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Less of a brother

About Mostly Inadvertent Offences

Previous Entry Less of a brother Oct. 4th, 2002 @ 01:53 pm Next Entry
Last night's dream disturbed me a bit.

In it, I still lived with my parents and sister, and we decided to move to a mansion downtown on the harbour. The place was an enormous rectangular structure, like a sky-scraper covered in cream stucco.

Inside was a veritable maze of crystal walls and dark lacquered wood. I never did get to see my room. The first thing we all did was to get in the little black car sitting against the wall. It was mounted to a track that led off into a darkened hallway--the car, by the way, looked very much like the little cars one rides in Disneyland's Haunted Mansion.

The car jerked into motion and carried us sideways down the corridor, which turned out to run along the entire side of the building. We faced the wall which had a series of windows set up a bit like paintings in a gallery. They looked out to the sea, but something about the windows allowed us to see all of the invisible things--like the secret space shuttle the government was building in mid-air and several derelict, haunted antique galleons.

I don't have a brother, but in this dream I did. He, my dad, and I were now standing on the lawn of the place next door. My dad was furious at him for some reason, and began beating him before finally tearing his legs off.

My dad seemingly went off to sulk and I was left holding my brother's severed legs, wondering what I ought to do.

I wandered throughout downtown with a sense of fevered urgency before I finally found a pay phone.

My first instinct was to call Trisa, but I rationalised that there was nothing she could do about my plight, and she prolly wouldn't appreciate being awakened at 5am. So I called 911 instead.

Then I woke up.
Current Mood: distresseddistressed
Current Music: Morrissey - You're the One for Me, Fatty
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