Unimpressed

I was sitting outside a farm with some friends listening to the three song demo of Fall On Your Sword. Everyone was very unimpressed. I was very upset with that as it seems to me that Fall On Your Sword is nothing short of fun dance pop goodness. I got on a moped and sped off the dirt road.

Friends Parents, Ron Jaworski

I'm driving through a suburban neighborhood looking for my friend's house. It's not his apartment, yet he lives with his mother and his current roommate. The streets are windy and it's just past dusk. I find the house and parallel park. My friend comes out and greets me as it seems the party is in full effect. There is a strange conglomeration of friends from many eras of my life hanging out. I walk in and am greeted by my friends mother, who in my waking life I have never met. She is blonde and I notice that my friend gets a lot of his features from his mother. The house is filled with strange gadgets and his living room looks more like a mall then a house with escalators leading to the 2nd floor and marble floors that are lit up in different colors. One gadget that stuck out was a large flat panel touch screen TV device that looked much like a giant 52" iPhone. There was all sorts of strange games and other applications that the TV could do and you could interact with the programs. The basement looked like your typical basement with a pool table and a bar. We hang out for a bit and I decide with a couple of really random high school buddies to go out back. It's lightly raining and Ron Jaworski is smoking a ciggarette on the stoop. We start asking him about the Eagles and he answers only about College football, which got really annoying after a while. We stopped talking to him and I walk to my car which is now parked in the back of the house ina parking lot.

High School Neighborhood

I'm heading in to high school and my peers are all grown up with me. School seems to be less of a building and more of a collection of small houses. Each house apparently has a small home room of sorts. For some reason, my uniform is disheveled and I need to get to a rest room. I don't have to use the restroom but I need to get to one. Each house-class room, has a restroom in it. Each house-class room has a random person that I haven't seen in 5 years in it and they all tell me that the one in their room is "out of order." I hop back into my car and I notice a man with a beam katana who looks exactly like my friend dressed as Travis Touchdown riding a red motorbike. I'm following this character through the narrow high school city streets. I'm humming the track from the No More Heroes soundtrack trying to get the faux-Travis my attention, but he pulls up and parks his bike next to 4 other identical bikes, hops off and runs into the house - class room. I don't follow him but instead park on a hilly parking lot near a convenience store. I walk in and buy some sort of Hostess or other kind of snack. When I come back out, a massive kegger is going on. I have to walk through the crowds of tail-gaters and other drunken friends as they all goad me on to join the party. It's twilight yet I still insist that I have to change my uniform before I do anything else. I get to my car.

Late Night Talk Show at Target?

I'm in the audience of the Conan O'Brien show, one of the last few before Carson Daly is taking over, as Conan makes clear. His guests are Scarlett Johanson and some Hillary Duff wannabe. As Conan introduces Max Weinberg, a strange looking woman with a short haircut is behind the drum-set and a young Johnathan Taylor Thomas is in an overgrown suit holding a sax. I stand up and point at him and start laughing. Security starts to escort me backstage, but not to kick me out. I got to watch the show from the wings of the stage and they gave me an instrument. As the band starts playing, I start wailing on the guitar. A chorus of female singers are standing in a row, with one being a certain someone staring at me through classic, black framed glasses. I get startled as the crowd washes into a haze of aisles filled with clothes, canned goods, Christmas decorations and a long table in the middle with oil lamps and prepared food. The band turns into employees all wearing uniforms. It looks like a Target store, but can't be sure. I'm disoriented and a manger comes out and starts giving some sort of motivational speech. The girl in the glasses walks away as the meeting ends and starts lighting the candles that are situated around the store. Another person comes in and starts lighting the oil lamps. I notice a part is missing and if he actually lights the oil lamp, it will explode. I take the lighter away from him and it's covered in oil.

You Appearing

You constantly enter in and out through the void. I really have no idea where you are coming from. Mostly darkness enshrouds my movement. For once, the subconscious doesn't paint the setting. It just adds the characters and slowly fades in and out of generic locations from God knows where.

Regardless, your presence strikes me as odd. I haven't ventured a thought about you in my waking life in quite some time. I haven't seen you in a long time. The feeling is overwhelmingly strange.

A room appears and the bed is disheveled. Even in my dreams, I toss and turn in my sleep. The feeling is anxious. The air in the room as a waft of gloom. Nothing seems to fit where it's placed. The Burger King King seems to be there for whatever reason, but not offering a sandwich, like in the commercials. That's frustrating.

A Motorcycle, Familiar Faces, Awkward Sensuality

As if Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds' track "Hold On To Yourself" were playing along, a single headlamp on an old style motor bike rides the mountain trails of California. The hills are filled with large mansions, old style gas lamp lights and a slick road after a spring time rain. I ride through those windy pathways, showing off as the passersby on this late night stare. It's a bike like none-other. It handles well, but there is a sense of danger in my mind as I take the curves and bends. Old faces of friends long ago stare as I pass by. They seem to know of my secret that I try to keep hidden. I ride to what seems to be an abandoned tenement house way out on the outskirts of the hills far from the fancy palaces that scatter the hills. It seems much more like inner city Pittsburgh then the affluent hills of California. A dirty Brownstone with broken windows and a shabby Maple door. The destination has been reached. I get off the bike, enter the Brownstone and walk into a large room filled with spider-webs, creaking floor boards and a spiral staircase. A leak in the roof still drips from the rain that has passed. I walk into a large room with bay windows, open a chest that holds a box. I take the box, put it into the bag I'm carrying and take it with me out of the Brownstone. Someone else is in the room. The sun creeps in and outside the window, I see three stores. A gas station with a Circle K, a small midtown mini mall and another store with a pizzeria. The other person in the room talks me into heading to the pizzeria where I then get a slice and ride back toward the mansions in the hills. Many times onto my next destination, I have trouble with the bike and nearly fall off the cliffs. No guard rails for miles. I reach a more suburban area. I pull into the drive of a small subdivision style house, but one that is much larger than a subdivision should be. The garage door opens. Legs. Wonderful hips. An hourglass shape. A familiar face with a timid smile. She quickly looks both ways down the drive as if there was something to hide. The very agile body runs out to my bike and grabs the bag where the box was put. A quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek from the velvet lips. The woman motions me to come in so I put the kickstand down and enter. The garage is filled with random items. A workbench with dusty tools. A partially covered red sports car. A large Steelers tapestry. A garden gnome. The woman is dressed in a beautiful white robe. She says something to the extent of wanting to ride off with me on my bike, but there is something keeping her from riding off. I quickly turn and leave. As I am out of the garage, a small crowd of familiar faces gathers and questions "Why are you thinking about her?"

Mission Statement

My dreams are quite vivid sometime. I need a place to store them. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. Whenever I remember a dream, I will post it here and hope for some e-terpretation. First post coming soon.... Let the subconscious take you there.