The following is a dream.
A drunk girl has her arms wrapped around me, from behind. I don't know how hot she is, but I am mildly irked by this because I am focusing on rummaging through the contents of some small lockers in a locker room. I tell the drunk girl, "Hey, I'm not even drunk," but she does not seem phased by this in the least. Her friends (beside me) make fun of her, and rummage through lockers with me as well. Apparently, I am among a group of hooligans who had broken into some sort of drug storage locker room, and we are looking for drugs.
Soon some people discover that these "drugs" are scarier than the type they're used to, and they leave. In fact, some syringes aren't even drugs; there are infections, diseases, mutation-givers, and just all types of general scariness in these lockers. My curiosity grows, so I stay in the locker room with some bold adventurous others.
One particular syringe with a needle catches my eye. It reads "Zombie: 300 Infected -- and counting!". Having seen 28 days later, I wonder, "How is it possible that only 300 people are infected so far?" but forget this thought as soon as multiple chilling screams issue throughout the locker room. The screams are not just from zombies; pretty much everyone who has tried a "drug" needle is now a weird diseased person or a type of monster. I decide that it's time to run, because I do not want to become a diseased person or a type of monster.
Alas, as I am leaving the locker room, I contract a disease. It has something to do with a tingly feeling in my legs and feet. Fortunately, the disease causes no side effects other than the ability to fly. So I fly around, landing in the UC Berkeley campus. (EDIT: Today when I went to the bathroom I remembered another symptom of my disease: I pooed a lot uncontrollably and all the poo was lined with viscous fluid resembling alien saliva. I assumed it was my sloughed-off stomach lining.)
Somehow, I had subconsciously taken the Zombie syringe with me. I pull it out of my pocket and again ponder my earlier question, "If every zombie hungers for human flesh, how is it possible that only 300 zombies are infected?" My question is immediately answered by an excerpt from the label of the syringe: "Each zombie may only choose ONE human to infect." That's when I accidentally poke myself with the needle, and my vision turns blue.
I decide, by some zombie logic, that if I can only infect one person in the world, that person should my girlfriend so we can both be zombies together. I begin to devise a plan to bait her out of her room and then bite her. My white woman mother aids me in this plan by sending a carefully devised letter to her, detailing a meeting with cookies in her office.
As I await her arrival, I go to the bathroom. Expecting to see a contorted ugly zombie face, I look into the mirror and am surprised to discover that my face is relatively normal. Aside from a red drunk Asian glow and a couple of yellow moldy spots on my cheeks, my zombie face exhibits no difference from my original face. As I am urinating, however, I notice that my penis is too small.
Jeff from my floor last year (not my current roommate) walks in. I remark to Jeff how easy it is to see that I am currently in a dream. "There are at least two indications that this is a dream," I declare. "One, my penis is too small." He laughs. Before I am able to state my second point, I wake up. I cannot remember the second reason.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
I can see cells in my eyes
The following is not a dream.
Last night I couldn't sleep, so there I lay staring at a pinprick of my light without my glasses. To any near-sighted person including myself, a pinprick of light without glasses appears as a blurred halo of light. The halo pulsated, growing smaller and larger as my eyes naturally adjusted their focal point repeatedly back and forth. I thought, "Hey, maybe if I can will my focal point to change enough, the halo of light will eventually converge to a single point and I won't be near-sighted anymore!" But I couldn't do it.
So then I had a better idea. I wondered, "Are there more details inside this 'blurry' halo?" I directed my attention to the details of the "blur," and found that it was not blurry at all. The halo was actually composed of tiny circles. I thought to myself, "This looks uncannily similar to what I would see under a microscope slide in high school biology." I looked more closely at the tiny circles. I blinked. They moved.
Naturally, I was skeptical. Hell, if someone told me they could see cells in their eyes and wrote this note, I wouldn't believe them at all. But gradually, after staring and blinking a lot, I became convinced that these were, indeed, CELLS ON THE TIP OF MY PUPIL. By staring at a fixed light in darkness, I essentially turned my eye into a LIGHT MICROSCOPE, with the slide being the tip of my pupil. I think it only works because I am severely near-sighted.
By the way, these are not floaters. If you tell me I am seeing floaters I will punch you in the face. I've noticed floaters since I was 5.
You can see cells too! (But only if you're severely near-sighted, like -900 or more). Here are some easy steps!
1. Make sure the room is dark.
2. Take off your glasses.
3. Cover one eye (if you leave both eyes uncovered you will be seeing cells from both eyes at the same time, which would be confusing).
4. Stare at a pinprick of medium-brightness light about 5 feet away (this should appear as a blurry halo).
5. Focus on this light for a minute or so. Try to catch what's going on inside the blur.
6. Close your eye exactly half-way such that your eyelid is covering half of the halo of light. You should now be seeing the bottom semi-circle half of the halo.
7. Open your eyelid all the way. Notice the WATER MARK you left behind on the halo (it should appear as a thick double-membrane line dividing the halo). This should be enough to convince you that what you are seeing is in your eye on the cell level, not in the light.
8. If you're still not convinced, blink a lot. Notice how the cells at the top layer move and slide with the blink, and momentum carries them forward as it should, but they slow down due to a viscosity in the liquid they live in. Also notice that deeper-layered cells remain stationary.
Enjoy, if you're near-sighted.
Last night I couldn't sleep, so there I lay staring at a pinprick of my light without my glasses. To any near-sighted person including myself, a pinprick of light without glasses appears as a blurred halo of light. The halo pulsated, growing smaller and larger as my eyes naturally adjusted their focal point repeatedly back and forth. I thought, "Hey, maybe if I can will my focal point to change enough, the halo of light will eventually converge to a single point and I won't be near-sighted anymore!" But I couldn't do it.
So then I had a better idea. I wondered, "Are there more details inside this 'blurry' halo?" I directed my attention to the details of the "blur," and found that it was not blurry at all. The halo was actually composed of tiny circles. I thought to myself, "This looks uncannily similar to what I would see under a microscope slide in high school biology." I looked more closely at the tiny circles. I blinked. They moved.
Naturally, I was skeptical. Hell, if someone told me they could see cells in their eyes and wrote this note, I wouldn't believe them at all. But gradually, after staring and blinking a lot, I became convinced that these were, indeed, CELLS ON THE TIP OF MY PUPIL. By staring at a fixed light in darkness, I essentially turned my eye into a LIGHT MICROSCOPE, with the slide being the tip of my pupil. I think it only works because I am severely near-sighted.
By the way, these are not floaters. If you tell me I am seeing floaters I will punch you in the face. I've noticed floaters since I was 5.
You can see cells too! (But only if you're severely near-sighted, like -900 or more). Here are some easy steps!
1. Make sure the room is dark.
2. Take off your glasses.
3. Cover one eye (if you leave both eyes uncovered you will be seeing cells from both eyes at the same time, which would be confusing).
4. Stare at a pinprick of medium-brightness light about 5 feet away (this should appear as a blurry halo).
5. Focus on this light for a minute or so. Try to catch what's going on inside the blur.
6. Close your eye exactly half-way such that your eyelid is covering half of the halo of light. You should now be seeing the bottom semi-circle half of the halo.
7. Open your eyelid all the way. Notice the WATER MARK you left behind on the halo (it should appear as a thick double-membrane line dividing the halo). This should be enough to convince you that what you are seeing is in your eye on the cell level, not in the light.
8. If you're still not convinced, blink a lot. Notice how the cells at the top layer move and slide with the blink, and momentum carries them forward as it should, but they slow down due to a viscosity in the liquid they live in. Also notice that deeper-layered cells remain stationary.
Enjoy, if you're near-sighted.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Shrimp and Eggs
Yesterday I was sitting on the bus when an old woman shoved a plate of shrimp and scrambled eggs in my face and tried to cram the plate into my mouth. Disgusted, I shoved it away, fearing it was poisoned.
She then explained to me that she feared the food was poisoned (which is why she was trying to feed it to me first, just to see what would happen). I asked her why, and she said, "My ten-year-old son cooked this for me, and then he ran away. I think he's trying to poison me." She had no other reason to suspect her son of any such malice; she was simply a deranged, paranoid mother. However, I managed to convince her that her son's intentions were entirely benevolent and that she should look for her son, who probably ran away for some other reason.
So we got off the bus and called the police, informing them of her missing son. We walked around, and -- lo and behold, there was her son, running away. The police, conveniently nearby, gave chase.
Suddenly, the police who was chasing the son dropped his counter-terrorist shield, drew his pistol, and inexplicably began firing upon the running child. I yelled at the police, "STOP! I'll shoot you if you keep shooting him!" But it was an empty threat, for I had no gun. I could sense that the next shot would connect, so I threw some textbooks I happened to be carrying between the police and the boy. But I was too slow, and the bullet caught the child in the head. Then the two police officers hopped in the police car and rapidly drove away.
The child's mother and I were outraged. We rallied some fellow students and pursued the police car by foot. Soon, we reached a dead end with a panel-activated metal warehouse gate as the only exit. The police car rammed the large silver panel, and the gate began opening upwards. We the students, however, surrounded and marauded the surprisingly small police car (little bigger than a backpack). The police themselves were pretty small too, and we easily overpowered them, took their guns, and shot them to death.
As I wiped the blood on my hands onto my pants, I remarked, "It'll be hard to explain this in court..." and lamented that my fingerprints were now on the guns. One of the students responded, "It's ok. We can bribe the forensics people to contaminate the fingerprints and render them unreadable." To which I said, "You know we're like... in the 1980's, right? Technology sucks, and forensics people can't do shit, other than maybe read fingerprints."
A couple of hours later, I played the Pokemon theme song on an under-sized piano at the request of some Asian guy.
By the way, this was a dream, obviously.
