Death Hotel

We were careful when we briefed the sniper. The courtyard was bordered by buildings on all four sides, with a tower in each corner. Pathways ran around the perimeter and also digonally across the courtyard, with the fifth and largest tower positioned at the centre of the "X."

The sniper agreed with our assessment that the centre tower would provide the most advantageous position. The target could appear at any time at any one of the towers, such that it would be salutary to behave as though one believed in teleportation.

The focus of the sniper. So intent was he on the task ahead of him, he failed to notice that the photograph of the target we circulated after the meeting was a photograph of him.

Posted by philip at 10:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The first thing I noticed was that the grass on the hospital lawn was such a bright shade of green. It surprised me. Everything had been so grey when I had been admitted in the damp, dreary month of April.

I took a deep breath and wondered what else might have changed in the past two months. Many questions were bouncing around my head as I cut across the parking lot to the bus stop.

Had I pretended to be sick in order to get into the hospital?

Or had I pretended to be well in order to get out?

Posted by philip at 03:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was jolted awake this morning by the rattling sound of a diesel engine starting up.

A truck? Why is there a truck in my driveway? No... not my driveway. Where am I? ...OK. I know where I am.

I tried to chase down the dream I'd been having but it was receding fast. Something was... moving... No, it's gone. I can't remember it.

One sentence remained stuck in my head, balanced on the knife-edge of consciousness, as if it were the last sentence spoken in a conversation just as I was awakened:

"I need you to find the machine that brings women back from the dead."

Posted by philip at 11:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The sound that I had taken to be the hum of traffic from a nearby highway actually turned out to be coming from much closer. When I looked outside I saw mosquitoes--swarms of them. Over the past hour the buzzing of the mosquitoes had risen to a steady drone.

I realized that every window in the hotel had a thick enough cloud of insects gathering outside it to darken the mid-afternoon sun. The meeting had been temporarily adjourned as everyone stared at the bugs, reluctant to get too close to the windows.

Some of the mosquitoes had landed and were dragging their diamond-hard proboscises down the outside of the boardroom window, scoring tiny white lines in the pane of glass.

In the back of the crowd, without anyone noticing, I had pulled up the sleeve of my shirt. There were spiders attached to the skin of my arm. Three large spiders, black and furry, were stuck like leeches to my left forearm.

Posted by philip at 05:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I haven't been remembering dreams lately in Montreal. I hope when I get back to the woods I can enjoy some deep relaxing sleep again.

Last night I crashed on Nelson's couch in beautiful Vermont. I dreamed about a twenty-first century version of a photo booth.

The way it worked was, you would sit down in the booth, and this robot dome would come down over your head. A bunch of sharp buzzing clippers would start up in the dome and give you an automatic mechanical terrible haircut. Then the dome would retract and a mirror would appear in front of you. A video camera would record your reaction as you were shown your new hairstyle for the first time.

The resulting video would then be uploaded to a special webpage on YouTube.

Posted by philip at 10:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The giant is only visible as a silhouette on the city skyline. He shows himself as a shadow in the spaces between buildings.

The giant’s hand is large enough to pick up two taxicabs at once. He plucks the taxis right off the street and raises them to the height of a skyscraper.

The giant squeezes the cars in his massive fist.

A warm rain of gasoline and blood is falling on Montreal.

Posted by philip at 11:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In the dream, I’m on my way to make peace with Bobby Sands.

Bobby’s my next-door neighbour, but we haven’t been very neighbourly lately. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken. So long that I can hardly remember what set off the feud in the first place. Something trivial.

Now Bobby’s in jail and he’s starving himself and he’s going to die.

When I pull up to the prison grounds, a silent ambulance arrives at the same time as I do. The sky is clouding over and turning purple. That’s when I realize that I’m too late.

Posted by philip at 09:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I’m in a factory. There’s a conveyor belt with hundreds of tin cans flowing by every minute. A woman’s voice drones over a loudspeaker, narrating the contents of the cans in a dull monotone.

The noise and clamor of the factory are really fucking irritating. I look down and and I’m holding a huge sledgehammer in my hands.

