Thursday, August 28, 2008

A Dream

There is a Brazilian man in our social circle who wants Alessandra. He's as good looking as Rodrigo Santoro

(but not him b/c he's cool)

and a very snappy dresser standing a full head taller than me. He is standing inside my front door and he's here to take her away from me.

"Not gonna to happen. Now leave." I tell him.

The gestalt is that he's a fighter and "woman beater" and we all know he beat the mother of his child by actually hitting her with the child. Alessandra is not going to leave him for me.

There is amused tolerance coming from him. "What are you going to do about it little man?"

Anything I have to. I am keyed up! It's going to go down. I am trembling in anticipation. It's going to hurt.

"The first thing I'm going to do is wreck your 'junk', and I point to his crotch.

Do Machos fight dirty? I'm going to go down kicking and biting. I tell my self.

He gives me a look of disgust but leaves.

He starts stalking us.

He finds a church that has a Brazilian congregation and he approaches Alessandra while she is at the mall with her friend, trying to play on her guilt and get her to church away from me. He fails.

I'm playing pool at some sort of pub. He is there heckling me. At some point he flashes a gun. Again we hear that he beat his baby momma with a baby. He's in my personal space fucking up my shots.

I consider a restraining order, but he's diplomatically immune.

I have a plan, I don't know if it's legal but I acquire one anyway.

A spring loaded baton:

I find the guy in the pool room, whip it out and start whaling on his legs beginning at the knee. It has a weighted tip and you can bet it hurts.

This part of the dream isn't nearly as intense as the initial standoff, and I take a few shots at his head. I see him as bruised and bloodied. A message has been sent: Stay the fuck away.

Then the dream shifts to some Harry Potterish bullshit shortly before I wake up.


My dream this morning was that I was in L.A., and I met Peter Tork from the Monkees. Ray Manzerek from the Doors was there too. They didn't have much to say to me.
There is only one person I know of who could have that dream. Is that you JohnRus?
Yup, that was me, sir.
What the fuck is going on here? I check out one of the Cap'n's blogs and read this violent little essay, then he didn't write it, but someone else did. Someone who calls him sir?

I am thoroughly confused.
No, really it was me. That's how I dreamed it, and that's why I reported it as I don't normally dream violent.

If it's any consolation, this morning (9.15.08) I dreamed I was at my dads house with my estranged family and we were excited that dad brought us desk calendars for 2009, then I was temping at large corporation and I was naked at the office. Go figure.
You've got some serious problems. :)
I find that the more I examine visual art and/or draw in the evenings before bed I create more vivid dreams.

Last night I had a collage of at least 3 screenplay worthy dreams (and one South Park ep.) one of which had Ricky Gervais being responsible for the fire that destroyed Shakespeare's Globe Theater: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Globe_Theatre#History but they all vanished before I could write them down.

So yeah :)
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