She then explained to me that she feared the food was poisoned (which is why she was trying to feed it to me first, just to see what would happen). I asked her why, and she said, "My ten-year-old son cooked this for me, and then he ran away. I think he's trying to poison me." She had no other reason to suspect her son of any such malice; she was simply a deranged, paranoid mother. However, I managed to convince her that her son's intentions were entirely benevolent and that she should look for her son, who probably ran away for some other reason.
So we got off the bus and called the police, informing them of her missing son. We walked around, and -- lo and behold, there was her son, running away. The police, conveniently nearby, gave chase.
Suddenly, the police who was chasing the son dropped his counter-terrorist shield, drew his pistol, and inexplicably began firing upon the running child. I yelled at the police, "STOP! I'll shoot you if you keep shooting him!" But it was an empty threat, for I had no gun. I could sense that the next shot would connect, so I threw some textbooks I happened to be carrying between the police and the boy. But I was too slow, and the bullet caught the child in the head. Then the two police officers hopped in the police car and rapidly drove away.
The child's mother and I were outraged. We rallied some fellow students and pursued the police car by foot. Soon, we reached a dead end with a panel-activated metal warehouse gate as the only exit. The police car rammed the large silver panel, and the gate began opening upwards. We the students, however, surrounded and marauded the surprisingly small police car (little bigger than a backpack). The police themselves were pretty small too, and we easily overpowered them, took their guns, and shot them to death.
As I wiped the blood on my hands onto my pants, I remarked, "It'll be hard to explain this in court..." and lamented that my fingerprints were now on the guns. One of the students responded, "It's ok. We can bribe the forensics people to contaminate the fingerprints and render them unreadable." To which I said, "You know we're like... in the 1980's, right? Technology sucks, and forensics people can't do shit, other than maybe read fingerprints."
A couple of hours later, I played the Pokemon theme song on an under-sized piano at the request of some Asian guy.
By the way, this was a dream, obviously.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Pushing a Cruise Ship
Setting: A huge cruise ship, like Titanic but more modernized.
There was this humanoid "pixie" whom I had seen earlier. She was blonde and quite cute.
That's why, as I see her again just as the elevator doors are closing, I panic and hit lots of elevator buttons hoping to re-open the doors so that I can go out there and see her again. One of the buttons I press happens to be the "alarm" button. It causes the entire cruise ship to sound an alarm. "Oops," I shrug to the others who are in the elevator with me.
The doors of the elevator open only when it reaches the lower level. Visible and lethal green gas is already seeping into the room (apparently, it's a security response triggered by the alarm), but the elevator is now out of service. We run up the stairs towards the exit, the green gas on our tails. To complicate things, there is a narrow glass maze with timed doors that open only every 2 seconds and then clamp shut so hard as to be able to pulverize anyone unfortunate enough to be standing there (think old-school Prince of Persia with the fanged doors). Inside the maze, we are still chased by "pockets" of green gas that seep inside the maze whenever the doors open.
After traversing many such doors, I exit the glass maze and step into a large hallway with metal detectors: the ship's security gate. There are three large lines to board individual smaller ships that travel to the mainland of our vacation spot. The cruise ship never docks; it just sets anchor far away from land while the smaller ships actually travel to the mainland.
Supposedly, everyone must board these ships, because they have to sink the cruise ship for "maintenance" while the passengers of the ship are gone. However, there are still about 100 people in line waiting to board the ships when suddenly the lights in the hall dim and turn blue. The modernized gates leading to the smaller ships close with a hydraulic hiss, and I hear a soft, low "thunk" as the first ship detaches itself from the main cruise ship and sets sail. Two more thunks follow.
We realize we are trapped inside a cruise ship that is about to be put underwater for "maintenance." Oh well.
[skip some scenes]
The majority of the passengers are still on land, and we have the cruise ship all to ourselves! Somehow, the ship is fine and dandy, and we are not underwater. We approach land.
For some strange reason, we are pressed to find "riches" from land and bring them back to the ship. For another strange reason, we can't simply bring the cruise ship to the beach and dock there; we have to jump into the water with snorkeling gear and PUSH the damn cruise ship with our bare hands until it reaches shore.
And so we do, me and two of my nondescript friends. We go underwater and push at the bottom of the ship's hull. It proves to be surprisingly easy, and the ship even seems to tilt and almost tip over a couple of times.
One of my friends ask, "What if we accidentally tip the cruise ship over and it falls onto us?"
I respond, "That's pretty much impossible; even a shark ramming the cruise ship head-on wouldn't budge it even a bit."
My other friend says, "Yeah that shark would definitely just knock himself out."
But we are still bothered, because the cruise ship is so light and really DOES almost tip over a couple of times. As the three of us align the cruise ship with the shore, I marvel at how easy it is to move the cruise ship just by myself. I wonder, "Why is it so light?" We turn around and look over our shoulders.
Lo and behold, the gigantic cruise ship is hundreds of feet behind us, and has not budged a bit. In fact, what we had thought to be our cruise ship was, in actuality, nothing but a large blow-up dolphin balloon.
There was this humanoid "pixie" whom I had seen earlier. She was blonde and quite cute.
That's why, as I see her again just as the elevator doors are closing, I panic and hit lots of elevator buttons hoping to re-open the doors so that I can go out there and see her again. One of the buttons I press happens to be the "alarm" button. It causes the entire cruise ship to sound an alarm. "Oops," I shrug to the others who are in the elevator with me.
The doors of the elevator open only when it reaches the lower level. Visible and lethal green gas is already seeping into the room (apparently, it's a security response triggered by the alarm), but the elevator is now out of service. We run up the stairs towards the exit, the green gas on our tails. To complicate things, there is a narrow glass maze with timed doors that open only every 2 seconds and then clamp shut so hard as to be able to pulverize anyone unfortunate enough to be standing there (think old-school Prince of Persia with the fanged doors). Inside the maze, we are still chased by "pockets" of green gas that seep inside the maze whenever the doors open.
After traversing many such doors, I exit the glass maze and step into a large hallway with metal detectors: the ship's security gate. There are three large lines to board individual smaller ships that travel to the mainland of our vacation spot. The cruise ship never docks; it just sets anchor far away from land while the smaller ships actually travel to the mainland.
Supposedly, everyone must board these ships, because they have to sink the cruise ship for "maintenance" while the passengers of the ship are gone. However, there are still about 100 people in line waiting to board the ships when suddenly the lights in the hall dim and turn blue. The modernized gates leading to the smaller ships close with a hydraulic hiss, and I hear a soft, low "thunk" as the first ship detaches itself from the main cruise ship and sets sail. Two more thunks follow.
We realize we are trapped inside a cruise ship that is about to be put underwater for "maintenance." Oh well.
[skip some scenes]
The majority of the passengers are still on land, and we have the cruise ship all to ourselves! Somehow, the ship is fine and dandy, and we are not underwater. We approach land.
For some strange reason, we are pressed to find "riches" from land and bring them back to the ship. For another strange reason, we can't simply bring the cruise ship to the beach and dock there; we have to jump into the water with snorkeling gear and PUSH the damn cruise ship with our bare hands until it reaches shore.
And so we do, me and two of my nondescript friends. We go underwater and push at the bottom of the ship's hull. It proves to be surprisingly easy, and the ship even seems to tilt and almost tip over a couple of times.
One of my friends ask, "What if we accidentally tip the cruise ship over and it falls onto us?"
I respond, "That's pretty much impossible; even a shark ramming the cruise ship head-on wouldn't budge it even a bit."
My other friend says, "Yeah that shark would definitely just knock himself out."
But we are still bothered, because the cruise ship is so light and really DOES almost tip over a couple of times. As the three of us align the cruise ship with the shore, I marvel at how easy it is to move the cruise ship just by myself. I wonder, "Why is it so light?" We turn around and look over our shoulders.
Lo and behold, the gigantic cruise ship is hundreds of feet behind us, and has not budged a bit. In fact, what we had thought to be our cruise ship was, in actuality, nothing but a large blow-up dolphin balloon.
So I was in bed with this guy
The test is to fly a rocket ship, launched from Earth, through a small ring barely bigger than the thickness of the rocket itself. If the rocket ship flies through the small ring without touching the edge, the captain is accepted into the elite group. If not, the captain is executed by "reapers."
As an omniscient observer I witnessed the deaths of many such captains who failed the test. They would be put inside an elevator. The elevator door would open, jump back to closed position, and re-open, in a very creepy infinite loop. During one such opening, small blue imp-like creatures, "reapers," would jump into the elevator and kill them.
So I was in bed with this guy. And I was wondering why I was here in the first place, or why this guy, who didn't seem gay, would want me in bed with him.
That's when I attained a third-person view of myself, and I realized I was a chick. I was a female captain who had failed the test, but I had made a bargain with this guy that I would have sex with him and he would see to it that I would not be executed by the reapers.
But this was a gross misunderstanding: I was only a male playing a female character! So I flung my hands up and said "Dude! Stop! I'm a man!" and hurriedly detached myself from this guy. He was confused at first, since I looked nothing like a man; I was a woman. However, he quickly realized that lots of male players choose female models for their characters in MMORPG's, so he believed me (thankfully).
Real-life connection to dream:
I have two female characters in the MMORPG Rohan, and they are both extremely attractive.
As an omniscient observer I witnessed the deaths of many such captains who failed the test. They would be put inside an elevator. The elevator door would open, jump back to closed position, and re-open, in a very creepy infinite loop. During one such opening, small blue imp-like creatures, "reapers," would jump into the elevator and kill them.
So I was in bed with this guy. And I was wondering why I was here in the first place, or why this guy, who didn't seem gay, would want me in bed with him.
That's when I attained a third-person view of myself, and I realized I was a chick. I was a female captain who had failed the test, but I had made a bargain with this guy that I would have sex with him and he would see to it that I would not be executed by the reapers.