When I look back up I’m standing outdoors in a meadow full of tall grass and bushes. But the sky and the plants are all gray. The same shade of steely-gray as the hammer-head.

Posted by philip at 07:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A test-tube full of frozen blood. A slush of frozen red crystals.

It falls through the air turning slowly like a screw.

Someone reached inside my body and took something out.

Posted by philip at 04:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I watched as a huge waterfall came roaring down over the sides of one of the tallest buildings in Montreal. I could clearly see it happening from my bedroom window. It looked like it would be enough of a torrent to engulf an entire street and flood the neighbourhood with poison.

Then the phone rang in my dream and I ran out of my room to answer it. When I got downstairs a certain lady I used to know was standing there holding the phone.

It appeared that she had removed most of her clothes. Her face was expressionless as she hung up the telephone and moved in close to press her body against me.

Posted by philip at 06:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It’s summertime and the sun’s going down and I’m walking west on Rene-Levesque. There are no cars on the street, no people in sight. It feels like I’ve been walking forever. I need to get somewhere, but I can’t remember where I'm going. So I’m just walking.

There’s a tall row of corn growing down the middle of the street. The cornstalks seem to stretch off into the infinite distance. They throw long purple shadows across the pavement.

The air is warm and still as I walk past empty skyscrapers.

A small child is standing amongst the corn and rattling something around in a plastic bucket. He tries to shield the bucket so I can’t see inside, but I walk over and take a look anyway.

He’s got a bunch of bicycle parts and animal jawbones in there.

Posted by philip at 11:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The cat threw up on the wall. The walls contain cancer. The building itself is sick. The walls, the floors, the ceiling.

The bricks and the concrete. The building is rotting away from the inside out.

I sit in the dark basement with one of my boots resting in a puddle. Water drips down from some unseen crack.

It stinks down here. All I can smell is mold and rotting vegetables.

I’m wrapping my knuckles with duct tape to try to stop the bleeding.

Posted by philip at 09:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I was flying through space inside a guided missile (not like that’s a phallic symbol or anything). My point-of-view was from the nose cone of the missile as it flew down through the Earth's atmosphere, down to Montreal, and roared straight down Murray Street.

The streets and the sidewalks, the cars, every surface was covered with snow. But instead of being normal snow it was topped off with a thick orange crust, like a creamsicle. Everything, everywhere was orange.

A bunch of ripples in the surface had risen up into shapes resembling evil orange snowmen. These creatures were tall, vaguely anthropomorphic shapes that maintained a seamless connection to the ground.

A bunch of these creamsicle soldiers were standing in a parking lot as if they were guarding a warehouse. The missile flew straight up to the biggest one of the group and rammed right into it.

A hatch in the missile popped open and I climbed out.

I walked around in the parking lot for a while. My heavy boots left footprints in the creamsicle surface.

Posted by philip at 11:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Last night I dreamed I was playing tennis with Sandra Bullock.

I don’t remember who was winning, but Sandra had the serve and it was taking her forever.

“Hurry up and serve,” I yelled across the court.

Sandra started twitching and making funny little jerking motions with her head. She raised her racket in the air and brought it down again.

I kept my stance at the baseline, feeling tense.

Sandra held the ball in front of her. I could see her grip it tightly. The bright afternoon sunlight glinted in her cold, flashing blue eyes.

Sandra Bullock doesn’t have blue eyes!

I ran and jumped over the net and went running at her and I swung my arm as hard as I could and I smashed her right in the face with my tennis racket. The strings of my racket cut into her flesh and passed right through her face, splitting her head into a molecular grid. Blue energy from Sandra’s plasma-brain surged through these cracks in a blinding flash.

Sandra’s body lurched and struggled to remain upright. The tennis ball in her hand was a ticking hand grenade. I leapt backwards, covering my face. The bomb exploded and I was thrown back hard against a chain link fence.

I lay on the edge of the court, unable to breathe. My back was hurting. It felt as if all the air had been squeezed out of my lungs.

