I had this great dream last night, starring Christina Lindberg, the 24 year old version. Naturally it had some explicit content I am not going to elaborate, but it also had some One Eye style of combat/revenge. Actually it was only combat, but since Lindberg was innit I think it’s safe to assume that we had some hateful good reason to do what we did.
For some reason, she couldn’t walk. I’m not sure if it made sense in the dream but it does to me now. She couldn’t walk. In order to kill people, which is half of what Lindberg is all about, I would have to carry her on her back while she did all the shooting. It didn’t make sense that I was going to shoot nobody, since she had a helluva better aim than I. Except for this one guy who sneaked up with a knife from behind. I gutted him John Woo style; one girl in my left hand and a .38 in my right.
It was kind of cool.
Anyway, after killing some dudes in the 2nd floor of what must have been somebody’s house, we heard someone coming that wasn’t supposed to come. Maybe it was the police, I don’t know. As by magic, Lindberg was now already in the 1st floor. I jumped down a spiral staircase, which is harder than you’d think since you have to avoid the walls and some centrifugal forces, and saw the woman in brown fur coat and her bastard son.
For some reason they were the villains and we had to go for them before the police thought about going for us. I was standing half-way up the stairs and saw Lindberg lying on the floor (since her feet didn’t work) and the evil fur-dressed woman, who was a fat mama, walking towards her with some sharp object. It was obvious she was going to kill Lindberg.
This is when I did the jump.
I was going for the fur-coated woman by air, hoping to knock her down from behind with my weight alone, and wriggle the weapon from her cold hands. I’m not sure whether I had a gun or not, and if I did; why I didn’t shoot her, but since I jumped I think that’s fairly irrelevant.
So there I was. Doing the jump.
I don’t know if you’ve ever jumped on a big woman with a fur coat from behind at exactly the crucial moment when she’s going to kill all that you care for (viz. Lindberg). But if you have, you know that timing is vital. If you screw this one up, it’s goodbye Christina, curtains up and waking up to another sad day at the office. And the fat lady sings. So you must make it.
You know this as you’re about to jump.
And I knew, just having jumped, that I wouldn’t make it.
It was this kind of slooooow mooootion cooooold waaash ooooff faaaailure.
So remember kids: Whenever you want to jump a fat lady with the body mass of the Titanic and a fur coat from a higher vantage point behind her; time it correctly!
I landed at the back of her ankles, meaning I hit myself at the ground harder than I’d hit her. For sheer evil purposes she went for me instead, blinding me with her hairy coat and thrusting the knife at me like the cornered alien in Alien III did at Ripley when she tried to make it kill her.
Somehow I think we won, or I woke up, since I still have a good feeling about that dream. Or maybe it was all the sex before all this happened that made up for it. I just hope Christina didn’t get hurt.
But the feeling I got from knowing that I wouldn’t make the jump was terrifying. It has lingered with me throughout the day like a blue note from a melancholic Tindersticks’ track. Just knowing that I didn’t make it, in a FREAGGIN DREAM! still makes me a bit embarrased.
Maybe Christina made it anyway, who knows?
I’ve been kind of quiet lately.
That’s because I’ve gotten several intruiging varieties of some of the flus creating havoc this spring. On Monday I could hardly look at food without throwing up. Tuesday I almost fell on the train tracks up at the University, since I got overwhelmed by a pang of dizzyness. That would have made a good headline: «Kid roasted on railroad tracks. Investigators blame the flu.»
Right now I’m trying to balance my headache, my flu and my utterly economical depression so that neither gets total control of me. If I can just keep a hazy limbo of apathy, I’ll be "fine". I don’t want to end up like Darth Vader. You don’t know the power of the dark side. Or the ridicule of being called ‘the black bucket’.
I think I’ve been more or less sick for three weeks now.
Interestingly enough, it is about the same time-span we’ve had paint thinner, dust and uncategorizable material in the ventilation system at work. The air in the open office I sit in is so heavy that if you put a scale on the floor it would give a visible reading, much unlike air in other corners of the universe. Air in my open office has a spatial stretch. You can take it with your hand and knead it into a ball.
In addition the heat is still running. My problem is this girl that keeps closing the windows and turning on the ovens. What is her problem anyway? What is she trying to do? Write an exotic paper on Examining the Consequence of Social Science, Statistics and Sauna?
But it goes up and down, up and down, I tell ya.
Most of my time is spent on trying not to think. That is until I realize that when I’m trying I’ve already failed. And it doesn’t really concur with my studying philosophy at all. But I do my best.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll try not to think while I devour my pizza.