managed to drop my box of beers. This guy who resembled my old lecturer Donald from my days in technical college said something. Oh one thing about this guy he was like a teenage version of Donald -- I figured Donald to be about 35 when he was teaching me. I figured he had mumbled something like, "you're lucky that didn't touch me!". I was so incensed that I ran after him. Luckily he was catching the same train as me.

I kneeled over this dude and asked him what he had said to me. He kept mumbling I couldn't understand what he was saying. At some point I realised he had not said what I thought he had. People kept looking at me cause I couldn't understand what he was saying most of the time, I had to keep asking him to repeat himself. I can't recall what we talked about, but I felt it was some pleasant chit chat. Then these two women who were sitting next to me; one was about 60-70 a-typical granny looking and the other was about 40, motioned to my new friend and then begin to sign. The kid was hearing impaired! Here's the bizaare thing; his voice was more of a strong deep Scottish accent with a mumble of sorts.

• Catching the train at Euston is like daily routine.
• The young kid with the hearing impairment was probably because I watched this program called "See Hear!" last night. This program is for the hard of hearing and contains signing.

• Why I dreamt of my old buddies from my HND years.
• Why I was carrying a 24 pack of beer.
• Why I saw someone who reminded me of an old lecturer.

I am part of the mafia, the italian mafia. The italian mafia, for some reason, is at war with the Chinese triad, but wtf? I'm Chinese! Shouldn't I be on the other side? Anyhow, somehow the entire mafia AND triad end up on a big huge oil tank boat. Now, I can only guess that some members of the italian mafia are betraying the mafia, because they are killing their own guys by sealing them into empty oil barrels and throwing them into the sea. This is when I start crying -- the sort of cry where you pant uncontrollably. Then another scene is changed. There is a train on the boat (wtf?) and it has members of the Chinese triad handcuffed to the seats. There are even women and little children chained to the seats. At this point, I'm so overwhelmed by grief and panic that I can't even understand what's going on around me.

When I woke up I felt like crying, because I still had that uncontrollable panting. Ah what a nightmare...

I often have third person dreams... dreams where for the most part I'm not actually in the action, but watching it... like I'm watching a movie.

This most recent dream was no exception... It started off as though I was watching the whole thing on television. Two-dimensional & kind of grainy. I could see, from above, a large group of people sitting indian-style on the ground, as though protesting something. Then, from the top of the frame, a batalion of tanks rolls in... rolling over row after row of people.

The tanks move out of the frame again, leaving... well... pieces of people scattered everywhere. Then vaguely official looking people walk in, bearing fire-hoses... using them like leaf-blowers to shepherd all of the dismembered protesters into neat piles.

Then... wham. I'm there on the ground with them, just kind of walking around. The thing is, they're all still alive those protesters, and they start yelling and moaning all these horror-movie dream sequence clichés at me. Like, "Help me, please!" and "My God it hurts!" (Hey, I didn't write this stuff.. well, I guess I did... sort of.) But they're all in pieces, of course, so there's not much that I can do for them. I just kind of give them an "I'm sorry" shrug.

One really odd thing was that their veins were snaking out of their... uh... stumps like little wires.

I'm not nuts... Really, I'm not. I'm just continuing a long tradition of sane people who have really weird dreams.