Last night, a musical and a robbery

I was filming a musical near the waters edge. It wasn't going very well. I wasn't a famous actress, and the big star was pulling his weight with the director which was stalling the entire production. I was living in the library close to location. That night, the old stone library was filled with smoke. I slept in the book stacks like a real book lover and was awakened by my own coughing. I giant robot ball with many maces flying back and fourth had broken inside. He was after something, some rare artifact. He finally turned into a human, and tried to explain why I had to die and why he needed that artifact. But I was an actress, and very convincing. I persuaded him to give me a chance to escape, and the gambler in him agreed. It was very difficult, the dust and smoke got in my lungs, I kept passing out. But I succeeded! Everyone was confused by my condition, but I knew it was because of the robot dust that I kept passing out.

I think this was a dream...

Isoroku Yamamoto was the commander in chief of the Japanese Navy in World War II. I was reading about him and I had this startlingly memory from a dream. He was driving a red 1930 Pierce-Arrow Model B Convertible Coupe in the desert, visiting factories and on his way to Las Vegas, for the man loved to gamble. I particularly remember a girl in a pink dress, perhaps his daughter, who was adamant about receiving a present from America. I just remember his face in that car, the top down, the desert surrounding him. He was having a damn good time.

Two nights ago

A shadow man was attacking me. Finally, I was able to corner him and crush him into a ball. I ate him, feeling this was the only way to get rid of him. I vomited up a pile of black mud, hoping this was the end of what I knew to be a demon. Brad Pitt, who was there of coarse, seemed suspicious. We were obviously in love, and didn't care who knew it. In public trains, on the street, we had no discretion. But he felt that the horrible shadow demon was not behind us. And that's when black ants started to crawl out of my mouth. We fled into a nightclub. There, a childhood friend, clearly in league with the shadow demon, was wearing a dress made out of letters. And then the ants turned into letters, small black letters, flowing out of my mouth and spilling out onto the floor. The only coarse of action was to open me up and to clean me out. Clearly, the shadow demon had not been slain.

Last Night, it was the twenties...

I was with my friend Meredith, she was my sister in the dream. It was the twenties and we had just witnessed a murder by a member of the powerful Korean mafia. He had spotted us and fearful that we would go to the police sent out his men to do us in. The whole dream was us just running and running, through corridors and alleyways, through movie theaters and the basements of hotels. We tried to hide in a group of students, but the men recognized us, they almost killed us right there, right in the sewers, but gamblers were throwing a game and we managed to slip loose once again. We ended up breaking into some one's hotel room to rest and dye our hair with ink and to change clothes. We thought about going to the police, but we didn't know who we could trust. We needed money, we needed to get out of the city. The city that seemed constructed out of pipes, underground pathways and alleys. The city seemed to be filled with steam and shadows. It had never been day there the entire time. We decided to sell blood to get some money to buy a train ticket, but they wanted two pints! I remembered what it was like to give just one, I didn't think I could do it. That was the end.

About a month ago...

There was this CEO murdered and two children were the only witnesses. Their statements both included a man in bandages and the greatest feeling of fear when he passed.

A woman read this story and wrote a conspiracy pulp novel. It was released not soon after the case was moved to "unsolved".

So then, fast forward X amount of years, a Chinese American writes an article on the book and traces down the children who witnessed the murder.

The little boy, now an adult, lives only at intersections of highways and has been conducting his own research/ investigation of the appearances of the bandaged man. Apparently, he has been sighted by people, mostly children, all over the world. Usually connected with an act of terrorism. Sightings go back to just after WWII.

The little girl now is a waitress who still has night terrors.

There have been a string of deaths in the higher circles of government, diplomats, etc. I am doing my own investigation. It seems that I am a journalist. I meet the Chinese American author, who has brought the two now adult witnesses together...Suddenly, we are all being chased by the bandaged man.

But then King Kong starts chasing us too! He's joined by a group of twisted monsters from history and fiction.

But then, the Chinese American and I are at a fair, playing a pinball machine. The monsters are just plastic cut outs in the pinball machine.. We are laughing...It seems like we might be dating. It's summer and there are kids and families eating cotton candy. You can hear screaming because of the rides. A goat with a ribbon gets loose, it's owners are trying to catch it. But then I have this feeling that something is wrong. Really wrong. I can't seem to catch my breathe. And then the bandaged man walks past. And I wake up.

Last Night, Dancing with Data

It was the great depression. And there was a dance marathon. Data and I really needed the money, we just had to win this contest. Luckily, I knew Data was a cyborg. I knew that he could dance any dance forever. I let Data know that I knew his secret and he began to choreograph an amazing ballet for us. We danced for hours, pulling off moves not ever seen by our competitors or bystanders. I believe I fell in love with Data that night.

The dream then melted it's way into something about swimming...but the details are gone.

First Nightmare- 1992

I walk slowly down the stairs of my basement. It's dark, in the middle of the night. I'm about six years old.

I stop just before my foot reaches the last step and I look at the walls before me. It's like there is something inside them, pushing it's way out. It finally emerges from the wall like a swimmer from a pool. It's the cookie monster.

He, of coarse, thinks I'm a cookie. He begins to chase me. I'm screaming for my parents but I'm all alone in the house. He chases me through the kitchen, up the stairs. He finally corners me. I look around, there is no help coming. He picks me up and gobbles me down.

There is just blackness. I am dead.