Thursday, December 15, 2005

Nonsensical Dream. OR "That just means you're unsure of the future, you miss the past, and you want to be seen as a good person." Yeah, yeah.

So, Rebecca and I were at an amusement park. She really wanted to go on this roller coaster- one of these wooden numbers from days past. Rickety and bumpy- not too scary, in the modern roller coaster sense of the word, but scary nonetheless, for its own reasons. Like, 'this thing could collapse at any moment,' or 'why the fuck is that guy smoking so close to this thing?!' I didn't really want to, but not for any real foreseeable reason; I'm just a big puss. Anyhow, she convinced me too, and so we did.

As the rows of cars ascended the sharp, gear-grinding track, we surveyed our surroundings. I noticed we both felt strange. At least I thought I did. I could have sworn I detected a strange look on her face, too, but that's probably just my own paranoia.

We shot down the first hill, everything normal, everything fine. Then, a strange turn. I surely didn't remember this from last time. Did she? I turned to look. She seemed apprehensive, cautious, scared?

Another unfamiliar turn. A sharp grade increase. Where were we? A slow, foreboding left turn at the top of the coaster. I looked off and down to my right at the dizzying tops of the park's poorly landscaped and young, grease soaked trees as we approached the final descent of what was turning into a strange ride altogether.

That was when we noticed a wooden caution sign, complete with red stripes and circles with stripes through them indicating a no-pass zone, right where the last hill should have been. Oh, it was still there, to be sure. But we wouldn't be gracing it with our metal wheels. No. Instead, we veered left, where one would not expect to veer when riding a familiar coaster. I had time only to shoot Rebecca a furrowed, pensive glance, noticing the same unsure look on her face, before we careened down a new and uncharted track on this heretofore dependable and entertaining family ride.

This drop was more drastic than before. We hadn't any time to catch our breaths at the newly forged bottom of the hill before we saw what lay ahead of us- the end of the track. We each inhaled quick breaths of goodbyes as we sailed off the end of the track and looked down and below at the desert of dead grass underneath the barely spinning wheels of the coaster car that yearned for a good oiling.

And then- connection with track again. Yes, the track had been out, but our momentum flew us onto the remaining portion of the track that had not been removed, or just recently added. We were saved, but had we ever been in danger?

Soon, I found myself in a nearby room with Bruce Willis. Tensions were high, and the niceties that had surrounded our meeting with the group across from us were quickly wearing thin. We noticed a great deal of fear and apprehension in the face of the young woman grouped with an obviously seedy element, in the form of two mid-twenties men clad in leather jackets and pock-marked faces. Apprehension and fear were not the only things we noticed in this young woman's face. She also had a number of knotted ropes jutting in and out of her face, which at the onset of our interaction seemed simply like a new fad, but which we later determined to be a method of torture. We surmised this to be true after the criminal element she was associated with told us of their intentions to make her star in a snuff film.

One might well imagine that I was shocked, but in knowing that, one should also speculate as to just how fucking pissed off Bruce Willis was. It was determined between the two of us that the scum that was to perpetrate this heinous act of violence must themselves be killed. In reality, it was probably Willis' decision, as that is the kind of person he is, and besides, there was this really dramatic shot from underneath his face, about chest level, that, with the effective overhead lighting shadowing his darkening visage, truly indicated his intentions to stop this travesty. I probably just went along with it.

We took in hand dully sharp shrands of glass that simply appeared before us, and, with everyone else absent that had been there previously, set to work murdering this scourge, this would-be snuff film producer. It was no easy task, murdering this fellow. Many hacks were made at the base of his neck before our goal was accomplished. Why, we even had to massacre a small, scruffy dog that was present in the room, presumably to leave no witnesses.

The deed was done. It was just then that Paul Goetz's ex-girlfriend, Julie, walked into the room with what appeared to be a niece or nephew of some sort. Bruce Willis, of course, was nowhere to be found. Having accomplished his heroic feat, he must have returned to Hollywood to await more benevolent missions. I grew fearful of being discovered in my violent act, no matter how justified it may have been. I attempted to act cordial, as I had not seen Julie in quite some time, and I did not want her to think me a cold blooded killer. Her eyes and expression betrayed a suspicion that made me fearful of having to murder her and her young companion as well, so I did my very best to allay any doubts that may have been racing through her mind at that crucial moment.

I stroked the dead dog, bloody coat and all. I felt fortunate when the dead canine began re-arranging itself, as if annoyed by my petting it while it slept, in an effort to portray to the unfamiliar company that everything was fine, normal.

I owed a good deal to that dead dog, and I knew it.


Anonymous said...

Jonathan, hey just on updating my own's rather boring in comparison with yours. Catchy title! Just thought I'd write to say how often your "touche" comments should be put to use! Very entertaining!

Joey said...

your blog is definitely a good read. i have found that i actually look forward to reading it each day. Thats funny Bruce Willis was in your dream and Julie was related to him, lol. what does "pock-marked faces" mean? i wanna call someone that... Ill be all like, "you pock-marked face fool you!" anyways take care John. bye!

Jonathan said...

Thanks Joe! That's cool that you read my blog every day. I remember a time when the third thing I checked every day on the internet (after email and the perplexagon message board, of course) was YOUR blog. Wha' happeh'? Pock-marked is the equivalent of catching some buckshot in the face from a misfired shotgun or something. Or if the moon was some dude's face.