NECROMANCY/NIGHTDRIVE/PETER

I had a nightmare last night. It was night time. I was in a basement library. A masked undertaker watched me from the darker aisle to the left. I was pulling out a huge text about "Terrifying Legends" or "The Legends" or "Legend", written by two authors. Walter, Waltor, Walten.... something like that. And another writer. The black book was shaking with anticipation in my hands, as if it were waiting to finally be opened. The title was in silver, surrounded by dark red markings. Like... Necromancy script. I looked to the other room of the library. The joker was talking to himself in the mirror. Then he stopped and looked at me. He just... stared. The undertaker to my left started floating towards me. I could smell the rotting cloth over his face. I ran right, and forward, towards another undertaker behind the desk. He registered me in either a computer or a book of names as the person who rented "Legend", but it felt like he was selling it to me. Or that I was selling myself for the book. I ran up the stairs to his right and pushed the door open. The entire world was in ruins. I looked at the book and immediately found myself back in the basement. I tried pushing the book back into the shelf. No good. I ran to the register and tried shoving it into his hands. He wouldn't take it back. It's not that he didn't want to, but I had already purchased it with my soul. Or something unbelievably dramatic in that context. I set the book down and ran outside.

I could feel the undertakers not far behind, and my vision kept flashing back to the library. I ran into a building and tried the lights. No good. I knew then that I was in a lucid dream. "Car." My car dropped gently from the sky. I could feel the library air in my lungs. "Drive". I started down the road in full power, surrounded by other cars moving down with me, over the Brooklyn Bridge. Over some kind of golden bridge. I finally forced out the library image and kept driving. To the city. To Vegas, I think. I found myself in a hotel I checked into, finally able to relax. The room was gold and white. Finally.

I woke up way too early.
Scary stuff. Library usually means a positive omen for knowledge, but this library was a library of Dark Arts and Necromancy. With undertakers and the Joker. And the world had experienced Apocalypse.
And I've never really been able to control what happens in my dreams. Apparently if I had it my way, I'd be driving at anytime I want, to anywhere I want. Preferably to party in Vegas. What??? Now that I think of it, it kindda sounds like me. Eh.

Then fell back to sleep.




This time I dreamt I was walking down my old Anaheim street. I was originally meeting some people... a guy and a girl friend. Possibly Alvina and Daniel, or Lily and Daniel. It was implied that we were at my old elementary school for Open House, as we would be at Oxford. We were holding plastic bags of party things as if we were walking home from the 99Cent store with supplies for a party for school. After sunset, I walked away from my friends, because they met up with Chris Gonzaga or someone familiar. ran into Peter. I haven't seen him in so long, in real life or in my dreams. Peter was drunk off his ass, and I helped him and his two friends help him back home. He was puking here and there, and telling me he didn't believe in God anymore. As I held him/dragged him down the sidewalk, he cursed his mother for certain things, took more swigs of alcohol, and kept mentioning how much I've grown. Then, it turned into a BET Feature Presentation. We all ducked. But Peter was shot. I somehow took care of the shooters and they disappeared into the dark. The next day, we had a bbq at my old Anaheim house, where he wore a sling and we celebrated life and its value to all of us. Not surprisingly, this Filipino party was mostly made of Black people. There was a gazebo in the backyard and kids were filling water balloons with helium. The balloons floated into the sky and huge white pelicans and storks and ducks and geese and seagulls attacked them. Some popped in mid-air and surprised the birds, some birds were dragged down with a huge splash. They fought over the balloons like free food conveniently in their flying path, and we all thought it was hilarious. The last thing I remember before I woke up was looking up into the sky, sun in my eyes, laughing myself awake.

And I woke up.
Because in real life, I like it when sea birds fight over food. Or are surprised by balloons.
And I loved Peter in my childhood, when I grew up in Anaheim. I just always had this bad feeling that he might've found himself at the bottom of the bottle at one point in his life.
And I feel like my friends and I are going to have a bittersweet goodbye. Maybe more bitter than sweet.