Through the dust and haze of the explosion, where the robot Sandra had once stood, I could see a crater in the ground.

There was an armchair in the middle of the crater. A baby was sitting in the armchair, smoking a pipe.

I woke up choking and gasping for breath.

Posted by philip at 12:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I had the dream about Yelle again. The one where she’s reclining on a red heart-shaped bed and waiting for me to arrive.

But what Yelle doesn’t know is that her room has been bricked up behind a wall of the hotel. And even if I could find her, there’s no way I could get to her, not unless the dream world decides to bless me with a cock that doubles as a pneumatic drill.

And she’s lonely, and she’s waiting for me, and her vibrator batteries are starting to run out.

Posted by philip at 03:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I had a dream last night about a horse. The horse turned into a boy. And the boy had no face. He screamed in silence from a painting on the wall.

The nightclub was due to be torn down on Monday.

Posted by philip at 10:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm curled up on the couch with my eyes squeezed shut. The robots are coming for me. They're going to stick a fork in me. Stick the two prongs straight up my nose, into my brain.

A robot brain. A machine brain. That's what we'll be left with. Computer screens for eyes. Always watching.

A computer never blinks. Always looking, never seeing. Just a giant pair of machine-eyes staring straight into all the flickering lights.

They don't want you to bleed any more. They don't want you to be alive. They don't want you to shit or to stink, to bleed or to feel pain, they don't want you to feel anything at all.

They need to know the horror... They need to know that I had to cut in order to stay alive. In order to prove that I am still alive.

That's why I did it.

Posted by philip at 09:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I was already a murderer. Everyone agreed it was self-defence; they were quick to reach this conclusion for me.

But did I really have to kill the guy?

I will always be a killer.

Posted by philip at 01:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was sitting at a table by myself in a Chinese restaurant. The walls of the restaurant were shimmering constantly in different shades of purple, from lavender to deep dark violet and back.

I had placed my order and I was waiting and waiting. It seemed like it was taking forever for my food to arrive.

In the meantime, I was bleeding everywhere because I'd taken out a Swiss army knife and cut my body in 30 different places.

Posted by philip at 10:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I was walking up Robie Street. I walked past a construction site. They were building the Maritime Glass Heart Centre.

There were glass bones strewn all about the site.

Bones made of glass. Embedded in concrete, buried in the sand.

Posted by philip at 03:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dropped my iBook and it fell down the stairs. It fell end-over-end, bumpity bump bump, hitting every single step on its way down to the bottom.

At the foot of the staircase a woman bent down to pick up my computer.

Zoom in on her forearm: smooth and hairless and blotchy.

Posted by philip at 10:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I sit at a table at a classy restaurant eating a plate of spaghetti. Instead of meatballs, the spaghetti has a bunch of microchips all mixed in with it.

Across from me sits a red-haired woman. She's actully quite attractive. She's singing to herself, a Van Morrison song.

One by one, she pulls long pins out of her hair, and sticks them in her eyeballs.

Posted by philip at 07:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Death babies send crying sounds on TV over satellite. Babies communicate by crying. A wet diaper in every mailbox in Canada. Babies everywhere Fed-Exing dirty diapers to all citizens. The baby war has begun.

Morale is low as many find it difficult to inflict violence upon an infant.

Pitchforks selling out at hardware supply stores. The baby war has many casualties. Where do they come from? Where the fuck are all these babies coming from?

Pregnant women. The womb of the earth in an Arctic laboratory deep underneath the tundra. Baffin Island, maybe Ellesmere.

Babies are born in the cold from stolen sperm of Nazi war criminals.

Posted by philip at 02:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've been having this recurring dream where I have to find out who murdered my sister.

Except I never had a sister.

Or did I?

Posted by philip at 10:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In my dream, purple office towers were throwing long sunset shadows over the plaza.

They were out to get me so I was on the run. I engaged the enemy where and when I could, like some kind of futuristic urban guerrilla.

I leaned against the building and pressed my forehead against the glass wall. In an instant I projected myself inside. I ran like a maniac, down through corridors, stairwells, elevator shafts. Within a fraction of a second I arrived inside the central control room.

