RE: "Seriously brain, what the hell?" A Thread For Weird Dreams and Nightmares
01-19-2017, 02:11 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-19-2017, 02:14 AM by Stovie.)
Last night I dreamed I was with my roommate on a trip to go his high school reunion, though standing from here I can see now it's clear we were never going to make it there in the dream. On top of the fact that we were certainly not dressed for a high school reunion, I can say with some certainty that we also weren't headed to his high school, as I've been there on more than one occasion. Our attire was actually much more in line with going on a hike to the middle of nowhere as we were kitted up in our usual clothing for outdoors shenanigans. (If anyone's wondering it looks like this.)
The dream began with us in a car on what was a lonely country two lane road. The sun was shining, and fields passed us by as the road began to narrow and eventually turn to a badly paved single lane. This too was soon overtaken by gravel, and then dirt. What had started as a simple road trip was soon a backwoods adventure through a forest as thick as the Forest of Fangorn. Sunlight struggled to reach the ground, and over gullies and ridges were fallen trees large enough to live in.
Eventually we came to a stream crossing, though the entirety of the crossing had been overtaken by flood waters. There was no hope of us going across in our vehicle, though as fate would have it we were not alone at that crossing. Going back and forth for seemingly no reason was a man with a hovercraft. He was incredibly thin, wearing a short sleeve work shirt with "Jon" embroidered on a tag on the front. Manically he worked a shifting knob on his hovercraft, adorned with a flaming 8-ball. From under the shadow of his own flowing brown mullet he called to us with a Southern draw, saying, "Hey! D'y'all need a lift across the crik?"
We were more than happy to take the opportunity, and were chauffeured across the waterway. It was no later than our first steps on the soft ground, though, that we turned our sights back across the stream to notice a truck with a lift kit that hoisted its chassis nearly 20 feet in the air. From inside its rolled down window was a heavy set man with a trucker's cap, wearing a pair of cheap Wal-Mart sunglasses. With a mighty roar the vehicle plunged forth, though strangely its wheels failed to meet water. The waters of the stream had suddenly subsided, turning only into a muddy and debris covered bed. This hardly bothered the man at the wheel, as he simply gave a cheer while sending grime cascading through the air.
Needless to say, we never reached that high school. I woke up not long after that, realizing as soon as I opened my eyes that I had just experienced in my sleep the quintessential aesthetic of the deep American South.
The dream began with us in a car on what was a lonely country two lane road. The sun was shining, and fields passed us by as the road began to narrow and eventually turn to a badly paved single lane. This too was soon overtaken by gravel, and then dirt. What had started as a simple road trip was soon a backwoods adventure through a forest as thick as the Forest of Fangorn. Sunlight struggled to reach the ground, and over gullies and ridges were fallen trees large enough to live in.
Eventually we came to a stream crossing, though the entirety of the crossing had been overtaken by flood waters. There was no hope of us going across in our vehicle, though as fate would have it we were not alone at that crossing. Going back and forth for seemingly no reason was a man with a hovercraft. He was incredibly thin, wearing a short sleeve work shirt with "Jon" embroidered on a tag on the front. Manically he worked a shifting knob on his hovercraft, adorned with a flaming 8-ball. From under the shadow of his own flowing brown mullet he called to us with a Southern draw, saying, "Hey! D'y'all need a lift across the crik?"
We were more than happy to take the opportunity, and were chauffeured across the waterway. It was no later than our first steps on the soft ground, though, that we turned our sights back across the stream to notice a truck with a lift kit that hoisted its chassis nearly 20 feet in the air. From inside its rolled down window was a heavy set man with a trucker's cap, wearing a pair of cheap Wal-Mart sunglasses. With a mighty roar the vehicle plunged forth, though strangely its wheels failed to meet water. The waters of the stream had suddenly subsided, turning only into a muddy and debris covered bed. This hardly bothered the man at the wheel, as he simply gave a cheer while sending grime cascading through the air.
Needless to say, we never reached that high school. I woke up not long after that, realizing as soon as I opened my eyes that I had just experienced in my sleep the quintessential aesthetic of the deep American South.