My Evil Twin

There’s blood everywhere. It’s thin and runny in some places, thick like syrup in others. It’s bright red. Is blood really that bright? Shouldn’t it be darker? And the people, the people have been dismembered to the point of being completely unrecognizable, shredded pieces of anonymous meat. They could be anyone or anything.

Amongst the gore, the boy stands with slumped shoulders, calm. His white face, framed by unruly black hair, is pure innocence. “I killed them because I had to,” he says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “I needed to do it.”

I had a meta-dream the other night. What I mean is, I had a dream in which I discussed dreams I had when I was younger. Real dreams, not dreams that existed only in the context of the meta-dream. (You know when you dream about something, and in the dream, it’s all very real, but when you wake up, you realize you never really lived in Belize for a year or explored German castles with Matthew Perry in high school?)

When I was in middle school, I had a series of dreams in which I had a twin brother. Not an identical twin. He was paler than me, with darker hair. His name was Damien (yes, like the boy in The Omen) and he was a horrible, horrible kid. In one dream, he was very kind and nice until he got angry–and his anger was easy to provoke. Then he would fly into murderous rages, beating and killing children and adults. In another dream, he rarely got angry, but he’d decided to make slasher movies in which people were actually killed, and he did all the killing. My dreams about Damien were tense, violent, and bloody. They scared the ever-living hell out of me.

I’ve always been afraid of real violence and have never been a very confrontational person. Damien was my opposite: direct, confrontational, and happy to hurt people. Did he represent real desires in me, subverted and repressed by my environment and education? Did the potential for me to be like Damien exist in my? Does it exist now?

I don’t know. I hadn’t given any thought to those dreams in many, many years, until my subconscious dredged them up the other night in another dream, a dream about terrifying, bloody, rage-filled dreams. A dream about my dreams about my evil twin.

The Great Train Robbery Dream (Latin Remix)

On a whim, I copied and pasted my last blog entry into Google Translate, translated it into Latin, then translated it back into English. This is what I ended up with. I find it amusing and oddly pretty.

We woke up from a long, wonderful dream I want to write.

Morrow was here, late 19th century after the Civil War. Was to obtain a more west. But just the rich, who had power over many and cruel is the woman doing uses according to his own profit. My brother and sister-in-law decided to group as a part of me, who with all the power of the County of theft and the woman taking it up in other places. A brother of his friend in some way to be able to switch engine and engine drivers for his train, while he was in the army on the march. (Causes of the color of which is never very clearly was here. Read more purple, that symbolic of something.) As he was a late train, understood what they thought about that woman was hijacked (by a purple steam engine, which is his final insult) and of all wealth and power was gone. Welcome yielded said?

The train was brought to New Mexico in a small city, which is turned into a colony for artists, writers, inventors of free thinkers. The town had no more the government or the like. The results of our news came that the publisher/editor, who also when your orator, Mexico and pure American (making him into the country for the most part). An old man had been the effect of the cathedral in the city is converted labyrinthine display space and a place for painters, sculptors, actors, and musicians here. Multi-ethnic and multi-cultural people of the town, which the Caucasian, African-American, American, Asia, the Hispanic and Native American. We seemed to be with all.

My brother and sister-in-law into the town but I’d definitely moves with some friends for a lion to him, looking at the West more. Wishes in the bow, George Takeo, even he had said, and set me to move the de facto replacement, making me head of the town. I am honored, I could not help but to think, “Wouldn’ta popular to be better governance of this art, free thinking town? Hence, in this way better than the rich empire of things?” Rich n the way the woman controlled things? “

The Great Train Robbery Dream

I just woke up from a long, strange dream that I want to write down.

It was the mid-to-late 19th century, after the Civil War. I was a passenger on a train heading west. On the train was a rich, cruel woman who had power over many people and used it to make them suffer for her own profit. I was part of a group that included my brother and sister-in-law who decided to take power from the woman by stealing the entire train and taking it somewhere else. My brother and some friends were somehow able to switch their own engine for the engine driving the train–while the train was on its journey. (For reasons that were never made clear, the color of the engine was very important. Our engine was purple, which was symbolic of something.) When it was too late to do anything about it, the woman realized the train had been hijacked (by a purple steam engine, which was the final insult to her) and all of her wealth and power was gone. She’d been foiled!

The train was taken to a small city in New Mexico, which had been turned into a colony for artists, writers, inventors and free thinkers. The town had no mayor or government as such. The police reported to the newspaper publisher/editor, who was also the trade negotiator with Mexicans and Mexican-Americans (making him the most powerful man in town). An old cathedral in town had been converted into a labyrinthine display space and performance space for painters, sculptors, actors, musicians and dancers. The people of the town were multi-ethnic and multi-cultural, being Caucasian, African-American, Asian-American, Hispanic and Native American. Everyone seemed to get along with everyone else.

