Dream 2:15am 19.02.18


This is unedited. Cut and pasted as I wrote it. Straight from my diary. No thought to punctuation or readability or spelling or even to a reader other than myself. It is raw and a stream of thought as I struggled to get down what I had just dreamt. Such was the dream’s power.

At least to me.

I am afraid to post this as I am afraid of what it says about me. Jung would have much to say. Nonetheless this is supposed to be a diary is it not?



I just Had a dream. Loud. Chaotic. I can’t stress just how loud it was. People running everywhere. Madness. Shock. Despair and fragility all around and yet I was calm single minded to the point that I put my self in harm’s way for nothing. No not for nothing. For a glimpse. To see with my own eyes the floating heads with blank expressions, floating down corridors away from the great reveal. Away from the giant truth and from the chaos of leathery wings and infected bites and of the earth itself rising up. Mountains of beasts moving with the speed of aircraft and yet moving so slow. Mountains that roared. Mountains that fought nothing that came alive just to show how small we all are. And the people ran. Everywhere and nowhere. I was Asian Korean. I was so sure that I was Korean. Just married. On our honeymoon or on our way. We were in China and I was Korean. I felt Korean. Not myself. I thought differently. Not my dream self. Not a passenger. But someone else. My skin felt different. I was inside the man. No within. and we were definitely in China. The writing on the signs were Chinese. My wife was buying ice cream or something. It fades now. Even her face. We were at a gas station. It felt like an American gas station in the middle of China. Weird that this was a thing. Why was I so sure? She had just got the video tapes back from our honey moon. For some reason video tape was processed like 35 mil film. And the camera itself was attached to a huge trolley like bag. Not heavy but ackward. And Pink. I remember being embarrassed that it was pink. It was a beautiful bright sunny day and I remember the taste of the ice cream. It still sits within my mouth. It sits there and I remember when I was another man and I hade a similar ice cream with a flake in it. Or was that a dream. And I watched. I watched the mountains. Tall. Sharp. As tall as the sky. Three mountains. The peaks touching the clouds. and it was green everything was green. Everything was green. It felt like it had just rained. Cool. Crisp. The smell of green. The smell of cleanliness. Everything was so clean. No rubbish. Not like later. Not like the chaos. She showed me the footage of our marriage and the man within the fold out screen didn’t look like me but it was. I remember she was so happy. I just was… I remembered the wedding differently. And the video quality was terrible. I remember thinking the video quality was terrible but I was happy she was. I remember that I felt detached but that I loved her but that I was distracted but that the clouds were wrong. That they were moving as if they were being moved by something bigger than those mountains. And they were grey, those clouds. Grey and wet and swirling. Something within moving through the atmosphere hidden between the interaction of cloud and scale and bone and tooth. Massive. It was massive and at first I didn’t know what I was looking at. I could only see it’s back, it’s arm, a tail. Then there was another. Less defined. Less regonisable. More snake-like. Sinewy. Sliding in and out of the clouds and around the mountain. The other mountain. To my left. Ahead, the mountain that was a dragon moved again and I wasn’t the only one who had seen it. She was oblivious. Happy that we got a shot of her parents. I gently closed the camera, folded the little monitor and showed her what I was looking at. At first she thought it was the ensuing madness. The people dropping bags. Some praying. Others still, like me staring. I wasn’t afraid. My heart was pumping but I wasn’t afraid. I was a child again. The universe had made me a boy again as I saw a third beast emerge from beyond the horizon. For the life of me I cannot tell you what that beast looked like but it was as awesome as the other three mountainous creatures. I recognised the maw. I recognised the roar of the first beast. Scaly plates on his back, fiery eyes, giant, massive true owner of this world. I took my wife’s camera and I ran. I didn’t think for a second more. I had to see more. I didn’t think of death. I didn’t think of living I just thought of seeing more. I had to see more. So I left her. The love of my life, of that life ,this Asian business man, younger that I am now. And she knew I had to go. That I had to see and she let me go. She let me go, so I could see. I dragged this plastic cart like bag. On old ladies shopping bag. Bright pink. Made of shiney shrink wrapped plastic attached to the camera. I dragged myself and this thing up around the gas station, looking for a way around the mountain or up it. I remember the smell of pine needles and the sound of cicadas and feel of the pine cones and the feel of the earth moving as the beasts moved. The noise was indescribable. Everything was noise. Like the way your ears ring and that ringing is everything this was the noise. The noise of people in panic, in terror and of the main beast and it’s roar. So loud, I could feel it’s breath in every atom that vibrated in tune to its call. A call to unmake things. To unmake us. It was ambivalent. We were inconsequential. This wasn’t revenge. This wasn’t punishment. Somehow I knew this. For all our attempts and making nature