But this was a gross misunderstanding: I was only a male playing a female character! So I flung my hands up and said "Dude! Stop! I'm a man!" and hurriedly detached myself from this guy. He was confused at first, since I looked nothing like a man; I was a woman. However, he quickly realized that lots of male players choose female models for their characters in MMORPG's, so he believed me (thankfully).
Real-life connection to dream:
I have two female characters in the MMORPG Rohan, and they are both extremely attractive.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Children with Blood
Something -- some bug or piece of dirt -- had become stuck inside the skin of my upper right arm. I had to find what it was, so I pried inside my skin folds with my left hand fingers.
Unfortunately, instead of finding what I was looking for, I accidentally dislodged an extremely important needle in my right arm that had been implanted by a surgeon months ago. As the needle disconnected from my body and became exposed to the air, it ceased to administer life-sustaining juice into my body, and I became noticeably weaker. Again and again, I tried to stick it back into my arm at various places and angles, but could not seem to find the correct vein.
Realizing that this was an emergency, I quickly phoned the doctor. He said, "Record a video showing what happened to your arm, put it on a floppy disk, and send it to me. Then I'll see what I can do."
I thought this was rather odd, since a video is much too large of a file to store in a floppy disk. Thus I ignored the doctor's request and, instead, went straight to the hospital myself.
Upon arrival, the doctor asked, "Did you record the video on a floppy disk like I asked you to?"
I said, "A video can't fit on a floppy disk."
He said, "Good, so now you know."
I realized that the sadistic doctor had wanted me to record a video, try to put it on a floppy disk, and fail. I got the uncomfortable feeling that this doctor was trying to hurt me instead of help me.
I asked, "Why did you tell me to put it on a floppy disk in the first place?"
"To teach you a lesson."
That the doctor had wanted to teach me a "lesson" before I had even done anything wrong further confirmed my suspicions that this doctor was an evil sadist.
The doctor's assistant pulled out some thick-rimmed glasses from an envelope, and handed them to me. I put them on, and they distorted my vision. I thought they were some sort of "drunk" glasses, so I stumbled around and joked, "haha, I'm drunk."
The doctor's assistant replied, "No, those are not glasses that give you drunk vision. They are actually a diagnostic tool we use to determine if someone is susceptible to a certain type of seizure. If you get a seizure in the next couple of minutes, we'll know you're one of those people."
I walked around for a bit, then gave them back to the assistant. No seizure. The evil doctor, disappointed, got bored and left the room to go work on his other evil deeds, and the assistant started explaining to me how they use the "seizure glasses" to diagnose people.
"If there is a seizure, an emergency will be announced. The course of action following a seizure begins with an announcement as such:
'This is an emergency seizure.
Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service.
Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service....'"
He explained that during an emergency, some people cannot help having a panic attack. Reading aloud the announcement quells any anger towards certain people who panic and are "slow" to respond to emergencies, thus facilitating quicker cooperation between members of the hospital staff.
While casually listening to the assistant, I began to experience a vague headache, which throbbed and gradually grew more intense. I was feeling so sick, I nearly fell over while trying to lay down. My vision blurred, the lights on the ceiling became nondescript spinning halos. Then, all of a sudden, my body began to spasm violently, and I was experiencing a full-on seizure.
I heard a voice,
"This is an emergency seizure."
I saw, through blurred vision, some people shuffling quickly to attempt to aid me. I noted that my sadistic doctor, who had not yet returned, seemed to be one of the most remarkably "slow" staff members to respond.
"Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service."
Suddenly, I could no longer see the hospital staff. Instead, a large crowd of children were running at me, their faces and hands covered in blood. Gruesome and gory, they ran into the windowed wall, the only thing separating me from them. As they beat at the large plexi-glass windows with their fists, their horribly distorted and bloody faces screamed a silent scream. I lay there helplessly, still experiencing violent spasms. The sturdy windows became equally covered in blood, but did not break.
"Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service..."
Unfortunately, instead of finding what I was looking for, I accidentally dislodged an extremely important needle in my right arm that had been implanted by a surgeon months ago. As the needle disconnected from my body and became exposed to the air, it ceased to administer life-sustaining juice into my body, and I became noticeably weaker. Again and again, I tried to stick it back into my arm at various places and angles, but could not seem to find the correct vein.
Realizing that this was an emergency, I quickly phoned the doctor. He said, "Record a video showing what happened to your arm, put it on a floppy disk, and send it to me. Then I'll see what I can do."
I thought this was rather odd, since a video is much too large of a file to store in a floppy disk. Thus I ignored the doctor's request and, instead, went straight to the hospital myself.
Upon arrival, the doctor asked, "Did you record the video on a floppy disk like I asked you to?"
I said, "A video can't fit on a floppy disk."
He said, "Good, so now you know."
I realized that the sadistic doctor had wanted me to record a video, try to put it on a floppy disk, and fail. I got the uncomfortable feeling that this doctor was trying to hurt me instead of help me.
I asked, "Why did you tell me to put it on a floppy disk in the first place?"
"To teach you a lesson."
That the doctor had wanted to teach me a "lesson" before I had even done anything wrong further confirmed my suspicions that this doctor was an evil sadist.
The doctor's assistant pulled out some thick-rimmed glasses from an envelope, and handed them to me. I put them on, and they distorted my vision. I thought they were some sort of "drunk" glasses, so I stumbled around and joked, "haha, I'm drunk."
The doctor's assistant replied, "No, those are not glasses that give you drunk vision. They are actually a diagnostic tool we use to determine if someone is susceptible to a certain type of seizure. If you get a seizure in the next couple of minutes, we'll know you're one of those people."
I walked around for a bit, then gave them back to the assistant. No seizure. The evil doctor, disappointed, got bored and left the room to go work on his other evil deeds, and the assistant started explaining to me how they use the "seizure glasses" to diagnose people.
"If there is a seizure, an emergency will be announced. The course of action following a seizure begins with an announcement as such:
'This is an emergency seizure.
Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service.
Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service....'"
He explained that during an emergency, some people cannot help having a panic attack. Reading aloud the announcement quells any anger towards certain people who panic and are "slow" to respond to emergencies, thus facilitating quicker cooperation between members of the hospital staff.
While casually listening to the assistant, I began to experience a vague headache, which throbbed and gradually grew more intense. I was feeling so sick, I nearly fell over while trying to lay down. My vision blurred, the lights on the ceiling became nondescript spinning halos. Then, all of a sudden, my body began to spasm violently, and I was experiencing a full-on seizure.
I heard a voice,
"This is an emergency seizure."
I saw, through blurred vision, some people shuffling quickly to attempt to aid me. I noted that my sadistic doctor, who had not yet returned, seemed to be one of the most remarkably "slow" staff members to respond.
"Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service."
Suddenly, I could no longer see the hospital staff. Instead, a large crowd of children were running at me, their faces and hands covered in blood. Gruesome and gory, they ran into the windowed wall, the only thing separating me from them. As they beat at the large plexi-glass windows with their fists, their horribly distorted and bloody faces screamed a silent scream. I lay there helplessly, still experiencing violent spasms. The sturdy windows became equally covered in blood, but did not break.
"Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service..."
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Sulfur Dioxide in the Stoneridge Mall
For some reason, evil villains (especially little girls) bent on killing me is a common theme in my dreams. As long as you are not yet bored of this theme, I'm sure you'll enjoy the following dream sequence.
Much as I would like to, I don't remember much before the explosion of the sulfur dioxide balloon. I believe I was chronically sick with some sort of fatal illness, and I had entered a store in the
Stoneridge Mall to see a woman who had the antidote to my disease. She must have given me the antidote and saved my life. (It still irks me that I can't remember this section clearly, because the most important and emotional effects of my dream probably took place before the sulfur-dioxide incident that I will now recount.)
After I was cured, I started gazing around the store, looking at the objects on display. There were strange objects ranging from lava-lamps to pulsating balloons, all under a disco light that gave a trance-like feel to the scene.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a tall skinny flask on a table with a yellow balloon attached to its opening. The yellow balloon was outlined by a blue force field, but I could see that there was yellow gas inside -- sulfur dioxide, I assumed (later, I googled sulfur dioxide in real life and discovered that it's actually a colorless gas). The balloon repeatedly oscillated in size, inflating and deflating over and over again.
"Just don't pop it," she said without answering my question.
As if on cue, some random oaf in the store went "whoops" and knocked the flask a bit, which disengaged the balloon and released yellow poisonous gas in the air. I quickly ran out of the store while holding my breath. Behind me, no one had yet realized the situation, and the store owner was calmly telling everyone to evacuate the premises.
I found myself on the second floor of the Stoneridge Mall, which overlooks the first floor. I ran for a bit, slowing down because I was sure I'd gotten far enough from the gas for it to have diffused by now.
Unfortunately, more yellow gas starting pouring through the ventilation system of the entire Stoneridge Mall. Somehow, the store owner had decided to gas everyone in the entire building! "Control the vents, and you control the entire building," I mused to myself. I began to run for an exit, but I felt slowed and crippled as the sulfur dioxide entered my body, numbing my senses and slowing me down. As low gravity "dream running" settled in, I could barely run at a walking pace.
Nonetheless, I entered a Macy's-like store at an endpoint of the second-story walkway, and quickly found the closest exit to the outside. I opened the door and stepped into fresh air and bright sunlight -- I was now in a parking lot.
I had barely taken a couple of steps when I saw a boy rounding the corner of the building scootering along on his razor scooter towards the parking lot. My omniscient dreaming sense told me that this boy was an accomplice of the evil villain store owner -- her boyfriend, in fact. There was a tree close to me, but it was too late to run and hide behind that; he would see me for sure. So I simply froze in place and prayed he wouldn't see me.
