Prosaic Paradise

I woke up this morning after a vivid dream that my friend April had decided, due to some kind of weird urban tribal urge, that she needed enter and scale an abandoned high rise building. The building was maybe 20 stories tall, and painted entirely, boarded windows and all, a terrible chalky shade of red. It was clearly derived from my imagination after too much viewing of detroitfunk, a site I morbidly obsess over when awake anyways.

RedExit by Jeremy Brooks (used under Creative Commons)

It was one of those situations informed entirely by contemporary horror movies, and I tried to explain to her that going in there was certain death at either the hands of some kind of Saw villain or evil ghosts. Nope, she informed me blithely that despite the obvious imminent doom, she had her cell phone and she’d stay in touch, but she had to get to the top floor of that building.

What followed was some kind of combination of movies I’ve never seen but heard about & a very House of Leaves kind of thing & Cube. She is relaying all these terrible torturous (physically and psychologically) things over the phone to me, and I’m trying to get realistic law enforcement officials and stuff to go in there, and I can kind of see things in my mind’s eye, etc. At the end, two people escaped; some approximation of Fred & Daphne from Scooby Doo. The evil killer/ghost/whatever had done something to Fred’s phone to try to lure him back in, but Fred rigged it to bomb the building.

Then I woke up with a song in my head that I’d doctored in my sleep to be “In ten years there’s going to be one million noodles.”

I think my brain is a little fried. I owe lots of people lots of things – I owe my blog more posts, I owe two pen pals handwritten letters, I owe some ink reviews, I owe myself the favor of getting in front of the 8-ball at work. How that translates into the evil high-rise and noodles, I don’t know.

Oh, and as a note, when someone says “I’m really tired” never respond with “You look really tired.” If they didn’t already know, they probably don’t want to.

Tags: Dream

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