Rebounding Again

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Dreams | Monday, March 24th, 2014

Holy fuck my brain.

I woke up and my legs were both covered in a bright red base coat of bio-luminescent paint, further detailed with a floral pattern in every color imaginable. The types of flowers and their arrangements were distinctly different on the left leg than the right and I wondered if there was any significance to this. I wasn’t even sure if the patterns were really on my skin or just a temporary hypnagogic hallucination, so I sought to document the moment. I got out my camera and tried to focus on the design, but every time I snapped a picture it started to move and warp away. The pattern shifted as if it was trying to hide itself from the eye of the camera. It swirled into a blur of colors at the center of the viewfinder then Sepultura’s “Arise” began playing. I held up my camera in astonishment at how it suddenly started playing music instead of taking pictures. In doing so I revealed that behind it was my old radio/tape deck alarm clock from the mid 90’s and I had hit the Play button by accident. I fumbled with the buttons as the music grew painfully loud in my ears. I could hear people having a muffled conversation in the hallway outside of my room and I didn’t want to disturb them or even alert them to my presence. A fraction of a section after I stopped the music it started up again. My vision panned to the right where another tape deck had begun playing the exact same song. I stopped this tape as well, then lurched across the bedroom trying to clear my head. I found my jeans crumpled in a pile on the carpet and stared down at them trying to summon the series of thoughts and actions that would result in my legs being placed through them. A few seconds of jazz music filtered into my ears then vanished. “That was definitely a hallucination!”, I exclaimed in triumph. There were no other radios in this room and I finally knew that at least this time it was all just my mind playing tricks on me. I *pushed* against some unseen wall in reality trying to force my way back… to another place where my footing was more solid. I woke up on the floor of a school classroom. In my sleep haze I had been documenting my dream experience to my teacher while the other twenty odd students poured over small netbooks, apparently oblivious to my presence. The teacher commented on how wonderful such a dream must have been and how jealous he was for my youth. I replied, “No sir, in fact it was quite terrible to experience and the entire time I found myself wishing it would end.” He shrugged as if I just said the most absurd of things but he didn’t want to press the matter. He handed me a netbook like the other students had, and ushered me over to my desk and chair. The screen revealed some sort of day-to-day simulation of human life broken into city-sized groups of students around the world each categorized by an era of history and a lifestyle they were choosing to emulate. As I walked around the room to observe other students interacting with their experiments I also began to fly and the room itself became the simulation with twisting paths linking each distinct city otherwise isolated by the life choices of its inhabitants. I woke up in bed and my legs were out from under the covers and in the air. They were thrashing violently in muscle spasms so powerful that they must have begun in my dream yet had to run their due course even now that I was fully awake. I tried to regain control over my body but even as I did I realized that the surface of my legs was bright red and flaking dead flesh everywhere. The closer I looked the more I saw crevices where the flesh had dried up and separated revealing dried blood. I hobbled out of bed and somehow found small comfort in knowing that I would have a decent excuse to miss school today. Recovering from my severe dehydration in the hospital would surely be better than having to be around so many other kids. A man was sitting on the foot of my bed as I began to dress for the day. Laughing aloud, he commented on how horribly I slept. He went on and on about how much noise I made in the grip of my dreams and I that could be heard from his bedroom across the hall. I tried to avoid thinking about it as I was already ashamed enough of my dreams, further still that everyone else knew about them. I woke up again. Did I wake up? There was so much more, but the pieces slipped out of my hands before I could get to this side of reality. My head is still reeling.

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Illness | Saturday, December 7th, 2013

I wish I could stop dreaming up apocalyptic scenarios that wake me up in the middle of the night. In that state I haven’t the strength to resist and I force myself back to sleep in an attempt to “solve” the nightmare through lucid dreaming. The problem with dream worlds is if you push too hard they unravel and my brain wants to come up with the worst conclusion possible in every situation. People die all around me and I am paralyzed with the belief that I should know how to save them if only I were a better person.


Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Dreams,Thoughts,Writing | Sunday, July 14th, 2013

I dream of her every night because my heart and mind refuse to let go of this last ray of light. She is the Minotaur’s labyrinth, and I am the desperate soul braving her twisting depths for an answer. Imprisoned in this dark construction of my own design, I yearn to knock the walls before me flat with a bellow of frustration and rage. Whatever powers I may possess, nothing but pure determination seems to hold any offer of revealing an unobstructed path back into her warm embrace. Night after tear-bled night it’s always the same pitfall that shatters the flagstones beneath my feet and returns me gasping into my pillow. I come upon a crossroads of many paths and before me stands a great fountain feeding into a garden blanketed in mist. Cherubs of the finest crystal fly forth from a base of green-veined marble and blast upon their trumpets to usher streams of water for the lily and fronds beneath. I kneel down and cup my hands in the waters for refreshment when in my reflection a foul horned beast gazes back at me. My slit eyes widen in shock as behind me I hear the crunch of gravel beneath a boot and a sword being unsheathed. Starting out from under my sheets I wipe the sweat from my brow and wonder. Am I doomed to destroy everything I love? Am I doomed to be destroyed by everything I love? Another night comes and another question remains unanswered.

