Article: Batman Beyond, Terror Bots, and Cartoon Dog Signals…

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at-at-walker-cat-joost5It’s always dark where my dreams take me.  This is no different.

It’s an old, dilapidated warehouse area, full of industrial liter and alleyways.  Me and my friends.  We’re wandering around, when Tina is kidnapped by a rival gang.  We then seek out the help of Batman Beyond, who just happened to be around the next corner.  He agrees to help.

We follow a trail to an old castle-mansion in the middle of the dark city.  I agree to go in and scout out where they have her, so my 7-foot Terror Bot goes before me, disabling the various surveillance cameras and boobie traps that we encounter.  The entire visual spectrum is blue.  I locate Tina, who’s seated in the middle of the others, all sipping coffee and chattering in an unknown language.  I freeze time, leaving only Tina in real time.  She turns to me and says something in the strange language, yet I understand what she says.

I turn and enter into a dingy and sparsely-crowded way station, and I sit on one of the hard molded plastic chairs.  I look up into the open air, and notice the Bat Signal flashing on the clouds.  Then, the Dog Signal, the Smiley Face signal, the 1930s Cartoon Dog Signal, and the Hot Dog signal.  I’m then riding on the massive plastic hamburger replica, floating high in the sky on the Burger Train sponsored by McDonald’s.

I bob, I dip, and turn high above the city upon the hamburgers.  My stomach does flip-flops, but I am not afraid of falling, because it’s only a movie.  I step off the hamburger and walk down to the old steamboat, looking for the outlaws to put back in their cages.  I find three, one of which is Pete Ross.  I lead them back toa booth table by an old window covered in chicken wire.  We talk for a bit, until a voice comes over the loudspeaker announcing a sale on all late-model Hondas.

I awaken to my radio alarm clock.


A Dream…This One With Spiders…

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big honkin' spiderInside my bedroom chamber.  A small room, dark muted color tones.  The very definition of an industrial fever nightmare.  Madness to normal folk, but comfortable and inviting to me.

I am laying prone on my bed.  The Lady of my literal Dreams come over and lays down with me.  Both on our sides, fully dressed and spoon cuddling, my arm around her.  Holding her close as she snuggles and conforms to my shape, her hand closed over mine.  I gaze at her forever, kiss her cheek softly, then bury my face in her hair, not really drifting off to sleep; rather, enjoying the intoxicating sensation of just being close to her.

She sits up on the bed. I prop myself up on one elbow as she does this.  She reaches for the nearby ancient lamp, and as she pulls the string to summon the incandescence to awaken, that’s when the spiders descend upon us.

A few small ones, descending from the ceiling.  At first, scuttling over us.  We swat and brush them away, visibly shaken.  More are descending, small and also bigger ones.  I grab a can of bug spray, intention battling the horde.  I spray and kill, watching them fall from their webs.  Soon the floor and the bed are filled with the bodies of the spiders, twitching their last as the poison nullifies the nervous systems.

Still they come, an endless wave of eight-legged nightmares, descending from the ceiling, and now from crevices and cracks in the wall.  I turn and notice to my shock and terror, she has succumbed; she lays on the bed now, several of the spiders covering her in the thin white translucent funeral shroud they spin.  I glimpse her vacant eyes looking at me, pleading, a single tear frozen. Then it’s gone, covered by the webs.

I turn from my devastating loss, and discover the largest spiders – two of them, both about the size of a medium-sized dog – advancing slowly towards me, their eyes gleaming in the dim light of the lamp.

I lower the can and drop it, resolved to my fate. The bites hurt at first, small stings, but before long the warm blanket of paralysis engulf me…

Creepy Children and even Creepier Adults….

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faceless peopleI’m driving my rig, delivering a package to…somewhere.  I have no clue as to the destination.  On the inside, it’s a full-sized tractor rig.  On the outside, though, it’s a Dodge Omni.  This paradox doesn’t perturb me; in fact, I’m very much comfortable with the dimensional inconsistencies.

Driving down minor highways and biways.  Never knowing where I am or where I’m going. My directional sense and purpose is almost instinctual, like I know I’m supposed to be going a certain direction, but cannot explain why.

I arrive at an abandoned rest stop.  Inside the building, it’s an old, creaky Victorian-style house, lit by candles. The flickering light casts dancing shadows on the plaster walls. At a table are children playing with blank cards.

I ask them about my whereabouts; a girl looks up at me and says, “If you don’t know where you’re going, then maybe you’re where you’re supposed to be.”  The children giggle in unison.

I open up my road atlas.  The states all fall onto the floor, as it appears my atlas is an old sticker book, and the glue has disintegrated over the ages. I go into an adjacent room, where adults are sitting at a large card table.  I ask them what state I’m in.

They all turn and look at me.  One lady begins, “You’re in…” then stops.  I inquire further, but she only says, “If we told you, then it would spoil the surprise.”  Then the adults start giggling in unison.

I go back into the room I came from, only the children are dressed as if ready for bed.  They’re standing in the middle of the room, looking at me.  One girl steps forward, and asks, “You’re not leaving, are you?  We need you here.”

I don’t answer.  The children melt into the floor.  The candles are growing dim…


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