multkoloraj briletantaj lumoj

Took a xanax the night before since I was stressing over work. Slept with open windows. Rain during the night. Warm bedroom. Slept under my purple binky. Guest room.

I came into existence along a very wide highway at night. It was foggy, and I could tell from the way the traffic’s headlines were playing with the atmosphere around me. Among a large group of people, I presumed they were all of Latin descent, maybe Puerto Rican, we began crossing en masse. Must’ve been sixteen lanes on either side of the road and the crossing was harrowing. By the time we reached the median I was thinking, “oh no, this is one of those third-world videos where a truck smears a line of human beings because “lol hey third world”.”

looking to my right, the oncoming traffic was heavy but eventually calmed down enough where crossing was reasonable. also i saw the traffic was coming down a very steep and tall incline, more than 45 degrees, which must’ve been terrifying for the drivers. we made it across, then began to make the journey back which didn’t seem to be that long nor dangerous.

i entered a clean, white facility which appeared to be made of molded plastic. inside i could see it was run by NASA, they had martian regolith simulant (i remember dream-speaking the word) and there were little black rovers being tested everywhere. the rovers also had bright colorful ledson them. i said hello, uncharacteristic of me, and i thought “those rovers look like the kinds of sneakers worn by disadvantaged urban youths.” i noticed one of the scientists had a very unusual look. he appeared to be east Indian, had ebony black skin, and prominent head ridges on his skull. the ridges went across a pronounced brow. two ridges emerged from the brow above each eye and curved over the top of the skull towards the back like the decorative fins on an early 20th century car. the aspect of his face was squashed, as if the top and his jaw had been intentionally pressed down together making his skull wider rather than taller. the man’s eyes were unintentionally menacing. i exited to the left and began an interview with someone who resembles a news caster. i can’t think of any appropriate or relevant names at the moment.

i remember the interviewer seemed to be working on a shoestring budget. he had a hot plate with several pots, including my own, and i realized i had misplaced my phone. earlier in the dream i had been inside of an amusement arcade full of electronic games flashing bright lights. something about the colors was appealing and i was trying to capture the atmosphere with my camera’s phone. the strange Indian man was there too.

the flashback in the dream ended, i was still in the side trailer of the martian rover testing facility with the interviewer from a major news source. i still didn’t have my phone, and the interviewer was thanking me for taking some time to share my thoughts on a forgotten topic. I left the room, realized i was wearing what I was wearing in waking life, underpants and socks, then clomped downstairs to sit where it’s cool and gather my thoughts.

I looked down, saw “look right” written on the floor. looking right was another note saying “look up” whereupon i found another sign with a direction. Typical internet shit of glancing around a photo at someone’s direction then you realize you’re now looking at “You lost the game” or that “OK” gesture which leads to getting punched in the arm. Realizing this, I glanced around trying to find the final location instead of being distracted following directions. Far down the stairwell, perfectly aligned in a small passage were large sheets of paper taped together. Don’t recall exactly but it was “I have your stuff.” That’s when I realize my cooking pot was also missing, and probably with my smartphone. When I pulled my head back to read the full message, the evil black-skinned east Indian fellow jumped down, his body all angular like Waluigi.

“Oh fuck this” went through my mind. I leapt at his head and began beating the skull against the floor. Only a few slams were necessary to incapacitate him. I didn’t kill him. I left the stairwell, went outside, returned to the martian rover testing facility, opened the door to shout, “You have to come outside.” the researchers came out, saw the guy, knew what was going on, and with their knowledge I realized they had been looking for him for engaging in some nefarious business.

Around that time I was trying to see if I remember who I was, since I wasn’t thinking one whit during the dream. Little bits started coming back to me, affirming that I am who I am in waking life. I was sounding them off, settling back into the peace of unconsciousness, then finally roused from sleep with the impetus to write everything down.

Chris S.
Anomalist, esperantist, cyclist, typist, dodecaphile, ailurophile, and oneiromancer. Chris lives near the shore with his wife, cats, and the Jersey Devil in his backyard.

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