I knew I only had time for one shot. I aimed my gun at the heart of the machine and nearly hit it. Then security clamped down and I had to unplug.

Back out on the street, I could tell right away I'd done some damage to the programme.

Citizens throughout the downtown continued to talk and laugh as usual. But they were all stuck walking around and around in little circles, as though they each had one foot nailed to the ground.

I remember thinking: It's not pretty, but it's war.

Posted by philip at 10:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My grandmother passed away two years ago this month. Last night I dreamed I was visiting her gravesite.

The Baptist cemetery is just up the road from the house. The area is hemmed in by tall black trees. The trees seem to hum and sing in silence.

A trail of footprints follows me through the snow behind the abandoned church. I try to read the inscription on an ancient obelisk but the writing is worn away.

The dream is pretty close to how it was in real life.

Except this is some future time, some future Earth. The clouds are iron and soft grey ash falls from the sky instead of rain.

Posted by philip at 03:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I was passed out on the sidewalk on a city street. I had no shirt on and the concrete was hot against my chest.

I was looking down at myself as though my spirit were floating up above the ground. Then my spirit swooped down and entered my body and I woke up.

I was conscious and was looking at my left arm as it sprawled out into the street. At that moment a garbage truck came along and ran over my hand.

The garbage truck seemed to have four or five sets of wheels. Every one of them went straight over my hand, crushing it into the pavement.

I stood up. I stumbled across the sidewalk towards the cowboy hat store. I wasn't really in pain but I felt kind of dizzy.

I stopped in front of the cowboy hat store and looked at my reflection in the glass.

Then I was inside the store looking out at myself. I could see myself through the display of cowboy hats in the window.

I watched myself slowly raise my arm into the air.

My hand flopped down. Each of my fingers was a long thin skin-bag full of shattered bones.

Posted by philip at 10:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was walking through the food court in Scotia Square in Halifax. It was lunchtime and the place was crowded.

I got the sense that someone was watching me. A woman, halfway across the courtyard.

I kept walking towards her and it was a little difficult to be casual about the fact that we were staring straight at each other. She was tall and slender, with green eyes, short blonde hair and a green dress.

I stopped beside her table and glanced down at her, looked away and then looked back at her again.

"Hi," she said.

"Hello."

She was smiling. "I'd like to sleep with you tonight."

Her statement took me by surprise. Pleasantly.

The thing is, she had me. I'd been blatantly checking her out and there was no chance of playing it cool or elusive in this situation.

So I clicked my tongue and smiled back and said: "Yes."

The scene changed and the two of us were at some dimly-lit, smoky bar. I was standing a little ways off while she engaged in a heated argument with another man.

Two things dawned on me at once. First of all, this man was her boyfriend. Or at least he thought of himself as such, and didn't seem too thrilled about changing his mind.

Second of all, he was Ozzy Osbourne. A young Ozzy, only about 23 or 24. She kept calling him "John."

Ozzy was being very insistent. He was getting in close to her, trying to grab her shoulders and turn her around to face him.

She kept saying, "No, John."

After a while of this, I walked up to her and hooked my fingers around her arm. I leaned over and said softly, "Hey. C'mere."

We walked away together and did not look back. And that is how I stole Ozzy Osbourne's hot girlfriend.

I understood why she'd been so forward in the food court. There's nothing like a lady on the rebound.

Then I dreamed that we went back to my place and I undressed her and pushed her down on my bed and did whatever I wanted with her.

I woke up this morning in quite a state.

Posted by philip at 09:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I dreamed I joined NASA and I was getting ready to blast off on a one-man suicide mission to the planet Neptune.

I had said all my good-byes to friends and family. At the launch pad there was a big press conference where everyone talked about my historic undertaking.

In preparation for liftoff, I was being strapped into the space capsule by a couple of anonymous technicians and it occurred to me that these were the last human beings I would ever lay eyes on.

The journey across the solar system would take a long time. Many years. I would have radio contact for the first while, but eventually that would fizzle out and die.

