Nicholas Dreams

Holy Spring Wars

I was in some sort of elite platoon of soldiers whose task it was to free a precious spring of clean water from the clutches of a nebulous villainous entity.  It all took place in a massive post-apocalyptic, mountainous landscape.  I couldn’t figure out if we were on earth or if in fact it was taking place in some strange of-world scenario.

We periodically would make forays into “enemy territory” to attempt to wrest control of this particular fresh water source.  I keenly remember the rest of my team members.  They were not in any respect garbed as soldiers, in fact most of them consisted of my fellow students from ITP dressed as the would be any given day in New York City.  Even though I use the word “platoon”, there was in no way any sort of militaristic quality about any of our endeavors.  Most of our fighting was done using verbal coercion and subtle body movements.  We would engage in tactical arrangements of personnel when we were engaged in a military operation but our strategies were largely non-violent.

The moment I remember first is that we were responsible for attempting to wrest control from a group of policemen who were in command of a secret spring of clean water.  They weren’t policemen in the resect that they were in uniform, they looked like generic, fat, mustachioed detectives from the seventies, replete with plaid blazers, aviators, big bellies and khaki slacks.  They were unarmed, intractable and cantankerous. We were temporarily on assignment in a wretched, post-apocalyptic part of the planet where they were ransoming natural resources as a ploy to make money.  There was very little clean water, vegetation, or organic life of any kind.  We had planned our approach from the mouth of a cave.  I lucidly remember making aggressive, persuasive, conversation with one of the police from behind an overtuned cruiser in a crater next to the hotspring.  I was lying in the dirt and I could see his leather shoes from underneath the car.  I was trying to convince of the futility of holding the spring hostage any longer as our “organization” was the only one with any financial clout and that we were determined not to cough up any money.  I can’t quite recollect how we won but somehow they gave up and we were victorious in the end.

We reconvened back at headquarters after the skirmish.  We were in some sort of technologically intensive compound.  It was mutli-tiered, fabricated mostly out of red and purple steel grating and had a dense layer of flashing screens, touch-screen monitors and there was a whole group of officious, technological lab assistants scurrying about.  We were clearly in a post-mission decompression state.

That unfortunately is the limit of what I can remember.

Confused Patricide in a Suspended Japanese Inn

My brother, father and I were being held captive in a small room. I was aware that the surroundings were distinctly Japanese. In fact we were imprisoned in an incredibly spare traditional inn, replete with tatami, sliding screen doors and dark wood everywhere.
My father was being held captive by an enormous giant of a man who resembled an mongoloid, obese, Bruce Willis. He was kneeling behind my father, holding his head in a sleeper hold. He kept on threatening to snap his neck but seemed intent on keeping us in suspense.
My brother and I were pacing in circles around them, they were in the middle of the room kneeling on the tatami. As we circled around them we became increasingly agitated that the giant was actually going to carry out his threat. I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I grabbed an enormous kitchen knife and clambered up his back. I proceeded to cut deeply into his neck until I felt his body go slack.  As I climbed down from his body and surveyed the gory scene I realized that somehow his body had merged with my father’s and I had inadvertently committed patricide.  My little brother began crying profusely and as I attempted to comfort him he began shaking violently.  He gradually shrank in size and became an infant version of himself.  I picked him and threw him over my shoulder and wrapped him in blankets.

An enormous siren went off throughout the building I was in and I realized I had triggered some sort of alarm system.  I threw the door open and began running around the inn carrying my little brother.  Eventually I came out onto an open, wooden terrace.  I was faced with an enormous industrial scene.

The inn itself was suspended from the underside of an enormous bridge.  Underneath us, sprawling in every direction was a gigantic refinery.  There were miles of pipes, concrete buildings and smokestacks belching exhaust and flames.  There was an elaborate system of suspended, concrete walkways coming off of the inn in many directions.  I could see small platoons of security guards in the distance attempt to get closer to us.  I began running carrying my brother all the while.  I chose paths at random hoping that they would lead us down to street level.  I kept on looking over my shoulder to ensure that the security guards were still at a safe distance.

Finally we exited at the bottom of an enormous concrete ramp and we were at a basic intersection.  It looked like any number of grubby, harsh street corners in Brooklyn, underneath the BQE and overrun with traffic.  I attempted to flag down a taxi.  Finally, in a astate of exhaustion I sat down on the curb, put my “baby” brother down on the sidewalk and began crying spasmodiaclly.

Backwards racecar driving, ignorant mafia and anger blueberries

This dream is another foggy one but had some nice distinctive qualities.  It was riddled with a fair amount of anger and rejection issues.  I was championing a set of odd causes, anyway, moving on.