My brother and sister-in-law were in town, but they’d decided to move out to California with some friends, looking for further opportunities on the West Coast. The newspaper editor, George Takei, had also decided to move on and had named me as his replacement, making me the de facto head of the town. I was honored, but I couldn’t help thinking, “Wouldn’t a democratic government be better for this artistic, free-thinking town? How is this better than the way the rich woman controlled things?”

Everything’s Gonna Be All Right

In a dream the other night, I ran into Ian McCulloch and Will Sergeant of Echo & the Bunnymen, and we got to talking. I told them I was very jealous of their lives. They’d started their band when they were teens and have continued to do what they love all their lives. Mac and Will asked how that was any different than how I’ve lived my life. “Well,” I said, “I haven’t been writing since I was a teen, growing and learning and getting better.”

“Haven’t you?” they asked.

“No,” I said. “I mean, I’ve written poetry off and on since I was in high school. I’ve written one very rough draft of a novel and started a few more. I’ve started some short stories and finished one or two. But nothing has been published.”

“Sounds like you’ve written more than you think you have,” they argued calmly. “Never mind being published. Don’t worry about what other people think. Even if you haven’t finished a lot of things you’ve started, haven’t you been writing a lot since you were a teen–and before that?”

I thought about it for a minute or two before deciding they were right. “Even if I haven’t polished off a final draft of a story or been published, I’ve have been writing pretty constantly since I was a teen, and I’ve definitely done a whole lot of writing that I considered practice, exercises to improve my writing skills. I’ve pushed myself in writing poetry and prose, experimenting, trying to hone my skills. I’ve never really looked at it that way, but I’ve written a lot more than I give myself credit for.”

“You’re on the right path,” they told me, “and you’re doing just fine.”

I woke up feeling really happy and pleased with myself. Thanks, dream Mac and dream Will!

Lazy Weekend Dreaming

Last night, I dreamt of a horror movie. The main character was a young woman with amnesia. She worked at a rundown hotel where she was teased and berated by her boss and coworkers. The young woman was also being pursued by a mysterious middle-aged man and woman who drove a red, ’70s sports car. The man and the woman had some kind of supernatural powers, because they could drive their car anywhere, including through walls and down the corridors of the seedy hotel. They terrorized the young woman and brutally murdered anyone she got halfway familiar with.

In the dream, I was intrigued by this horror movie, but was worried it was too violent and tense for me. I decided to look it up online and learn more about it. But when I looked it up on IMDB and Wikipedia, I could only find the most basic, vague information about it, things that had already been established in the dream. It was like my subconscious started creating this movie and then said, “You know, I just can’t be bothered to do any more with this. I’m done.”

Clearly, my subconscious needs a motivating kick in the ass.

The Old College Try

I dreamt that I was in school. I was doing very well in two of my classes, but I suddenly realized I had been blowing off my other two classes for the second half of the semester and was almost certainly failing them. Instead of panicking, I pulled out the syllabi for the two classes and began looking at past assignments I could make up, calmly planning on bringing my grades back up as best as I could.

I take that as a good sign, that what would normally be an anxiety dream was instead a dream about figuring out where I’d gone wrong and working methodically to fix it as best I could.

A Dream of Thrones

I dreamed of George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones. Except I’ve never read the book or seen the TV series adaptation, so my mind filled in all of the blanks. But in the dream, this is how the book was.

There were a group of fantasy late-medieval/early-Renaissance kingdoms constantly intriguing against each others. These kingdoms existed within contemporary Europe, but somehow the people of Europe and the people of the fantasy kingdoms remained largely unaware of each other. And the lands of the fantasy kingdoms were much larger than the space in Europe that they occupied.

The story followed two groups of characters. One group was led by an exiled nobleman of one of the kingdoms. He was accompanied by his young page and an exiled nobleman from another family. They wandered the kingdoms, looking for a way to get back into the noble intrigue and regain their status. The other group of characters were refugees from the modern world who were mysteriously unable to recall where they were from or why they were refugees. They wandered the back roads of Europe, looking for clues as to where they were from and where they were going. They were led by a determined woman in her late-30s/early-40s. The exiled nobles constantly skirted the edges of the kingdoms, coming close to modern Europe. The refugees skirted the edges of modern Europe, coming close to the fantasy kingdoms. And sometimes in the dream, I was reading the book, flipping to the back to look at the list of characters and the beautiful maps of Europe and the fantasy kingdoms. If you looked at the maps long enough, they would move.

The dream ended before either group found what they were looking for.