I would be killed when the spacecraft crash-landed on the surface of the planet Neptune. But I would see things that no other human being had ever seen.

Posted by philip at 09:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Once in a while I have nightmares. There are a few different types. Some of the scariest are the ones where the dream reality is completely normal with the exception of one small, unsettling detail.

I dreamed I was standing outside the doors of a large one-story brick building. It might have been a medical centre or a dentist's office or some such thing. It was raining out, but there was an overhang I could wait underneath to keep dry.

A concrete walkway ran alongside the building beneath the overhang. At the far end of the walkway, up towards the corner of the building, I noticed an unattended baby stroller.

I started walking towards the baby stroller.

I couldn't see the baby. But as I got closer I could hear it, shuffling around in its seat, making little baby noises.

I reached the stroller and stepped around in front of it.

It was a baby boy, in a little blue hat. The baby raised its head and looked up at me.

The baby had a Hitler moustache.

It was absolutely terrifying.

At that moment I realized I was torn between my strong aversion to committing violence upon an infant, and my duty to save the human race by splitting open this baby's skull with an axe.

Posted by philip at 09:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I dreamed I went out through a window. I was outside in the Satanic Garden.

I could reach out and touch the white stucco walls of the mansion, the white trellises with green climbing vines.

You could wander around in the Satanic Garden. The trellises and hedges were arranged in a sort of labyrinth. But there was no chance of getting lost, because you could always keep the mansion in sight.

I walked down a long path that ran parallel to the mansion. At the end of the path was a section of fence that seemed to be glowing in an unusual way.

I knelt down and pulled away a small section of the fence to reveal a secret cubbyhole. There was something hidden inside.

I saw a small black box with a bunch of flashing coloured lights on it. I reached in and pulled it out.

It was a computer map of the whole area.

Posted by philip at 11:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I don't know why Angelina Jolie has appeared in a couple of my dreams recently. I'm not one of those guys who finds her mind-bogglingly attractive. Of course, I wouldn't kick her out of my bed...

Anyway. I dreamed I was on the set of Angelina's new cooking show. I was hanging out at the back, lurking in the dark behind the studio audience.

Angelina was standing in this brightly-lit studio kitchen, wearing a little apron and showing how to make an omelette or something.

I was thinking that she seemed too serious about it, that the show might be more entertaining if she were to lighten up a bit, put some humour into it.

One of the crew came up and stood beside me. He was wearing thick glasses and some kind of headset. I had the bad feeling that he was going to try to talk to me.

He leaned over and said with a leer, "Could you imagine putting it to that every night?"

I said, "Dude. She's my sister."

Posted by philip at 06:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I dreamed they were taking good care of me at the school cafeteria.

The woman in charge said, "We're not really supposed to open for another twenty minutes, but we really appreciate what you've been doing. She'll find something for you to eat."

So I went into the dining area and there was this Goth girl getting the food ready. All they were serving was a casserole that was made of alternating layers of Kraft Dinner and bacon.

There were several pans filled with this steaming orange concoction. The Goth girl dolloped a whole bunch of it onto a plate for me.

I was thinking: "I wonder why they think what I'm doing is all that important. There's really nothing to it."

Then I heard a whiny, nasal voice saying "I'm glad somebody can get some service around here."

I turned around and it was this guy who looked just like the guy with the hairdo from the band Interpol. He looked just like him and was even dressed just like him. Except he was only about four foot six.

Posted by philip at 06:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I dreamed I was wanted for murder. It was self-defence, but I knew no one would believe me, so I was running.

I saw the cops pull up to the front of the building and I ran out the back. I was running as hard and as fast as I could. I could feel my pores start to prickle with sweat.

These prickles became more intense as I ran. Pretty soon they were starting to burn. With every step I struggled to breathe as my flesh became hotter and hotter.

All the skin started to peel off my face and my arms. My bones were orange and red.

Then I was lying on a hammock in a submarine. There was a table beside the hammock and I was playing cards with a couple of the guys.

There was a TV on in the background. The news was coming on. I was scared shitless because I knew they would be all over the story of the murder.