I remember driving across an enormous bridge in reverse.  I had a whole car full of people and we were clearly trying to escape something.  The bridge was packed with other attempting to evacuate.  I was actually really enjoying the free-wheeling apocalyptic free-for-all that was the exodus.  I was behind the wheel of what felt like a 60’s era, white, Toyota Corolla hatchback.  It felt really beefed up and like it had way more horsepower than was appropriate.  Strangely, in the car with me and my friends were some Mexicans who were were clearly attempting to make a border crossing and somehow gotten planted in my car.  They clutched each other as we careened around traffic.  As we approached the center of the bridge I threw the wheel in one direction and began driving in reverse, looking over my shoulder and firing a really ornate .45 handgun out the window.  I remember it had amazing engraving and inlay in the handle and I had loaded it earlier that day as I intended on taking revenge on someone.  I realized, as I was driving backwards, that I ought to expend all my ammo in advance to ensure  I didn’t hurt anyone.

Fast forward in dream-time.  I am inside an enormous, loft-like boardroom of sorts.  It has high ceilings, black-iron windows, and beautiful, luminescent, warm wood floors.  There is a huge table in the middle of it and seated around it are a bizarre array of what I can only assume were crime-bosses.  They weren’t of the generic Italian, Chinese, Russian variety.  They were attractively dressed, in their 20’s and 30’s, of both genders and most of them had really good hair.  They might have been a group of mafia-esque designers and creative types but I couldn’t be sure.  There was a heated discussion raging about the fate of one of our members who was not present.  It was clear that I was considered one of their number, in that I was clearly a mob boss or at least a consigliere.

As the group debate progressed it became evident that there was a lack of faith in our absent colleague who was evidently female and was considered to be a liability.  I for some reason felt very loyal towards her and fiercely protective and had a sudden impression that she was going to be “rubbed out” as a result of this meeting.

It was also the case that once we left the room there was going to be some sort of hand-to-hand gang war against some other group and we were busy discussing how to arm ourselves with random weapons.  I had a handful of nails clenched in rows between my fingers.  There were several enormous bowls of freshly washed, plump blueberries in front of several of the members.  I became very agitated about the decision to eliminate our mutual friend.  I began angrily brandishing my nail-hands at various members.  I walked around the table several times, grabbing people at random by the hair and holding the nails at their necks.  I remember screaming that if I heard she was injured at any point I would not hesitate to murder or maim my colleagues in the heat of battle when they least expected it.

I would periodically jam huge handfuls of blueberries in my mouth while I was ranting.  I specifically remember examining the bowl for big fat plump ones while holding a handful of someone’s hair in my hands.  I woke up surprisingly agitated and totally confused by all the anger bubbling inside me.

X-Games in a loft and New York gone terribly wrong

This was the last dream of my night.  I was walking through the city (NYC) with my mother in the late afternoon.  We were in the meatpacking district in some such semi-quiet area with big industrial buildings.  The streets were empty so we could walk freely in the middle of the street and be totally fine.  I remember walking by some gas stations with a whole series of empty taxis parked with their doors open.  It was beautiful, balmy night and dusk was falling.  An older, tall, skinny black man stepped out from the shadows and sidled up to us.  In hushed tones he made sure to let us know that New York was no longer as safe as it used to be.  It essentially boiled down to the face that after night fell the city would be populated by predatory types.  Not zombies or anything like that, just angry, disgruntled, idle city folk with nothing better to do than prey on us.  He suggested we find someplace indoors to wait out the night.

As we were searching for somewhere to take shelter we noticed this upscale boutique with a gigantic glass storefront.  There looked like there was some sort fashion shoot going on inside and we walked in to see if we could get any hors d’ouevres.  When we got in we were welcomed by a whole room of obnoziously swank people.  They insisted we go upstairs for the private party where we wouldn’t be anywhere near as endangered by the external malevolence of the city.

The upstairs was like a strange, gothic mega-loft.  The floors were a dark, reddish wood and the middle of the room had several sets of bleachers and a long buffet table.  As we got to the top of the stairs I realized that no one was standing on the floor.  Everyone was standing on top of the bleachers or even on top of the buffet table.  There was also this massive swinging steel surface on cables in the same central, furnished area.  As soon as they realized we were present they beckoned us to stand on top of the furniture with them.  I stood up on the bleachers and realized I recognized a bunch of people at the party, they were all semi-familiar faces from NYC and were all wearing varying types of black, evening wear.  A whistle blew somewhere and people began diving into the floor like a swimming pool.  Strangely the floor became a watery substance of sorts.  It still retained the surface texture, color and opacity of wood paneling but was actually made of water, to the extent that waves were moving outward and people were splashing around in it.  A confusing, and very elaborate game of sharks and minnows ensued where we frantically swam in circles around each other attempting to tap the various sides of the furnishings (which were happily static and normal on the floor as if nothing was out of the ordinary).  Somebody won the game somehow and gradually everyone lifted themselves out of the “water”.   I finished off the dream snacking on canapes and attempting to make conversation with some girl in a long, black, sheer eveing dress.