The evil store owner was right behind him, also on a scooter. For some reason, she was no longer a woman, but now a little girl wearing red. Both the girl and the boy made an inspection of the area without seeing me. When they were satisfied that no one had escaped the gassing, they headed back around the corner of the building from where they came. When she was almost out of view, the little girl decided to look behind her one last time. That's when she saw me.
She started scootering towards me, and I knew she was the type of villain that would never allow for any survivors. There was only one place to run, only one shelter available -- I ran back into the gas-filled mall, and she followed me there.
Fortunately, I found two little kids inside the building who were also victims, running from the gas. The little kids and I braced ourselves for battle against the one evil little girl. She came storming in with a flat silver wrench, and hurled it at me without hesitation. The wrench spun through the air at me, but I ducked and put my hands up, miraculously catching the thrown wrench in my hands.
However, we were no match for the girl in hand-to-hand combat; she simply could not be taken down. At this point, more victims showed up, and now we had a team of about 4 kids plus myself. We surrounded the girl in a circle and assumed our fighting poses, waiting for her to make one mistake.
Eventually she did make a small mistake. She lashed out at one of the kids a bit too slowly, and he grabbed her in the arm. Immediately, another little kid seized this opportunity to grab her other arm. Abruptly, the whole team rushed in to grab her limbs and keep her immobilized, and the battle was over. It was my job to hit her with the wrench and knock her out cold.
I whacked her repeatedly with the silver wrench she had thrown at me, but she simply would not lose consciousness. In fact, even between blows to her head she still struggled against the grip of the four little kids. But I still had to keep hitting her on the head; if she didn't lose consciousness, we'd never get out alive.
Finally, an adult (she seemed like a 40-ish year old mother) walked in on us. "Cut it out," she said, as if this were not an intense battle, but some elementary school skirmish. "Break it up." We refused.
"You don't understand," I told her. "Letting her go would be like letting a murderer loose with a gun in his hands. She's dangerous."
The mother would not be swayed, and eventually the fight really did break up, with the little girl running away to who-knows-where. We were safe now, finally, and I walked into the parking lot again.
My phone vibrated, and I picked it up. It was my dad. "We're worried about you, how come you haven't called us? We have to talk about your behavior and how you ignored all my calls."
"But I was busy fighting that... girl." I protested. Then I asked, "Do you think the sulfer-dioxide will cause any lasting long-term damage?"
My dad responded, "No, sulfur-dioxide shouldn't be your main concern. Remember your disease? It burned through most of the inside of your body, Max."
Much as I would like to, I don't remember much before the explosion of the sulfur dioxide balloon. I believe I was chronically sick with some sort of fatal illness, and I had entered a store in the
Stoneridge Mall to see a woman who had the antidote to my disease. She must have given me the antidote and saved my life. (It still irks me that I can't remember this section clearly, because the most important and emotional effects of my dream probably took place before the sulfur-dioxide incident that I will now recount.)
After I was cured, I started gazing around the store, looking at the objects on display. There were strange objects ranging from lava-lamps to pulsating balloons, all under a disco light that gave a trance-like feel to the scene.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a tall skinny flask on a table with a yellow balloon attached to its opening. The yellow balloon was outlined by a blue force field, but I could see that there was yellow gas inside -- sulfur dioxide, I assumed (later, I googled sulfur dioxide in real life and discovered that it's actually a colorless gas). The balloon repeatedly oscillated in size, inflating and deflating over and over again.
"Just don't pop it," she said without answering my question.
As if on cue, some random oaf in the store went "whoops" and knocked the flask a bit, which disengaged the balloon and released yellow poisonous gas in the air. I quickly ran out of the store while holding my breath. Behind me, no one had yet realized the situation, and the store owner was calmly telling everyone to evacuate the premises.
I found myself on the second floor of the Stoneridge Mall, which overlooks the first floor. I ran for a bit, slowing down because I was sure I'd gotten far enough from the gas for it to have diffused by now.
Unfortunately, more yellow gas starting pouring through the ventilation system of the entire Stoneridge Mall. Somehow, the store owner had decided to gas everyone in the entire building! "Control the vents, and you control the entire building," I mused to myself. I began to run for an exit, but I felt slowed and crippled as the sulfur dioxide entered my body, numbing my senses and slowing me down. As low gravity "dream running" settled in, I could barely run at a walking pace.
Nonetheless, I entered a Macy's-like store at an endpoint of the second-story walkway, and quickly found the closest exit to the outside. I opened the door and stepped into fresh air and bright sunlight -- I was now in a parking lot.
I had barely taken a couple of steps when I saw a boy rounding the corner of the building scootering along on his razor scooter towards the parking lot. My omniscient dreaming sense told me that this boy was an accomplice of the evil villain store owner -- her boyfriend, in fact. There was a tree close to me, but it was too late to run and hide behind that; he would see me for sure. So I simply froze in place and prayed he wouldn't see me.
The evil store owner was right behind him, also on a scooter. For some reason, she was no longer a woman, but now a little girl wearing red. Both the girl and the boy made an inspection of the area without seeing me. When they were satisfied that no one had escaped the gassing, they headed back around the corner of the building from where they came. When she was almost out of view, the little girl decided to look behind her one last time. That's when she saw me.
She started scootering towards me, and I knew she was the type of villain that would never allow for any survivors. There was only one place to run, only one shelter available -- I ran back into the gas-filled mall, and she followed me there.
Fortunately, I found two little kids inside the building who were also victims, running from the gas. The little kids and I braced ourselves for battle against the one evil little girl. She came storming in with a flat silver wrench, and hurled it at me without hesitation. The wrench spun through the air at me, but I ducked and put my hands up, miraculously catching the thrown wrench in my hands.
However, we were no match for the girl in hand-to-hand combat; she simply could not be taken down. At this point, more victims showed up, and now we had a team of about 4 kids plus myself. We surrounded the girl in a circle and assumed our fighting poses, waiting for her to make one mistake.
Eventually she did make a small mistake. She lashed out at one of the kids a bit too slowly, and he grabbed her in the arm. Immediately, another little kid seized this opportunity to grab her other arm. Abruptly, the whole team rushed in to grab her limbs and keep her immobilized, and the battle was over. It was my job to hit her with the wrench and knock her out cold.
I whacked her repeatedly with the silver wrench she had thrown at me, but she simply would not lose consciousness. In fact, even between blows to her head she still struggled against the grip of the four little kids. But I still had to keep hitting her on the head; if she didn't lose consciousness, we'd never get out alive.
Finally, an adult (she seemed like a 40-ish year old mother) walked in on us. "Cut it out," she said, as if this were not an intense battle, but some elementary school skirmish. "Break it up." We refused.
"You don't understand," I told her. "Letting her go would be like letting a murderer loose with a gun in his hands. She's dangerous."
The mother would not be swayed, and eventually the fight really did break up, with the little girl running away to who-knows-where. We were safe now, finally, and I walked into the parking lot again.
My phone vibrated, and I picked it up. It was my dad. "We're worried about you, how come you haven't called us? We have to talk about your behavior and how you ignored all my calls."
"But I was busy fighting that... girl." I protested. Then I asked, "Do you think the sulfer-dioxide will cause any lasting long-term damage?"
My dad responded, "No, sulfur-dioxide shouldn't be your main concern. Remember your disease? It burned through most of the inside of your body, Max."
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Quickload Works in Dreams
The first dream
I was with my old high-school buddies, most of them Asian. The only person I distinctly remember being with me is Allen, but there were others as well. All of us were carrying guns; I had one in my right cargo pocket.
Little girls were playing hula, or some other random games, in the courtyard. I sighed. At this rate, we'll never have an opportunity to terminate the target unseen.
Some members of my assassination team started throwing stones at the nearest shop window, as a diversion of attention from our target, who was a man walking away from the courtyard. I thought this was overkill, because the windows almost broke. I proceeded to follow the target, fingering the gun in my pocket for reassurance.
I wondered if what we were doing was morally justified. The one who gave us our assignment had claimed to be an agent of the
Shadow Broker, a mysterious character in a computer game called "Mass Effect." The Shadow Broker buys and sells "secrets." For example, he buys evidence of a murder, or other such shady business, and sells the information to those who desire it, thus making a profit.
In my dream, the shadow broker wasn't satisfied with what he had; he wanted to cause more trouble, make more "secrets" that he could sell. That's why he sent us to kill this guy; then he'd have more interesting information to sell to others. "Information is a commodity," the agent had said. Since our target was a bad guy himself, it would not be too morally reprehensible. Or would it?
After I had stalked my target for quite a while, he started to make small-talk with me. I knew he was only doing it because he suspected I was trying to kill him, and was trying to make me feel sympathy. It was working. I asked him what his name was, and he hesitated a moment before replying "Debbie Walker."
I never did kill the man. I was curious, though, to see whether or not his name was actually Debbie Walker. When I returned home I facebooked the name and found no faces matching that of his. That's how I knew he was lying.
End of first dream.
Second dream:
It was extremely windy outside of our house. The road in front of the house was no longer the pleasant residential 25 mph street; rather, it was a two-lane highway. Booming waves crashed upon the rocks just beyond, and sounds of howling wind and ocean spray filled the air.
A family knocked on my front door, and I opened it. The mother was asking directions to a location, which will now be known as "Location." I closed the door against the wind and yelled to my mother, "How do you get to Location?" She responded with something about Wine Spring City. I opened the front door and relayed that information to the family, and they were grateful.
Soon after, however, the father randomly turned into a zombie. He bit the mother and the son. "This will not do," I thought. Hastily, I reached over to press the "quickload" button on my computer keyboard: F9.
The game loaded back at the beginning of the scene, with the family knocking on my door. Everything proceeded as before; I even hastily told them the directions to Location. But this time, I knew what was going to happen. I called the mother of the family on my cellphone, warning her that her husband will turn into a zombie. As the first symptoms of zombie-ness started to develop in the father, she realized I was telling the truth and began to back away. Realistically, our phone conversation cut off as soon as she started to run.