There was lots of background noise in the room. The guys didn't seem to be paying too much attention to the TV. I badly wanted to shut off the TV or change the channel, but I knew if I got up to do so I would only wind up drawing attention to it.

So I kept playing cards, and I tried to act as nonchalant as possible, and I prayed no one would notice me on TV.

Posted by philip at 11:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I dreamed that a friend of mine was trying to set me up with some work. Some friends of hers were in a band, and they were looking for a sound tech to take out on tour with them.

She brought me down to hear a soundcheck by the band. They were decent musicians. I was trying not to be biased. I had previously overheard some people talking about how much they sucked.

I stood at the back of the empty club as they kicked into a song.

The singer was wearing a lot of black eyeliner. He came across as a bit of a knob. The band as a whole seemed to take themselves pretty seriously. I could tell I was going to have some issues with these guys.

Part of the lyrics went like this: "Murder the man in the moustache... murder the man in the moustache."

My friend was clearly very excited at the thought of hooking me up with this band. I wasn't sure what to tell her.

Posted by philip at 08:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sometimes my dreams are like a pornographic movie theater of the mind.

I dreamed I was hanging out with a certain lady... We'd been at a bar but we left to go outside. We were sitting beside a building underneath the fire escape.

We were touching each other, light touches. I ran my fingers through her hair. She stroked my thigh, squeezed it.

We were totally hot for each other. It seemed as though we were hidden enough from the street that probably not many people passing by would be able to see us. Without warning she whipped off her t-shirt. All she was wearing underneath was a thin little tank top.

I took her waist in my hands and pulled her close to me, lifted up her top and started licking and sucking her breasts. Then we were naked, she was lying on her back and I was licking her pussy. She was moaning and writhing all around. We were on a couch that had just somehow appeared underneath this fire escape.

Finally we just had to get out of there. We decided to head back to her place.

No sooner had we gotten all our clothes back on, than her friend popped out from around the corner. "Hi guys! Whatcha doin'?"

Her friend proceeded to sit down on the couch with us and start making all kinds of casual small talk.

Meanwhile, our legs were shaking because we wanted to fuck so bad.

~ Different dream. Different lady. We were fooling around in a park. We were hidden away behind a little brick building, and we decided that we were going to have sex, right there, outdoors in plain daylight.

I tore open a condom wrapper. The condom was already half-unrolled, which was strange. I got it onto the end of my cock and then I noticed it had cat hair all over it.

I had somehow gotten some of the cat hair all over my chest and arms as well. At first I tried to be nonchalant and brush it away. But it wasn't brushing away too easily.

Finally I stopped and looked at my lady.

She looked down at the hair-covered condom and said, "Yeah, like I'm really gonna stick that in me."

I said, "Hold on a minute. I'll go clean this up."

The bathroom was in another brick building across the park. I picked up my clothes, but I didn't put them on. Instead I carried them and ran across the park barefoot while doing the naked-man crouch.

I got to the bathroom and tried to open the door but it was locked. "Occupied," someone yelled from inside.

I held my clothes in a bundle in front of me and did the naked-man dance.

Posted by philip at 01:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed it was my turn to go visit the spit whirlpool.

The spit whirlpool was as old as the universe and every living human had to visit it--one person at a time.

In the dream the visit was meant to be some kind of ritualistic thing. Connecting with the universe or some such thing.

I got to the edge of the spit whirlpool and it was this great gobby vortex.

I spat into the whirlpool and watched it whirling down and down and down.

Posted by philip at 12:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I was in Charlottetown, PEI, on the main street that runs down towards the park with the statue.

There was this old man in a wheelchair. In the dream he seemed to be well known to the locals. He was always cruising around downtown wearing a hard hat and a huge pair of headphones.

I came out on the sidewalk and he was looking all around my car. He parked his wheelchair right behind the car. He seemed to be peering down at my license plate and writing down a bunch of stuff in a little coil notebook on his lap.

I wasn't sure if he could hear me with the headphones on. I said loudly, "What are you doing?"