©2009, 2013 Stephen Pimley

Slight Smell

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Memories | Sunday, April 1st, 2012

Having woken up at 2:30am yesterday I was crashing bad by 10pm. I couldn’t think straight to do anything of use so I went upstairs and sat on the floor in the guest room with the lights off. I often do this when I want a quick nap that doesn’t lead into hours of deep sleep. I find it a perfect level of uncomfortable with my back up against the hardwood foot panel of the bed and my head constantly nodding forward and back. Before I had even made it into the room I noticed that the walls and floor were crawling with hallucinations as they do when I am particularly tired. Turning the lights off I noted that the hallucinations did not change in nature with regard to light stimulus. I suppose these are simply the background radiation of my heavily damaged brain trying to find patterns in the reduced data set that manages to make it’s way through my optic pathway. There were hundreds of tiny brightly colored objects melting and morphing into new creations several times a second. They changed so fast I couldn’t even decide what anything in particular was before it had become an entirely different shape and color. I tried to focus on one small segment in the center of my vision thinking this part of my brain was the most used and would produce the clearest visions if I blocked my attention from everywhere else. All I can remember being able to discern was a series of men made up of yellow squares sliding down red plastic slides at a playground only to have the ground melt beneath them, swallowed in a turbulent ocean of blue and green triangles. An endless array of fish would appear on the surface and devour one another in a chain of no significance. I wondered if they realized how brief and useless their lives were the instant they were created in my mind, or if these truths only dawned upon them when gazing up into the maw of their devourer.

I dreamed that I lived through World War II as a teenage orphan. First we were in an internment camp run by the Nazis and later, after we were liberated, by some obnoxious British female teachers that treated us just as much as prisoners as we had been prior. There wasn’t much to do and I never got along with or played with any of the other kids. I got the idea that the whole point of this camp was to indoctrinate us back into being the good little western children like you would have seen on the cover of a cereal box or family magazine in the 40’s. It was a full two years after this supposed rescue before the war ended and we were finally provided with transportation home from this [barren island / remote village ?]. The other kids were enthused to go back to society but I couldn’t think of any thing to look forward to, wherever I went. We held a small celebration before being loaded onto trucks to leave. During this we mostly just walked or marched in formation while people sang in the background (again with the indoctrination!). Our teacher had us all line up at the gate and read from a sheet of paper where we had written down our personal words of wisdom or reflections from our experience in the war. Most kids wrote something obvious like not to eat too much candy because you can’t be a good soldier for your country if you’re fat and such forth. I was the last in line and when I read what I wrote I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at myself. My all encompassing dream wisdom produced the following nugget verbatim; “Slight is not if smelt.”

There was also some former German soldier living at the camp under the ruse of being a poor French civilian trapped by the conflict. He kept following around and trying to woo one of the teachers so that he could go home with her and create a new identity and life for himself. He spoke fluent English without a hint of accent but whenever he spoke French it was with such a strong German accent I couldn’t understand how nobody else in the dream noticed who he really was.

Now the truly annoying thing is that I have woken up and I have some horrible smell stuck in my nose or brain now. It doesn’t smell like anything real. I think it’s something psychosomatic. I swear I remember it from somewhere before but I can’t place what it is. Actually, I think it might the smell of ozone but I can’t think of any reasonable explanation for this unless it really is just in my head.

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Memories | Saturday, December 20th, 2003

The combination of wine, turkey, and aged cheese sedates you so much it is amazing.  The dreams are whacked out too.

Get this I’m laying in my bed which I can tell is perpendicular to it’s normal layout.  It’s wider than in reality and my mom is sitting on the other side talking while I smoke a bowl.  My dad is also in the room talking about doing yard work then he gets a call on his cellphone.  It’s my cousin Katie and she is at work too afraid to leave because some creepy guy is following her again.  So my dad tells me he’d love to smoke with me but he has to go pick her up.  I finish my bowl exhaling at my mom and she doesn’t even notice I am smoking anything.  I turn around and see both closet doors are open and hanging horizontally from the coat rack is an unconscious man dressed as Santa Claus.  I then proceed into my parents bedroom where I find two half empty bottles of whiskey hidden in my mom’s closet.  I take a sip from one and it’s foul but intoxicating.  Telling myself I shouldn’t drink whiskey because it makes me crazy I put it back and walk into the bathroom.  A sideways glance into the mirror reveals that my nose is six inches long and deformed…then I wake up.