Alas, the son could not be saved and was bitten by the father. My front door was locked, but there was a big glass window in the middle, through which the father zombie broke. I ran to the kitchen, but the father zombie was right at my heels! I had to get out of the house fast, so I jump-kicked through the glass of the kitchen window.
I continued to run, but for some reason my shorts were down, wrapped around my ankles and hindering my movement. Fortunately I had my trusty sword. I sliced through the center of the shorts around my ankles to allow my legs to move freely. Conveniently, I also slew the father zombie with the sword by slicing his torso in half.
I had climbed over the wooden fence of the backyard to the neighboring house's yard, but the son zombie was in hot pursuit, beginning to climb the fence. Suddenly, as musical notes drifted from the house, I realized that my sister was still placidly practicing piano. I climbed back over the fence into my own backyard and gave myself an upwards boost...
Which proved to be the worst decision I could ever make in a "running from monsters" dream. These dreams are notorious for their extremely low gravity. When I jumped upwards from the fence, my trajectory was in slow motion due to the low gravity of the dream. The son zombie easily covered the horizontal distance of my trajectory and stood at its endpoint, awaiting my inevitable fall to the ground so he could eat me.
"This will not do!" I declared, and I hit F9. I caught a glimpse of the beginning scene at the front door before I woke up.
End of dream #2
This proves that "quickload," a common feature in computer games, works in dreams. "Quicksave," however, has yet to be tried...
[edit] p.s. I forgot to mention the musical accompaniment of the zombie dream, which consisted of a two-chord progression: f minor - a flat minor, with the melody going F - E - E flat (E being the passing tone). If you can't imagine this in your head, please play it on a piano. This short instrumental sound byte (it seemed to be mostly orchestral strings) repeated over and over again in my head during this dream, providing a fittingly creepy sound scape for the zombie dream. Since it was short and simple, I was able to remember it upon waking up.
I have probably had dreams with much more interesting original musical content, but alas, it is much more difficult to remember longer, non-repetitive themes. Usually, any memory of such musical content is not only extremely fragile, but also restricted to the last couple of seconds in the dream. I therefore urge readers of this note to dedicate their life to the discovery of DREAM-RECORDING TECHNOLOGY. Thank you.
I was with my old high-school buddies, most of them Asian. The only person I distinctly remember being with me is Allen, but there were others as well. All of us were carrying guns; I had one in my right cargo pocket.
Little girls were playing hula, or some other random games, in the courtyard. I sighed. At this rate, we'll never have an opportunity to terminate the target unseen.
Some members of my assassination team started throwing stones at the nearest shop window, as a diversion of attention from our target, who was a man walking away from the courtyard. I thought this was overkill, because the windows almost broke. I proceeded to follow the target, fingering the gun in my pocket for reassurance.
I wondered if what we were doing was morally justified. The one who gave us our assignment had claimed to be an agent of the
Shadow Broker, a mysterious character in a computer game called "Mass Effect." The Shadow Broker buys and sells "secrets." For example, he buys evidence of a murder, or other such shady business, and sells the information to those who desire it, thus making a profit.
In my dream, the shadow broker wasn't satisfied with what he had; he wanted to cause more trouble, make more "secrets" that he could sell. That's why he sent us to kill this guy; then he'd have more interesting information to sell to others. "Information is a commodity," the agent had said. Since our target was a bad guy himself, it would not be too morally reprehensible. Or would it?
After I had stalked my target for quite a while, he started to make small-talk with me. I knew he was only doing it because he suspected I was trying to kill him, and was trying to make me feel sympathy. It was working. I asked him what his name was, and he hesitated a moment before replying "Debbie Walker."
I never did kill the man. I was curious, though, to see whether or not his name was actually Debbie Walker. When I returned home I facebooked the name and found no faces matching that of his. That's how I knew he was lying.
End of first dream.
Second dream:
It was extremely windy outside of our house. The road in front of the house was no longer the pleasant residential 25 mph street; rather, it was a two-lane highway. Booming waves crashed upon the rocks just beyond, and sounds of howling wind and ocean spray filled the air.
A family knocked on my front door, and I opened it. The mother was asking directions to a location, which will now be known as "Location." I closed the door against the wind and yelled to my mother, "How do you get to Location?" She responded with something about Wine Spring City. I opened the front door and relayed that information to the family, and they were grateful.
Soon after, however, the father randomly turned into a zombie. He bit the mother and the son. "This will not do," I thought. Hastily, I reached over to press the "quickload" button on my computer keyboard: F9.
The game loaded back at the beginning of the scene, with the family knocking on my door. Everything proceeded as before; I even hastily told them the directions to Location. But this time, I knew what was going to happen. I called the mother of the family on my cellphone, warning her that her husband will turn into a zombie. As the first symptoms of zombie-ness started to develop in the father, she realized I was telling the truth and began to back away. Realistically, our phone conversation cut off as soon as she started to run.
Alas, the son could not be saved and was bitten by the father. My front door was locked, but there was a big glass window in the middle, through which the father zombie broke. I ran to the kitchen, but the father zombie was right at my heels! I had to get out of the house fast, so I jump-kicked through the glass of the kitchen window.
I continued to run, but for some reason my shorts were down, wrapped around my ankles and hindering my movement. Fortunately I had my trusty sword. I sliced through the center of the shorts around my ankles to allow my legs to move freely. Conveniently, I also slew the father zombie with the sword by slicing his torso in half.
I had climbed over the wooden fence of the backyard to the neighboring house's yard, but the son zombie was in hot pursuit, beginning to climb the fence. Suddenly, as musical notes drifted from the house, I realized that my sister was still placidly practicing piano. I climbed back over the fence into my own backyard and gave myself an upwards boost...
Which proved to be the worst decision I could ever make in a "running from monsters" dream. These dreams are notorious for their extremely low gravity. When I jumped upwards from the fence, my trajectory was in slow motion due to the low gravity of the dream. The son zombie easily covered the horizontal distance of my trajectory and stood at its endpoint, awaiting my inevitable fall to the ground so he could eat me.
"This will not do!" I declared, and I hit F9. I caught a glimpse of the beginning scene at the front door before I woke up.
End of dream #2
This proves that "quickload," a common feature in computer games, works in dreams. "Quicksave," however, has yet to be tried...
[edit] p.s. I forgot to mention the musical accompaniment of the zombie dream, which consisted of a two-chord progression: f minor - a flat minor, with the melody going F - E - E flat (E being the passing tone). If you can't imagine this in your head, please play it on a piano. This short instrumental sound byte (it seemed to be mostly orchestral strings) repeated over and over again in my head during this dream, providing a fittingly creepy sound scape for the zombie dream. Since it was short and simple, I was able to remember it upon waking up.
I have probably had dreams with much more interesting original musical content, but alas, it is much more difficult to remember longer, non-repetitive themes. Usually, any memory of such musical content is not only extremely fragile, but also restricted to the last couple of seconds in the dream. I therefore urge readers of this note to dedicate their life to the discovery of DREAM-RECORDING TECHNOLOGY. Thank you.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Holes in his Cheeks
This happened a couple of days before "Marijuana Exhibition," but I forgot to write about it until now.
My friend Alex was eating two lollipops at the same time. Both lollipops were completely in his mouth (even including the stick parts). They were positioned horizontally such that they were poking out and extending his cheeks, making his cheeks look fat and unnatural. Suddenly, he drew both lollipops out of his mouth, simultaneously, from opposite cheeks, through a hole in each of his cheeks. Each "hole" was basically two 0.5cm-long slits in the form of an X, which permitted 4 skin flaps to open up into a hole.
Naturally, I was disgusted, and exclaimed, "dude, what the ****?"
Alex responded nonchalantly, "I have cysts in my mouth, so they did some surgery on my cheeks."
note: this was a dream.
My friend Alex was eating two lollipops at the same time. Both lollipops were completely in his mouth (even including the stick parts). They were positioned horizontally such that they were poking out and extending his cheeks, making his cheeks look fat and unnatural. Suddenly, he drew both lollipops out of his mouth, simultaneously, from opposite cheeks, through a hole in each of his cheeks. Each "hole" was basically two 0.5cm-long slits in the form of an X, which permitted 4 skin flaps to open up into a hole.
Naturally, I was disgusted, and exclaimed, "dude, what the ****?"
Alex responded nonchalantly, "I have cysts in my mouth, so they did some surgery on my cheeks."
note: this was a dream.
Marijuana Exhibition
I was ditching class with some nondescript girl. We were walking side by side in the corridor of an office building. The floor we were on happened to be hosting a marijuana exhibition, in which numerous pot smokers demonstrated the effects of smoking pot in several separate stands distributed at intervals in the hallway. We saw many bizarre pot smokers as we walked through this tour of pot smoking. Some examples were:
1. A man with fire pouring out of his eyes, ears, nostrils and mouth. Note: This did not scare me in the dream (though it does when I think about it now).
2. A man with a set of bars instead of teeth (like Hannibal Lector), whose mouth was on fire. He promptly fainted when we approached him, as if on purpose for dramatic effect.
3. Two young boys playing hip-hop music using strange exotic instruments: one bowed a violin bow across a banjo to create bass tones, while the other used three claw-like appendages to pluck a string, creating the percussive backbeat.
Then, it was time to go to class.
I was in some sort of chemistry class, in a high school classroom setting. When I expressed my fascination at a concept that was being lectured, the entire class turned on me, and one classmate said, "uh, have you been missing the first two weeks of school, or something?"
I said, "yeah, but it's no big deal."