He jumped as if I'd scared the shit out of him. He didn't speak, but he started hyperventilating and freaking out. I got the sense that my words had triggered some kind of panic attack.

I had no idea what to do. I didn't want to say anything because I was afraid that if I spoke, I would only make things worse.

Finally he started gesturing and pointing down the street. I grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and started pushing him quickly in the direction he indicated. All the while he was shaking and gasping for breath.

I was thinking, "What am I gonna do for this guy? Where the hell is he taking us...?"

I wish I could remember how this dream ended. All I can remember after that is a part where a bunch of people were riding snowboards.

Posted by philip at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I was hungry but too lazy to cook. So I swallowed a bunch of microwave popcorn and went for a chest x-ray.

The technician pointed the x-ray machine straight at me and powered it up. It made a hum that grew progressively louder.

A muted popping sound began in my belly. It sounded like a whole bunch of kung-fu movies playing at once.

Suddenly my stomach exploded. Popcorn flew everywhere. All the equipment burst into flames as the technician fled the room. I wanted to run, but I was wearing a lead apron.

Then the technician returned to the room carrying a fire extinguisher and a giant salt shaker.

Posted by philip at 01:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I had three penises and all of them were small. They were these nubby little things.

I stood in front of the television with my pants down, and my three penises started to revolve around each other, slowly at first, then faster. A blue glow started to flicker between them.

A Ghostbusters-style beam of pure energy blasted out of the end of my penises and zapped the TV screen. The beam caused the beautiful TV star on the screen to instantly age 50 years.

This happened right in the middle of her interview with E-Talk Daily.

Posted by philip at 09:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The prison has just opened and none of the inmates have arrived yet.

In the dream I'm part of a small group that is touring the facility. The warden shows us a room with a hot tub and a spa. Then he says "You might like this" and leads me into a room with a fully-equipped recording studio.

The scene changes and I'm standing in front of a countertop making a sandwich. What I remember most is the vivid red of the plastic wrapper on the loaf of bread.

The wrapper is open and pieces of bread are spilling out onto the counter. I'm holding five or six pieces of bread in my left hand. I'm spreading Dijon mustard on each of the slices, one by one.

All around the room are shelves full of loaves of bread in their bright red plastic bags.

Posted by philip at 05:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm working on an assembly line with a bunch of guys who all look the same.

They're all clones from the carpet factory. They were sent over because the original humans kept quitting the assembly line. In fact, I'm the only real human left in the whole plant. Everyone else is one of these carpet factory guys that roam around like zombies.

It occurs to me that they're only keeping me around because they're planning to eat my brain and turn my body into a rug. I'm trying to think of ways to get out of there.

Apparently there is some legal technicality that will allow me to kill all the clones. Something like, they can legally be suffocated, but not poisoned. Or is it the other way around? I'm trying my hardest but I can't remember.

Then the dream changes and I'm having a whole bunch of sex with a married woman in the back seat of someone's car.

Posted by philip at 03:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

They're counting down to launch the nuclear missiles, and I'm scared because the whole thing is a big misunderstanding.

I've been trying to get into the Premier's office to explain everything (the dream takes place in Russia and everyone's speaking Russian, including me). I'm running down a long fancy hallway, opening doors at random, trying to find the office of the official officer in charge of nuclear destruction.

When I reach the end of the hallway, I notice a smell that reminds me of frying steak. I pull open the door to the emergency stairs. There's a whole crew of people standing on the landing having a big barbecue.

"Surprise!" they yell in Russian.

Then someone calls out "1-2-3-4" and the band kicks in. The band is The Pogues and they're performing "If I Should Fall From Grace With God." There's lots of food and pretty girls and lots of people dancing.

I try to tell a couple of people about the missiles, but no one seems too worried about it.

Posted by philip at 10:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I was in Moncton, New Brunswick in the middle of a record-breaking snowstorm.

I'm hiding out in a bus shelter. Even though it's a flimsy structure and the storm is raging all around me, I don't feel cold or even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

There's a baby stroller in the shelter with me and it's full of cans of fruit cocktail. I open the cans one by one and eat a bunch of fruit and then pour the rest out on the ground.