hear us roar she simply didn’t give a shit. We were too small and unimportant. We were of no concern. Maybe that was what was upsetting people. That we were irrelevant. For me. The hullabaloo of humanity was learning its place and we weren’t even ants beneath the feet of always. I pressed on. As I got closer to the edge of the mountain it became easier to move on. Most people were running away. I was running to. I had to see. I climbed the gentle incline that turned to hard slog made worse by the stupid pink bag I was carrying. I saw soldiers fighting Guerrilla wars between themselves the only thing they could do against such indifference. A few had the same idea as I and we pressed on. We never spoke. Occasionally catching a glimpse of the beast. Occasionally dealing with the heated breath and smelling it’s call. Tropical. As we got closer, as we approached the ridge the beast’s breath had turned this temperate day into a hot thick sauna we were within the beasts breath. but we weren’t close. Some of us regained our senses and ran. The horror of what was over the ridge apparent. But the few that remained pressed on and we saw that in getting closer we hadn’t even begun to comprehend to shear size of just one (of these creatures)Like kids in a corn field the mountains themselves had been pushed back the creature itself now absent as we who had come just to see were alone on a broken ridge overlooking a land that was stripped of all sign of anything. The skin of the world peeled back like a child picking at a scab. I started to hear again. The world returned. My breathing became apparent. I realised I was still here. Still alive. Now out of a trance. I still had the camera with me. All this way I hadn’t used it. I dragged the damn thing up this mountain and I hadn’t used it and I despaired. I remember the despair. I remember the hole in my chest and gap in my belly. I remember my anger at myself so not documenting this. And then the fear came. For the first time. I remember fear. Cold white fear. Terrifying. I need a word for what I felt. It was a kick of adrenaline after a car crash but it was fear magnified and multiplied and folded in upon itself and compressed and force fed down my throat . It gnawed with a multitude of arms at me. Nails as sharp as razors. Colder than sweat. The scream of something close. The parasites of this creature what would it’s fleas look like? What would it’s leaches it’s disease be. what form would they take and it was this, these dark thoughts that caused me to run. I ran hard and as fast as I could. My heart burst. My legs ripped themselves apart. My arms pushed through the air desperate to assist but flailing like wounded meat. I heard them. Behind me, picking off the faithful, those that had come to see and now were fodder for the things that had dropped of this creature. I found a tunnel entrance and crawled in now my fear of small spaces superseded by a desire to live. I hid there watching the former congregation picked off, picked up by flashes of leathery bat like wings. I saw people pulled apart and could do nothing. There were three of maybe four of us left. One of them had found a door. A way out. I pulled out my camera and looked at it, ripping the cord that attached it to the stupid pink bag. It did nothing. Served no purpose the camera continued to function. I cursed my myself and the manufacturers. I cursed in Korean and this surprised me as I didn’t know any Korean. Then the head appeared. Man sized and shaped like an Easter island head. Emotionless but flesh it stared, occasionally blinking. I remember thinking that he looked Greek maybe a Turk but the slight green tint to his skin suggested mongo. Strange that I would think of Flash Gordon. Parhaps not so strange. As fellows ran. I stood and faced our new persuer, this giant head floating hanging in the air as if waiting for an answer to a question that no one had yet thought of and yet still it waited in anticipation. No malice. Like a child’s stare in an old mans head. I left the head and headed deeper down the tunnel. It continued for a long way joining and departing from others. I stuck with the main one. As I got closer to the bottom and I could feel this, this decent I returned to people. I could hear the aftermath. I pushed through a door blocked by a fallen fridge and frozen popsicles and ice cream. I stepped over the destruction of a destroyed gas station and found myself back where I had started. Everything was destroyed. The other beasts had come this way and destroyed much but this violence was visited by ourselves. The gas station and surrounding shops were ransacked and looted, turned over and smashed. One of the peaks of the three mountains had been knocked clean off like a hard boiled egg by a knife. No sign of the beasts. No roar. No hot breath. No clouds or swirling atmosphere. It would be nice poetic even to say that in the crowd she was there. Sitting on a the stupid pink back eating an ice cream waiting for me to come down from the mountain. but she was gone as most who had been here. Few bodies. Maybe she had escaped but she wasn’t here. And that was the worse feeling. Not the monsters. Not the horror. Not the spectacle. The fear at the peak. The cold sweat that I could feel seeping into this dream from my dreaming self. How easy was it for me to walk away? It was nothing. There was no dilemma, no hesitation I Just walked away. What kind of man does that make me? I woke to that thought. What kind of man am I? And that was the chill that was colder than the end of the world.

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