The teacher cheerfully said, "Well, that means he missed out of the black orange juice demonstration. We'll have to do it again, just for him." So she asked me to hand her a bunch of recipe ingredients to place in a blender. One of these was "ravenfrost," a black oily substance that felt weightless in my hands, and turned the entire orange juice mix black. She blended everything together and the finished product was a disgusting black. I knew, however, that the blackness was only deceptively disgusting, and when she poured the orange juice out, it turned from black to orange. The orange juice tasted normal. The supposed "chemistry lesson" involved was that Ravenfrost is a unique substance that is black by defualt, but changes colors when moved about in a certain manner. (note: Raven Frost is a unique ring in Diablo 2)
Then, it was time to go to BART.
I found myself at the Bay Fair station, and I entered the Dublin/Pleasanton train when it approached, because I was on my way home. However, when the train started moving, I saw some scenery I had never seen before. "Feleker's Restaurant?" (I don't remember the exact word, but it started with an F) I said to myself as I gazed outwards, doubtful that this was the real Dublin/Pleasanton train. This train was definitely going the wrong way. I resolved to change trains at the next station, so that I could get back home without too much delay.
The next station was, unfortunately, Disneyland. I say unfortunately, because the line to board the departing train from Disneyland was ludicrously long (just like everything else in Disneyland); I'd have to wait a couple of hours before getting a ride back home. Moreover, Disneyland was the last stop, so I couldn't just keep riding in the same direction until I got to another stop. Peculiarly, the incoming trains all looked like regular BART trains, but the outgoing trains were stylistically red and gold choo-choo trains.
A breakthrough. I saw my family in the line, and they were nearly in the front! I could just cut in with them, and get home quickly after all.
But then, I realized I was actually in the past; I had somehow traveled backwards in time. The memories were all coming back to me now. Days ago, my family and I waited in this exact line, and got on the train. Someone reportedly saw a "ghost" in the back of the train, and then some people took pictures with the ghost. (note: these are fake memories that my dream spontaneously spawned.)
Since I must not tamper with history, I could not afford to let anyone see me. "Ok, activating cloak." I pressed a button on my hand-held device. But no, the button should be made deeper, like a reset button, so I won't accidentally brush my hand on the button and deactivate my cloak. Ah, even better, a button so deep and a shaft so narrow that only my left hand pinky can access it. Yes, ok, that's good, I thought to myself while manipulating this inconsequential detail of my dream.
History began to repeat itself nonetheless. People spotted a shadow of me despite my advanced cloaking device. Despite my near invisibility, people (including my family), took pictures *with* me, as if I were someone dressed up as Mickey Mouse. This was particularly unsettling, so I backed out even further until I was well away from the train. I was now in the woods, where the trees and lack of light concealed me from would-be spectators.
In the woods I spotted some little kids running around and playing by a small (approximately 5 x 10 feet) man-made pond bordered by concrete. They all fell in. The girl and the fat boy quickly climbed out, but the skinny boy was having trouble.
"Well, aren't you going to help him out?" I asked. No response; apparently not. So I ran over and helped him out, and he got out fine.
Then the fat boy randomly fell in the pond again. I helped him out, but he was unconscious since he had hit his head while falling in. As he lay on the dirt I noticed that he had no mouth -- just an odd opening that seemed sewn shut. I fixed this problem by pushing on his stomach, which forced this opening to open into a normal-looking mouth, as he gushed out water and gasped for air. I turned him onto his side, which helped him get air. Then I noticed that he had no nose, and that his face was frighteningly inhuman. This, however, did not scare me very much.
That's all I remember.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
If I Ever Die in my Sleep...
You'll know why.
So last night I dreamt that my house was on fire. Only it didn't look like my house; it resembled the house in the counter-strike map, cs_house. We ran out of the house, but I realized I had to go back in to contain the fire.
So in I ran, and I broke the glass of the fire extinguisher casing, took out the fire extinguisher, and extinguished some fire on the stairs. Then I started looking for the M4A1 Carbine automatic rifle, because I was supposed to "load" it with caskets of fire-extinguisher chemical, just in case I had to defend myself. While looking for my M4A1, however, I became sidetracked.
Downstairs, in a sort of gym, there was an evil girl, about 15 years old, sitting in a chair and hypnotizing a boy of equal age who was standing. I drew my pistol at the evil girl and said "Freeze!" only to have her turn her face and begin her hypnotic powers on me.
Suddenly my point of view shifted; I was now reading the back-cover summary of a book (I had been living the story of the book). I read that the hypnotic girl is impossible to overcome, because she is "irresistible; you know you want her!" My point of view shifted back to the real-world situation, and I found myself again face to face with the evil girl. I noted that she was kind of ugly, and way younger than me; I definitely did not "want" her. However, since I was powerless under her hypnotic stare, I could to nothing.
Then, my heartbeat seemed to increase to the ludicrous rate of 8 times per second. I was familiar with this common "sleep terror" occurrence, so I willed myself -- with all the mental energy I could summon -- to awaken. After about 10 seconds, I woke up (halfway, not fully) and my heart rate returned to normal.
Since I was still very tired, and not even technically awake, I allowed myself to drift back to sleep -- only to be confronted with the same situation/dream that I was in earlier: the "irresistible" hypnotist. Again, I had to force myself to wake up. This oscillating cycle repeated itself for a number of times.
On the final occurrence, I felt, in addition to an increase in heart rate, my entire body spasm for about 5 seconds. My eyes were open during the "seizure," but I could not perform voluntary movements. I became very frightened and thought I might die, but the escape process was relatively straightforward just like before: I mentally willed myself to wake up, and I did.
At this point, I decided that extra sleep was not worth the risk of death, and promptly launched myself out of bed.
So last night I dreamt that my house was on fire. Only it didn't look like my house; it resembled the house in the counter-strike map, cs_house. We ran out of the house, but I realized I had to go back in to contain the fire.
So in I ran, and I broke the glass of the fire extinguisher casing, took out the fire extinguisher, and extinguished some fire on the stairs. Then I started looking for the M4A1 Carbine automatic rifle, because I was supposed to "load" it with caskets of fire-extinguisher chemical, just in case I had to defend myself. While looking for my M4A1, however, I became sidetracked.
Downstairs, in a sort of gym, there was an evil girl, about 15 years old, sitting in a chair and hypnotizing a boy of equal age who was standing. I drew my pistol at the evil girl and said "Freeze!" only to have her turn her face and begin her hypnotic powers on me.
Suddenly my point of view shifted; I was now reading the back-cover summary of a book (I had been living the story of the book). I read that the hypnotic girl is impossible to overcome, because she is "irresistible; you know you want her!" My point of view shifted back to the real-world situation, and I found myself again face to face with the evil girl. I noted that she was kind of ugly, and way younger than me; I definitely did not "want" her. However, since I was powerless under her hypnotic stare, I could to nothing.
Then, my heartbeat seemed to increase to the ludicrous rate of 8 times per second. I was familiar with this common "sleep terror" occurrence, so I willed myself -- with all the mental energy I could summon -- to awaken. After about 10 seconds, I woke up (halfway, not fully) and my heart rate returned to normal.
Since I was still very tired, and not even technically awake, I allowed myself to drift back to sleep -- only to be confronted with the same situation/dream that I was in earlier: the "irresistible" hypnotist. Again, I had to force myself to wake up. This oscillating cycle repeated itself for a number of times.
On the final occurrence, I felt, in addition to an increase in heart rate, my entire body spasm for about 5 seconds. My eyes were open during the "seizure," but I could not perform voluntary movements. I became very frightened and thought I might die, but the escape process was relatively straightforward just like before: I mentally willed myself to wake up, and I did.
At this point, I decided that extra sleep was not worth the risk of death, and promptly launched myself out of bed.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
My first memory is of a man with his gun pointed at me. "Get out," he says. He is alone with me, and we are indoors. He opens the door to the outdoors, revealing a 1,000-ft metal staircase stretching all the way down to the desert sand, and multiple planes and personnel on the ground.
As he starts to descend the tower, I am faced with a decision: Cooperate, or attempt to escape. I observe that he has foolishly walked ahead of me with his back turned towards me, so I choose to escape. I turn around as fast as I can and begin running back up the stairs. Unfortunately, he notices, turns around, and shoots me down with his pistol. I die.
Fortunately I have time travel, similar to the time travel in "Prince of Persia, Sands of Time." I rewind time for 5 seconds. We are once again descending the stairs, and he is in front of me. This time, I push him down the stairs, as hard as I can. As he falls backwards, he fires a couple of shots at me, but none find their target. He crashes down 20 feet of stairs onto a junction point in the stairs (the square platform at which the stairs pivot and to the left and continue downwards). He is gravely injured, but is already attempting to get back up. I hurriedly run back up the stairs, hoping he is too weak to follow me.
I weave through a maze of narrow corridors and rooms, slightly reminiscent of the interior of a cruise ship. During this time I experience dream-running (the sensation of slowed running due to reduced gravity), because I am constantly fearful that the man with the gun is right behind me. I follow the "Exit" signs for a couple minutes and finally find myself outdoors again, but much closer to the ground than before.
A priest and another man appear near the exit I had just come from. I hide myself behind a pillar lest the priest be the gunman in disguise. They walk past me.
I continue walking, at last coming to a small field of grass and some buildings, similar to the area between the B and C buildings of the Amador Valley High School. A couple of family friends are standing and having good-natured conversation. My dad sees me and walks over. I whisper to him, "We have to get out of this place, now! This guy with a gun almost shot me." My mom and sister arrive.
Christine (my sister) says, "Aha, so this time you found dad first, instead of us." I am confused by this remark but give it no further thought.
As my family and I are exiting the scene and climbing some cement stairs, I notice that my dad's white lab coat is slightly torn. Suddenly, of its own volition, the tear increases its length by an inch.
"Why did the hole in Dad's lab coat suddenly get bigger?" I ask.