I should mention that prior to this dream was one where I was flying around my neighborhood on will power alone and freaking out neighbors who saw me as some sort of apparition.

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Memories | Wednesday, November 5th, 2003

It started out with me at a camp for people that had been molested or raped… The counselor was talking about stuff while I groped the girls around me then everyone got up and we separated into two teams to play some game. I guess it was like tag or something but instead we just wandered around exploring. We were in woods or something but there were stone doorways and caves. There was an archway and anytime a person passed through it some sort of shock wave would hit their body. Some girl didn’t believe me so I grabbed her and moved her back and forth through it so she would get hit by the odd pulse. I ended up at some sort of hollowed out tower made of musty stone. There was a ladder that I climbed up but it was broken and I couldn’t get up to the platform that I could see above. I walked back to find the other people and found that it was just guys now and they were all blowing each other up with explosives. It continued like that for a while. I started to wake up and I could feel my body thrashing in the bed and burning up but I grasped at the dream and held myself in it through force of will. It was really odd how I was conscious enough to force myself to stay asleep. I remember at one point thinking I had broken my teeth out then I realized my tongue wasn’t feeling my gums, but my mouth guard instead. It took a minute to register mentally that I had put it in as I was running my tongue around my mouth to check my teeth. I think it was probably another hour or two before I actually let myself wake up. Of course time isn’t very easy to keep track of when you are a brain barely attached to a body.

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Memories | Saturday, August 23rd, 2003

The words that would prove my genius came in my sleep.  I saw them imprinted on my vision.  Floating, yet solid.  I repeated to them myself out loud over and over.  I must remember them for to speak these words would confound countless minds.  My grandparents crept closer.  I stumbled.  I must remember.  No distractions.  Too quick.  Next to me.  They speak.  The words, all but the first six or seven are lost.  Meditation broken and chances fleeting like smoke.  I am undone once again.

Arrow Fodder

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Memories | Monday, August 4th, 2003

Our ragtag army was pinned down.  We had made our way to the gate and rammed it down but now there was nowhere to go.  Ahead, the castle bailey was a no-man’s ground and we were out of arrows with which to attack the enemy archers.  Occasionally one of our party would venture out for a split second to draw fire and any arrows that landed nearby and unbroken were recovered.  This tactic was proving futile though with time.  Most of us were armed with only spears and those still living that carried bows weren’t having any effect.  Finally in desperation I grabbed one of the poorer serfs by the back of the neck and shoved him forward yelling, “Make them waste some arrows!”  Almost immediately a dozen arrowheads burst from his filthy back and he tumbled forward out of view.  Our leader took a step forward and peered around the corner proclaiming, “I think he dodged one of them.”

Yes… I have weird dreams.

Doug, Larry, and the Clone Gang

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Memories | Sunday, July 20th, 2003

