Psychedelic dream of psychedelic-ness

In this dream, I was watching a musical on this old console TV (the ones with the huge buttons and the bunny ear antennas). It was this wild, psychedelic 60s style musical, complete with the Technicolor.

It began with this big, redheaded guy sitting in a barber’s chair. He’s talking to somebody off-screen, saying how he was nervous about this as it was his first haircut in a long time. He turned to the camera and asked how it looks.

It doesn’t look good. In fact, it’s the ugliest haircut.

At this point, the play stops, and the screen asks:




So I click LIE.

The person the guy in the chair was talking to steps on screen. He looks like Archie from the comic books. Archie says that the cut looks amazing, that the girls will attack him in droves, basically just playing to the guy’s ego. The guy in the chair smiles and asks for a mirror so he could see for himself.

When he gets the mirror and sees the monstrosity on his head, the guy goes insane. Yelling, screaming, he totally Hulks out. There was a song about his rage and embarrassment, and while he’s singing about it, he starts zapping people with beams of light.

Archie realizes too late that this guy has superpowers, and he stands dumbfounded as the people who were struck by the beams first turn into animals and then melt into puddles of goo. The redhead with the bad haircut tells Archie that he’ll pay for this, and storms away.

A few weeks go by, and Archie’s sister is shot and killed during a mugging. Archie goes off to find the redhead—who by this time has gotten his hair fixed—and pleads with the guy to use his power to save his sister. There was a very emotional number, with Archie begging and pleading the redhead for help. The redhead declines to help, saying basically that one pain deserves another.

At this point I stop the show. It’s horrible, and I didn’t want to see anymore. I tell the people watching with me that it sucks, and they ask, “What would happen if the guy told Hair Dude the truth?”

I restart the show, and click TELL THE TRUTH when the screen asks.

This time, Archie tells the guy that he can’t let the redhead go out looking like that. The redhead asks for a mirror and agrees when he sees it. He gets it fixed immediately, and there’s a song about how grateful the redhead is to Archie.

When Archie’s sister is shot, Archie goes to the redhead and is telling him about the situation. The redhead tells Archie about his power and says he can bring the sister back, but cautions him that she’ll lose a few years of memory. Archie gratefully agrees (with, of course, a very moving song) and the redhead brings the sister back. The sister is reset mentally to age 18 (she was maybe 21 at the time).


“Your money’s no good here” & tortured: dream doubleplay

A duo for you this time, folks.

In the first dream, I’m wandering a market, trying to sell something. I’d go to a stall, they’d buy whatever it was I was selling, and then I’d request something of theirs. They’d give it to me, but wouldn’t take my money. This happened over and over, at stall after stall. “Your money’s no good here,” they’d say. They were all smiling as they said it, and the overall atmosphere of the dream was good, but I was becoming frantic, running around trying to complete the transactions.

In the second dream, I was being tortured in this medieval torture chamber. I’d been on the rack, had my tongue held in a scold’s bridle, been sat in a witch’s chair. When the dream began, I was being whipped with a cat o’nine tails. The lashes were like fire cutting into my back, and it seemed like each time I screamed, the next lash would be more painful.

Though my back was turned toward whoever was wielding the cat, I could still somehow see that they were dressed completely in black, with a hood covering their face. I was tired and in pain, and wanted only to die so that the pain could stop. I knew somehow that I was waiting for the executioner.

Finally, I heard steps coming toward the room. The heavy wood door opened, and someone came in. During this time, the lashes had been coming steadily, each worse than the one before. But suddenly, the lashes stopped, and I was free.

I thought this odd; I was expecting the executioner to come in and finish me off quickly with little fuss. When I turned around, the person in the mask was being restrained by the executioner, and was being very loudly angry about it. There was screeching about how I needed to be punished, that without it I wouldn’t learn and do better, and ineffective struggles to get away.

The executioner shook the person in the mask and they quieted somewhat. “No more,” said the executioner (still calling them that because that’s what I thought).

Over yelps and protests, the executioner pulled the mask off.

It was my face.

I stared and my twin started spewing more invectives, only to be shaken yet again.

“Look deeper,” said the executioner, and pulled at my twin’s face. It came off like a mask and it was my mother standing there, still spewing abuse.

And I woke up.

The operation’s a killer: a dream

I dreamed that I was finally going in for the operation, but in order to get it, I had to die.

A doctor came into the room (she looked like my sister, funnily enough), holding a knife. She told me that I had to slit my wrists and bleed out in order to have this operation. When I told her I didn’t want to do that, she pulled out a syringe and said that she could inject me with whatever was in there and I’d die quickly.

For some reason I thought this a grand idea. I think I knew/suspected that I’d be revived. In the dream, I lay down in the hospital bed and got comfy. The doctor stepped forward and told me that I’d be waking up in the recovery room very soon.

She injected me and I closed my eyes. Everything began to become very slow, very weighted. I felt myself drifting off. The last thing I heard before I woke up to my alarm was the doctor saying to someone that I’d be dead soon.

“It was all a dream”: a dream

Welcome back to another episode of “Weird Dreams that I’ve had!”

In this one, I woke up in the bedroom I had when I lived with my mother. I looked around in bewilderment, as this was not what I was expecting to wake to.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” I said to everybody I could grab. “I have a place and a job in Texas; how did I get back here?”

All I got were boggled stares and weighted looks.

My mom takes me aside and said, “That sounds like a wonderful dream. But you have to realize that it was just that: a dream. It’s not real.”

“But it is! I’ve got a job and a place and I’m taking care of myself! I don’t know how I got back here, but I want to go home.”

My mom shook her head. “This is your home.”

I protested at length and with volume, and all they did was stare at me like I was crazy.

Pleasure protest: a dream

I dreamed that I was in the middle of a protest.

There were people holding signs on sticks, waving signs in the air. People shouting and singing and roaring.

I heard things like:

“Down with pleasure!”

“Hey, hey, ho ho, luxury items have got to go!”

There were signs showing comfy couches with strikes through them, people publicly burning silk and velvet. There were huge placards with the words DON’T TOUCH written large on them. People exhorted me to give up my pleasure items, to give them up, cast them away. It was like going to a revival.

Drowning: a dream

Last night I dreamed I drowned.

I was swimming in some dark water when I felt something grab one of my legs and pull. I pulled back toward the surface of the water, but whatever-it-was down there got a good grip on both my legs and kept dragging me down.

I couldn’t see anything, not even my frantic hands grasping at nothing as I inhaled water. I choked and choked. My lungs burned. There was no air!

It felt like forever, the choking and the burning. Then it was gone, and I was gone too.

Intensive care: a dream

Last night I dreamed I was in ICU.

I was in the hospital bed, hooked up to all the beeping machines. I guess I was in a really bad way, as I had other doctors and students hanging around my bed wearing resigned expressions. They tried to cover up when they noticed that I was paying attention.

I must have been on my last legs, because the next part of the dream had my loved ones coming in and saying goodbye to me. It seemed like it was everyone who matters to me, so none of them could stay long.

Until my husband (I hate when dreams spring surprises like this on me) came in.

He came in and just stood in the door, staring at me with this expression of concern that shifted quickly to anger as he strode in.

“You will not die on me,” he said.

I appreciated the sentiment–nobody wants to die, right?–but it looked pretty bad. But he was still going on. He was saying that I had to fight, that if I couldn’t then he would, damn it. He shook me, told me again that I was not going to die on him, and strode out.

Then I woke up as my alarm was going off.