Christine responds, "Dad's been doing a little time traveling lately, just like the rest of us. Every time he time travels, the tear in his lab coat lengthens ever so slightly."
"So what happens when the tear reaches the bottom of the coat?"
"We don't know."
A random little 5-year-old girl starts singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," with chillingly modified lyrics. She is holding a paper star, and tearing it.
We arrive at what appears to be the second level of a shopping mall. The second level is simply a walkway along the edges of the building (think Stoneridge Mall). There is a safety railing to prevent people from falling off, but it is cheap and resembles the railings one would find at a roller coaster waiting line.
My sister is feeling jubilant, so she tightrope-walks along the safety railing. The ceiling is low enough such that her head can touch it, so she uses the friction between her head and the low ceiling to prevent falling down. Of course, my mother tells her that this is a very dangerous stunt, but she doesn't stop. Suddenly she loses footing and falls over the edge, onto the first floor.
She is shaken but alive. My mom flips out and runs down the stairs angrily, yells at Christine for not listening to her, and drags her back up to the second level. "Why didn't you stop when I told you to? Do you enjoy not listening to us? Do you enjoy ignoring our warnings and hurting yourself? Well fine! If that's what you want!" she screams. Then, out of nowhere, she throws my sister over the edge of the railing.
Christine lands on the first floor yet again, shaken but alive. Now I flip out. "WHAT THE FUCK! What the FUCK is your problem?" I yell at my mom. I march down the stairs dropping F-bombs everywhere, causing a scene. I yell something about the fact that throwing Christine over the railing is not only cruel, but also sets a bad environment for people that come to the mall. People turn their heads and call security, but I ignore them. "Calm down," one security officer says. "NO FUCK YOU TOO!" I yell at him. Then I point at every passerby looking at me and subsequently tell each of them to fuck themselves too. Finally, I arrive at my sister, who is not in the least injured, and we hug.
For some reason I decide to travel back in time again, all the way back to scene 1.
So I'm behind the guy with the gun (again), and he's walking down the stairs. As before, I push him as hard as I can. As before he falls over and hits the platform and misses his shots. But this time, when I run back into the building, I take an alternate exit route: a hatch in the floor leading to a descending ladder. This time my escape route does not take me to the aforementioned "Amador Valley field," but to some indoors area where I meet up with my sister and my mom.
"Aha, so this time, I met up with my mom and sister, before Dad," I observe (recall that in the previous "escape" scene, at the Amador Valley field, I meet up with my Dad first). Then I remember what Christine had remarked to me long ago, in the previous scene:
"Aha, so this time you found dad first, instead of us."
I now realize that in the original scene, Christine already had memories of this alternate parallel universe/timeline. That is to say, Christine in the original timeline had already experienced the very timeline that I am now experiencing.
"You've been doing a LOT of time-traveling, haven't you?" I ask.
"Maybe..." Christine says.
"Why hasn't your dress been tearing, like Dad's lab coat?"
She beams at me.
"What, you won't tell me?" I ask.
She points at her teeth, and I notice that they are just slightly crooked. The flaw is not obvious, but it is slightly noticeable.
"Time travel has a different effect on everyone," she says. "For me, every time I travel backwards in time, my teeth become slightly more crooked."
"Can't we just fix that with braces, then?" I ask.
"I don't think so."
As this alternate timeline continues, my family and I arrive at Disneyland, instead of the cheap shopping mall. And so the dream concludes as we walk down Main Street watching a Mickey Mouse parade, debating whether or not the effects of time-travel on teeth can be remedied by braces.
Lyrics to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," as sung by the freaky 5-year-old girl holding a paper star:
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
The more you pull the more it tears
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
As he starts to descend the tower, I am faced with a decision: Cooperate, or attempt to escape. I observe that he has foolishly walked ahead of me with his back turned towards me, so I choose to escape. I turn around as fast as I can and begin running back up the stairs. Unfortunately, he notices, turns around, and shoots me down with his pistol. I die.
Fortunately I have time travel, similar to the time travel in "Prince of Persia, Sands of Time." I rewind time for 5 seconds. We are once again descending the stairs, and he is in front of me. This time, I push him down the stairs, as hard as I can. As he falls backwards, he fires a couple of shots at me, but none find their target. He crashes down 20 feet of stairs onto a junction point in the stairs (the square platform at which the stairs pivot and to the left and continue downwards). He is gravely injured, but is already attempting to get back up. I hurriedly run back up the stairs, hoping he is too weak to follow me.
I weave through a maze of narrow corridors and rooms, slightly reminiscent of the interior of a cruise ship. During this time I experience dream-running (the sensation of slowed running due to reduced gravity), because I am constantly fearful that the man with the gun is right behind me. I follow the "Exit" signs for a couple minutes and finally find myself outdoors again, but much closer to the ground than before.
A priest and another man appear near the exit I had just come from. I hide myself behind a pillar lest the priest be the gunman in disguise. They walk past me.
I continue walking, at last coming to a small field of grass and some buildings, similar to the area between the B and C buildings of the Amador Valley High School. A couple of family friends are standing and having good-natured conversation. My dad sees me and walks over. I whisper to him, "We have to get out of this place, now! This guy with a gun almost shot me." My mom and sister arrive.
Christine (my sister) says, "Aha, so this time you found dad first, instead of us." I am confused by this remark but give it no further thought.
As my family and I are exiting the scene and climbing some cement stairs, I notice that my dad's white lab coat is slightly torn. Suddenly, of its own volition, the tear increases its length by an inch.
"Why did the hole in Dad's lab coat suddenly get bigger?" I ask.
Christine responds, "Dad's been doing a little time traveling lately, just like the rest of us. Every time he time travels, the tear in his lab coat lengthens ever so slightly."
"So what happens when the tear reaches the bottom of the coat?"
"We don't know."
A random little 5-year-old girl starts singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," with chillingly modified lyrics. She is holding a paper star, and tearing it.
We arrive at what appears to be the second level of a shopping mall. The second level is simply a walkway along the edges of the building (think Stoneridge Mall). There is a safety railing to prevent people from falling off, but it is cheap and resembles the railings one would find at a roller coaster waiting line.
My sister is feeling jubilant, so she tightrope-walks along the safety railing. The ceiling is low enough such that her head can touch it, so she uses the friction between her head and the low ceiling to prevent falling down. Of course, my mother tells her that this is a very dangerous stunt, but she doesn't stop. Suddenly she loses footing and falls over the edge, onto the first floor.
She is shaken but alive. My mom flips out and runs down the stairs angrily, yells at Christine for not listening to her, and drags her back up to the second level. "Why didn't you stop when I told you to? Do you enjoy not listening to us? Do you enjoy ignoring our warnings and hurting yourself? Well fine! If that's what you want!" she screams. Then, out of nowhere, she throws my sister over the edge of the railing.
Christine lands on the first floor yet again, shaken but alive. Now I flip out. "WHAT THE FUCK! What the FUCK is your problem?" I yell at my mom. I march down the stairs dropping F-bombs everywhere, causing a scene. I yell something about the fact that throwing Christine over the railing is not only cruel, but also sets a bad environment for people that come to the mall. People turn their heads and call security, but I ignore them. "Calm down," one security officer says. "NO FUCK YOU TOO!" I yell at him. Then I point at every passerby looking at me and subsequently tell each of them to fuck themselves too. Finally, I arrive at my sister, who is not in the least injured, and we hug.
For some reason I decide to travel back in time again, all the way back to scene 1.
So I'm behind the guy with the gun (again), and he's walking down the stairs. As before, I push him as hard as I can. As before he falls over and hits the platform and misses his shots. But this time, when I run back into the building, I take an alternate exit route: a hatch in the floor leading to a descending ladder. This time my escape route does not take me to the aforementioned "Amador Valley field," but to some indoors area where I meet up with my sister and my mom.
"Aha, so this time, I met up with my mom and sister, before Dad," I observe (recall that in the previous "escape" scene, at the Amador Valley field, I meet up with my Dad first). Then I remember what Christine had remarked to me long ago, in the previous scene:
"Aha, so this time you found dad first, instead of us."
I now realize that in the original scene, Christine already had memories of this alternate parallel universe/timeline. That is to say, Christine in the original timeline had already experienced the very timeline that I am now experiencing.
"You've been doing a LOT of time-traveling, haven't you?" I ask.
"Maybe..." Christine says.
"Why hasn't your dress been tearing, like Dad's lab coat?"
She beams at me.
"What, you won't tell me?" I ask.
She points at her teeth, and I notice that they are just slightly crooked. The flaw is not obvious, but it is slightly noticeable.
"Time travel has a different effect on everyone," she says. "For me, every time I travel backwards in time, my teeth become slightly more crooked."
"Can't we just fix that with braces, then?" I ask.
"I don't think so."
As this alternate timeline continues, my family and I arrive at Disneyland, instead of the cheap shopping mall. And so the dream concludes as we walk down Main Street watching a Mickey Mouse parade, debating whether or not the effects of time-travel on teeth can be remedied by braces.
Lyrics to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," as sung by the freaky 5-year-old girl holding a paper star:
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
The more you pull the more it tears
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
White Man's Sweat
Last night, I had a dream that I had special vitamins. The label's supplemental facts listed some ingredients and their functions, and the first one was "white man's sweat (adenosine... ...)" (for biology geeks: no, it was not adenosine tri-phosphate; it was adenosine [I forget the rest]).
I was kind of embarrassed of having these strange vitamins, and I didn't want to seem vain about my race or anything, so I concealed them from people who glanced in my direction. I also had this strange pill called "how to get white chicks" or something, and I DEFINITELY didn't want anybody to see THAT. If anyone found out, they'd immediately assume that that's how I've been getting the few girls I'd ever gotten. They would also assume that I have a preference for blonde chicks -- something that my friend Alexene had always suspected, and that I had always denied.