It all started out with some sort of heist. Two fellow thieves and I stole a very expensive secret from some farmers and were forced to kill them in the process. It was some breakthrough in manufacturing that would allow ten times the production in the maple syrup business. Although not extremely lucrative it was perfect because it such an innocuous area of industry would never attract attention from authorities. Thus begins our time on the run. We were in a warehouse near a forest taking some time to relax when a rival gang crept up on us. I fought back with an old double barreled twelve-gauge driving the enemies out from behind stacks of barrels. The tactic allowed my contemporaries take them out with their handguns. Three or so of this gang had fallen when they hastily fell back and retreated. The leader of our group, let’s call him Larry, jumped in the old four door getaway car and sped over to the hiding places of myself and the other who we’ll call Doug. Doug got in the front passenger seat while I dived into the back right seat with Larry screaming at me to hurry the fuck up. He started to gun the acceleration with my body hanging half in and half out of the vehicle. The sound of a motorcycle starting up grabbed our attention and as it circled past us Larry evasively twisted the car into a turn throwing me further inside and slamming the door closed just as I got free. I loaded two shells in the shotgun and waited for the motorcycle to circle past the right side. Just as it got within ten feet of my window I squeezed on the trigger to no effect. The motorcyclist saw this and escaped into the distance. Taking the respite to check the shotgun I realized that I had jammed multiple shells into each barrel in my haste. Then I discovered the tips of the barrels had been bent slightly while beating someone over the head earlier in the fight. I asked Larry if there were any more shells in the car and replied that we were all out. Handing me his prized handgun he instructed me, “Don’t fire it until its silent.” “When is it silent?” I inquired. “When it’s out of rounds”, was his confusing answer. “But how can it run out if I can’t even shoot it?!?” I asked, trying to make some sense of the conversation. Larry grinned back at me from the driver’s seat and responded, “I know, just don’t use it unless you absolutely have to”. Our drive was mostly uneventful and only occupied by idle chatter in an attempt to avoid the task at hand. All was fine until we heard sirens coming from road behind us. I looked back to see a police cruiser and above that a helicopter chasing us. The cruiser overcame us and slammed into the left side trying to knock us off the road. Doug reached over Larry’s shoulder and unloaded a few rounds into the cruiser’s passenger window causing it to lose control. We enjoyed the success until a loud thump struck the roof followed by a grinding sound. A hole was torn in the metal roof above my head and I looked up to see a cop trying to attach something to the vehicle. Doug shot the officer in the right side of his gut just before I struck him in the left thigh with my own weapon. Blood spraying backwards in the wind the cop toppled off the roof. Immediately a wrenching shook our car and the majority of the roof exploded away as the helicopter pulled the line taut. I laughed at Larry and yelled over the wind, “At least you got the sunroof you always wanted!” Larry knew we had to find cover from the helicopter that would draw further cops on our tail. We pulled into the best place to hide a few scruffy outlaws with guns…a trailer park. Quickly dumped the car behind a trailer and began to run from “house” to house keeping the buildings between ourselves and the helicopter. Soon it became apparent we had lost them by the erratic pattern they flew in. Larry led us to a particular trailer and we were greeted by a lady at the door. We entered and it became apparent she was a woman of the sex trade that had known Larry for some time. We hid out in a back room while she masterfully performed for the searching cops leading them to believe she had never seen us around. This period is a little hazy and I remember little. There was talk and money exchanged for a big rig and a pickup truck. I drove in the pickup following Larry and Doug, who played the part of truckers. The caravan neared the destination where I had been told we would receive payment from our employer. Abruptly the big rig took a turn off the decided path into some sort of arena. There was a circuit track around the grass field and thousands of empty stands. I drove up next to where Larry and Doug had parked to ask them what was going on. As soon as we got close they opened fire on my truck causing me to veer away. It was now obvious I wasn’t supposed to share in the loot with the others. They started chasing me around the track trying to smash my smaller truck under the brunt of their own. For several minutes this continued as a struggled to keep my distance despite the horrible traction I was getting on the gravel track. As suddenly as it all started they cut off the pursuit and returned to the arena entrance. I stopped the truck and noticed now that in my fear of survival I was oblivious to the chopper noises coming closer. My eyes scanned the seating around the arena until I found a ladder going over the top of the concrete wall and hopefully leading outside. Aiming my truck in that direction I drove as far as the track took me until I had to go off into the soft grass. Soon it became apparent I was going nowhere fast as my tires were flinging more mud and grass than they were finding purchase. I grabbed a tire iron and got out on foot to make a break for it. Taking the time to look to where the big rig had been parked I saw Larry and Doug disappear through a doorway. Shortly thereafter came the sounds of a gunfight and struggle. I ran as quickly as I could towards the ladder but soon a yelping police dog was bounding after me in the grass. To my dismay I looked back to find the dog closing faster to myself than I was to the ladder.   I gave up and slowed down, dropped the tire iron, and I waited for my fate to reach me. I braced for the expected tearing of muscle by fangs but opened my eyes to find the dog merely barking right in front of me. Behind him came several cops running in my direction. The first officer slowed to walk and greeted me holding up a piece of paper. Curious, I began to scan the contents. There was a header in large letters saying, “Dear Dave, Larry, and the prostitute”. (Note: Dave is my father’s name but I felt no reason to point this out to the cop right away) It went on to explain we had all been hired to steal the plans to raise money for the writer’s devious objectives. I was mentioned in the letter and it was revealed that I was in fact a cloned human and my father was one as well. Although the letter wasn’t signed I immediately broke down sobbing on realization of what was going on. The cop inquired of me why I was upset having apparently not read it himself. Exclaiming, “It’s one of my father’s fathers…he’s back from the dead”

Then…I woke up. Yes, woke up. Thought that was a story? A shitty one if that. If I was going to write a story I would certainly make it better than that piece of crap. It was merely a dream I woke up from and decided to write down while it was still fresh. Countless details have been lost…such is the nature of dreams as hard as you may grasp at the memory. Amusing? Perhaps. I don’t know; make what of it that you will.

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