Dream Archive 46: Memse 

Walking around outside and reading different magazines to find out where to buy things. Nearby in an industrial part of town there was a business where all they did was film cars crashing into each other for movies. One of the roommates spoke to us in a very high-fantasy type dialogue. She used the word “memse” (pronounced "memsy") to refer to someone in a derogatory way. She looked like a punk rocker but potentially with a fin on her head instead of a mohawk, as though she were some sort of aquatic creature. There was animation of the fin appearing on her head in silhouette, so I don’t know if it was real or something she was imagining or describing.

I looked up where we should go in a zine-style book that was apparently so dangerous and badass that it jumped and lurched in my hands as I tried to read it. Whatever. Overrated. Inside there was a comic strip poem based on “The Night Before Christmas” that was actually a guide to different places around town. It was apparently inspired by a different article someone had written in a different magazine called “Ten Places Where the Bartender is Doing Your Dog.” A guide to bars so rough that the bartender is engaging in bestiality instead of serving you drinks? Please. It was clearly hyped up beyond belief. What kind of laughable person reads a magazine to find depraved bars to hang out in? Sounds like pathetic poser tourism to me.

Every “edgy” person in the world is a piece of shit. Every violent person in the world deserves to go to the hospital or the morgue. Ideally I would like to send each and every last one of them there myself. Fuck everyone in this dream. Stupid, sad nobody assholes—too lame to even exist. You act tough, but I’m the one who gets to wake up and continue with my life while you fade away. You were never anything. You’re meaningless, only ever seen by one person and then immediately forgotten. That’s what you’re worth. 

Dream Archive 44: Deez Nuts 

We were in a college town where we kept stealing everything from everyone. We were staying in a flophouse that catered to rich and poor alike. We kept listening to stories from the other residents. Michael said his friend “Hot” Charlie was having a rough time and we needed to go pick him up. I jumped in the car with Michael’s phone and headed over to get Charlie. I looked at the phone, which was now Charlie’s phone, and there was a text message that read, “Your divorce has been finalized.” I picked up Charlie and we texted Michael. Apparently he was having trouble with the front door of the flophouse. It wouldn’t open.

We drove recklessly back there to get him. He was listening to one of the residents tell a story, and suddenly he heard the Key he’d been waiting for. He went up to an old fashioned cart that was parked outside. It looked like a wooden cart where a traveling tradesman would keep all their stuff. He pulled out a ratty old leatherbound book and opened it. He said the Key and then used it to draw a handle on the page. He turned the handle and it opened some kind of door or portal. “All right!” he said. “Mike Deez, Mike Deez, you owe me some food, you sly motherfucker.”

We went through the portal and found ourselves in a labyrinth of hallways that led to various rooms. I guess this was Mike Deez’s house. We went from room to room looking for food. We reached a room with a sofa and some machinery. We could hear the disembodied voice of Mike Deez speaking in the next room. It sounded like he was hosting a talk show—possibly from beyond the grave? “If you’re going to be handsome and successful,” said the voice, “you have to know yourself and what you’re capable of.” There was thunderous applause. 

Dream Archive 43: The House Across the Valley 

I was trying to complete some kind of graduate program. I was getting help from a woman who lived in the area. In return for her help, she asked me to find her daughter who had disappeared recently. I was researching the case on a microfiche projector but getting nowhere. I went to visit the woman at her house across the valley. 

As I started to walk, I suddenly achieved full lucid dreaming. I felt as though I was wide awake and in complete control of my body. I thought to myself, “I finally did it!!” even though I have heretofore made no effort to achieve lucid dreaming. Maybe that’s why it only lasted for 30 seconds. But during that time I was able to fly across the valley to the woman’s house at the top of an old logging road.  

Of course the house was a mansion. All houses in dreams have to be mansions. The family was having a meeting or a briefing in their living room using an old style overhead projector complete with transparencies and everything. Do kids today even know what overhead projectors and transparencies are? I’m guessing they do given the state of funding for public education in this country. Schools are probably still using equipment they bought in the 1970s.  

I assume the family was meeting about the effort to find their missing daughter. As I walked out of the living room, I met the girl’s grandmother. She was lying flat on her back in the middle of the hallway. Her eyes were milky white, and she was clearly blind. She spoke to me and told me three things about myself, all of which were true. The girl’s father told me that the grandmother had the second sight and knew everything there was to know. “She always speaks the truth,” he said.  

I knelt down, looking into her blank eyes. The pupils were constricted, and the irises radiated fine grey and white lines. They looked like painted marbles. I asked her, “Where is your missing granddaughter?” She seemed to be looking directly at me even though there was nothing in her eyes. She gave me the answer to my question, but I don’t remember what it was.