One part of me knew that I didn't need these stupid pills, especially that "how to get white chicks" one. So I passed on that. But the other one was more intriguing. I wondered, "Do white people really have something in their sweat Asian people don't?" And so I took the pill. I suddenly felt more confident. Fortunately, penis enlargement was not implicated at all in my dream, which suggests that I am not insecure about that very popular stereotype of Asian people.
Shortly afterwards, I found myself in a strange game of counter-strike holding DUAL deagles! Which is impossible in counter-strike; there are dual elites, and the deagle, but never dual deagles. I was amazed by their firepower together. (sidenote: I played a LOT of counterstrike last night)
Interpretation of dream: When I sweat like a white man, I become a lunatic serial killer.
Freudian interpretation: I have a secret desire to be white and have two penises.
I was kind of embarrassed of having these strange vitamins, and I didn't want to seem vain about my race or anything, so I concealed them from people who glanced in my direction. I also had this strange pill called "how to get white chicks" or something, and I DEFINITELY didn't want anybody to see THAT. If anyone found out, they'd immediately assume that that's how I've been getting the few girls I'd ever gotten. They would also assume that I have a preference for blonde chicks -- something that my friend Alexene had always suspected, and that I had always denied.
One part of me knew that I didn't need these stupid pills, especially that "how to get white chicks" one. So I passed on that. But the other one was more intriguing. I wondered, "Do white people really have something in their sweat Asian people don't?" And so I took the pill. I suddenly felt more confident. Fortunately, penis enlargement was not implicated at all in my dream, which suggests that I am not insecure about that very popular stereotype of Asian people.
Shortly afterwards, I found myself in a strange game of counter-strike holding DUAL deagles! Which is impossible in counter-strike; there are dual elites, and the deagle, but never dual deagles. I was amazed by their firepower together. (sidenote: I played a LOT of counterstrike last night)
Interpretation of dream: When I sweat like a white man, I become a lunatic serial killer.
Freudian interpretation: I have a secret desire to be white and have two penises.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
How to Kill a Balloon Spider
In this dream, I kill a balloon spider, a sand maggot, the Hulk, and my friend Francis.
We are in a vacation house in Taiwan. Many families are there, all friends of my parents. I am casually conversing with some people in what seems to be the living room.
In the neighboring kitchen, some little kids yell "spider!" I've always hated spiders, but I love shooting them with rubber bands. So I ask around, in Chinese, "Does anyone have a.... a.... you know that thing that... [pst how do you say "rubber band" in Chinese, I ask my mom] xiang pi jin OH YEAH does anyone have a XIANG PI JIN??!!!!" My mother starts to look in her purse for one, but she is too slow. I spy a rubber band falling from my sister's hair, about to tumble into the front of her shirt, so I snatch it before it does.
I enter the kitchen and see the spider (approx. 1 inch in diameter). Many little kids are crowded around it. Suddenly everyone loses sight of it. "It turned too fast!" the kids complain in English (it is presumed that the remainder of the dream occurs in English). I figure out that by "turn" they must have meant "fly" because there the spider goes, flying with enormous wings that were approximately 3 inches long and bent upwards. Coupled with the wings, the spider spans about 5 times his original body length.
It lands. Someone attempts to step on it with his bare foot. "YEAH YEAH KILL IT" I encourage. Unfortunately, his big toe only just grazes and half-wounds the spider. The spider becomes intimidated and spreads his wings again. Its wings form into a giant balloon about 5 inches in diameter, and it floats towards me. It lands on me and exposes its scorpion-like stinger.
"AHHHH HELP" I cry as I attempt to detach it from my face. Someone comes to my rescue and detaches it from my face. We pop the spider's balloon, and it quickly deflates, and the spider appears to die. However, we soon realize that this is a double-being. Nestled in the balloon is a Sand Maggot, fully intact and alive. I run to get the kitchen knives (of which there are about 25), and toss 3 of those knives to a guy, who throws the knives at the sand maggot and easily kills it.
"Oh, I guess we won't be needing more than those 3 knives," I said with a relief.
Just when we think we've finally killed this resilient "spider," further complications arise. The other half of the "double-being" is no longer a spider; it has become the Hulk -- the big green Hulk from the movie. He is mad, he is green, and he is charging at me.
I run to the kitchen and grab a couple more knives. I throw some knives at him and he appears to die. However, he gets back up as his true form, my friend Francis. Francis intends to duel me, so I duel him: I get the knives, and he doesn't.
I make multiple lethal blows to Francis, both by throwing knives and by stabbing with them (my arsenal of 25 kitchen knives seems endless), and Francis does not even scratch me. Although he is going through the motions of combat, he appears to be not even trying sincerely. This is understandable by the fact that he seems invincible: every time he falls from lethal blows to the face and torso, he gets back up and challenges me again. He even survives a stab to the eye from a peculiar kitchen knife that I grabbed resembling a corkscrew.
Finally, he says, "Ok, Max, one last time. If you can beat me, I'll leave you alone." This intimidates me, because now Francis is actually going to try to fight. I had easily defeated him the past couple of times, but can I still defeat him? I am tired and weary. I call out from what has become the family room of my house, to Jeff, who is cooking in what has become the kitchen of my house, "hey Jeff, wanna sub in?" Jeff silently continues to cook in his flowery apron, and does not respond.
But then I feel guilty and selfish from putting Jeff in danger, so I decide instead to finish the duel myself. And so it begins. This time, the struggle is much more intense. Francis blocks or dodges all of my stabs and even manages to get his hands on one of my knives! He throws the knife at me... and it bounces off my body harmlessly, due to his lack of skill in the art of knife-throwing. After another short struggle, I finally have him in an inescapable headlock, my knife trained on his head, ready to thrust.
The dream ends abruptly at this moment, and it is assumed that I kill Francis with a final blow to the head. I believe the reason for this dream's abrupt ending is a vain effort to avoid an R-Rating due to "excessive gore."
We are in a vacation house in Taiwan. Many families are there, all friends of my parents. I am casually conversing with some people in what seems to be the living room.
In the neighboring kitchen, some little kids yell "spider!" I've always hated spiders, but I love shooting them with rubber bands. So I ask around, in Chinese, "Does anyone have a.... a.... you know that thing that... [pst how do you say "rubber band" in Chinese, I ask my mom] xiang pi jin OH YEAH does anyone have a XIANG PI JIN??!!!!" My mother starts to look in her purse for one, but she is too slow. I spy a rubber band falling from my sister's hair, about to tumble into the front of her shirt, so I snatch it before it does.
I enter the kitchen and see the spider (approx. 1 inch in diameter). Many little kids are crowded around it. Suddenly everyone loses sight of it. "It turned too fast!" the kids complain in English (it is presumed that the remainder of the dream occurs in English). I figure out that by "turn" they must have meant "fly" because there the spider goes, flying with enormous wings that were approximately 3 inches long and bent upwards. Coupled with the wings, the spider spans about 5 times his original body length.
It lands. Someone attempts to step on it with his bare foot. "YEAH YEAH KILL IT" I encourage. Unfortunately, his big toe only just grazes and half-wounds the spider. The spider becomes intimidated and spreads his wings again. Its wings form into a giant balloon about 5 inches in diameter, and it floats towards me. It lands on me and exposes its scorpion-like stinger.
"AHHHH HELP" I cry as I attempt to detach it from my face. Someone comes to my rescue and detaches it from my face. We pop the spider's balloon, and it quickly deflates, and the spider appears to die. However, we soon realize that this is a double-being. Nestled in the balloon is a Sand Maggot, fully intact and alive. I run to get the kitchen knives (of which there are about 25), and toss 3 of those knives to a guy, who throws the knives at the sand maggot and easily kills it.
 |
| Diablo 2 Sand Maggot |
"Oh, I guess we won't be needing more than those 3 knives," I said with a relief.
Just when we think we've finally killed this resilient "spider," further complications arise. The other half of the "double-being" is no longer a spider; it has become the Hulk -- the big green Hulk from the movie. He is mad, he is green, and he is charging at me.
I run to the kitchen and grab a couple more knives. I throw some knives at him and he appears to die. However, he gets back up as his true form, my friend Francis. Francis intends to duel me, so I duel him: I get the knives, and he doesn't.
I make multiple lethal blows to Francis, both by throwing knives and by stabbing with them (my arsenal of 25 kitchen knives seems endless), and Francis does not even scratch me. Although he is going through the motions of combat, he appears to be not even trying sincerely. This is understandable by the fact that he seems invincible: every time he falls from lethal blows to the face and torso, he gets back up and challenges me again. He even survives a stab to the eye from a peculiar kitchen knife that I grabbed resembling a corkscrew.
Finally, he says, "Ok, Max, one last time. If you can beat me, I'll leave you alone." This intimidates me, because now Francis is actually going to try to fight. I had easily defeated him the past couple of times, but can I still defeat him? I am tired and weary. I call out from what has become the family room of my house, to Jeff, who is cooking in what has become the kitchen of my house, "hey Jeff, wanna sub in?" Jeff silently continues to cook in his flowery apron, and does not respond.
But then I feel guilty and selfish from putting Jeff in danger, so I decide instead to finish the duel myself. And so it begins. This time, the struggle is much more intense. Francis blocks or dodges all of my stabs and even manages to get his hands on one of my knives! He throws the knife at me... and it bounces off my body harmlessly, due to his lack of skill in the art of knife-throwing. After another short struggle, I finally have him in an inescapable headlock, my knife trained on his head, ready to thrust.
The dream ends abruptly at this moment, and it is assumed that I kill Francis with a final blow to the head. I believe the reason for this dream's abrupt ending is a vain effort to avoid an R-Rating due to "excessive gore."
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