After I'm done, I throw the can out the door of the shelter, where the wind grabs it and whips it away into the storm.

Posted by philip at 04:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In my dream I'm watching TV. The picture is bad and I don't like what I'm seeing but I can't change the channel.

Suddenly the picture comes in crystal-clear. It's a wireframe 3-D diagram of a saucer-shaped UFO.

The image revolves around and around and I can hear a voice, it's not coming from the TV speakers but it's right inside my head, and it's saying "You must not reveal the secret to anyone."

I pick up the remote control and shut off the TV. Then I'm down at the corner store buying a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips and a can of root beer.

I'm arguing with the clerk because he won't sell me one individual cigarette, which is odd because I don't smoke.

Posted by philip at 08:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm down at the onion farm. Emily is there, telling me all about growing onions. There's a red-and-white striped silo and an old-fashioned tractor.

Smoke comes out of Emily's mouth when she talks even though she's not a smoker.

Suddenly I realize that the silo is on fire. Flames are shooting out the top of it. I go to tell Emily but when I look at her, she grins an evil grin. Through the black smoke I can see flames in her mouth. She gives a low chuckle.

It all sounds sinister, but in the dream it was actually kind of funny.

Posted by philip at 10:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dreamed I was floating through space.

There was a giant castle that was orbiting the sun, almost like a planet unto itself. I needed fuel so I docked at the side of the castle.

There was a hole in one of the side walls, and the way I fueled up was to stick my dick in the hole. It was very refreshing.

A bunch of swirly black-and-white hypnotism patterns started playing in front of my eyes. Then I woke up, or at least I don't remember what else happened.

Posted by philip at 12:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I dream I'm drinking tea with a woman. We're sitting in a log cabin that's also a fancy apartment in the city.

She's telling me about how she hates her name, which is Edith. I'm trying to tell her that Edith is an ancient name, a beautiful name, and no one in the 21st century should be able to give her any crap about her name. I'm being very passionate about this, mostly because I want to bang her so bad.

Then she stands up and opens up her robe and shows me her body and it is stunning, utterly spectacular. A huge cloud of butterflies comes flying out of her robe and engulfs my body. All the butterflies turn into bits of coloured tinfoil and chocolate kisses that rain down all around me.

Then I'm down on my hands and knees in a tastefully-lit car showroom. It's nighttime and I'm the only person in the whole place.

I can't leave the showroom because I'm locked in, so I climb into the back seat of a Mercedes and curl up into a little ball.

Posted by philip at 11:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I'm standing beside the fountain in Centennial Park. They sky is overcast and it feels like it's about to rain.

In the dream I've been waiting a long time, but I'm not sure for what or whom.

Newspapers are blowing around the park in the wind. Sometimes the newspapers will form into the shapes of animals, little cats and dogs that will run around the park and play for a few moments before dissolving back into newspapers.

Some of the newspapers form into the shape of a tricycle. The tricycle just sits there at the corner of a the concrete walkway.

Then I'm lying on my back at the foot of a long sloping driveway. The tricycle starts rolling down the driveway towards me. No one is riding it.

The tricycle speeds up as it comes closer and closer. It's definitely going to run me over. At the last second I close my eyes. When I wake up my eyes are still closed.

Posted by philip at 02:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I got to dream that I was a helicopter pilot. It was cool!

I had a weird flash where I knew I was dreaming and I could do whatever I wanted. So I flew to Paris and buzzed around the Eiffel Tower looking at fashion models through a telescope.

Some dude in a hot air balloon was yelling at me in French. I just sort of ignored him. Then the whole "this is a cool dream and I'm in complete control" part went out the window, when he stood up and he was aiming a rocket-propelled grenade launcher at me.

The whirling blades of the helicopter transformed into a buzzing blender. I was sitting at the counter of a small-town diner where I had just ordered a chocolate milkshake.

The waitress put the metal milkshake container down in front of me. I looked inside and it was full of little crawling baby mice.

Posted by philip at 03:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)