Nightmare @ MindSay 
dream
The owner of the house gave me some of his paintings, but I was so freaked out by the alligator thing and there were some other bad things going on (I was being dumped by some kind of boyfriend)..that even getting the paintings was bad. Oh and the artist/house owner wanted me to be his assistant for the summer, but all of the other visitors hated me.
So far, I haven't been the one decapitated, and it's always quite a calm thing, it certainly feels like any regular dream
In this nightmare, something big was destroying my town. Everyone was fearful for their lives, but things calmed down as soon as people thought that the threat was gone. When everyone came out of hiding, they discovered huge piles of corpses. It didn't take long for us to find out what had made these piles; huge, robot-type things. They started chasing down everyone, killing them, and throwing them into these piles. It was like some sort of new age holocaust brought upon by a robotic Fuhrer.
I was all alone in the nightmare. I didn't have a family to run too. I kept searching for people who would help me, but no one would. When the robots came, I managed to find three teenagers who said I could stay with them at their house. We ran and ran for miles, dodging body parts, and occasionally stopping to hide from the robots. We eventually made it to a small neighborhood. Trees had been uprooted and houses destroyed.
As we ran towards their house, I spotted in the distance this thing... it was hideous. It was about 18 feet tall and all hunched over. It had a deformed human body, but a child's head. It's mouth was filled with chipped teeth, but they were all razor-sharp. It was chasing after a couple of people and was gaining momentum. It pounced on this man and began tearing hunks of flesh from his back. The man was screaming and trying to escape, but he was trapped under the creatures huge, taloned feet. The monster leaned down and tore his head right off and spit it out. I had seen enough and continued running.
We finally had reached this house and we all stepped inside. There were 4 people there already - a mother, father, and an aunt and uncle. They didn't seem relieved or happy to see the kids at all, but they weren't angry about it either. It was like they were indifferent to the children's safety. Nobody acknowledged me, so I sat down on an old, brown couch by a window. Only when I had calmed down did I realize that I was inside my grandmother's house. I was filled with sadness, because my grandmother had died a year ago.
I immediately woke up as soon as I realized it was my grandmother's house. My chest is still a bit tight and my hands are a bit shaking. I was going to wake up my dad, but I figured I would let him sleep since it's only 7:00 AM.
I hate seeing things about huge disasters or the apocalypse. I don't like to dream about it or watch TV about it. I don't like the idea of being abandoned or being in some building somewhere, hiding, and worrying about whether my parents are alive or dead. It scares the hell out of me. It terrifies me.
and bare, that they were often hungry and
cold, and that they were usually working
when they were not asleep.
But doubtless it had been worse in the old days.
Besides, in those old days they had been slaves
and now they were free, and that made all the difference,
as Squealer did not fail to point out.
-Animal Farm
I have a nightmare. It keeps me awake at night, but I cannot see it clearly because I cannot dream it. If I were to dream of it, I would awaken in a cold sweat. Some days, I wonder if it is a dream. Other days, I learn to accept it as reality.
The nightmare is all around us. The water isn't part of the nightmare, nor is the earth. This isn't the Matrix, and it certainly isn't a simulation, nor is it a simulation. The basic facts abound, and materials retain their forms, yet something has changed. It hovers in the misty realm of abstracts, a disease with many symptoms and no prognosis. You can feel it when you lock your door before bed, when you walk in the shadows at night, and when you turn on the news. You can feel it at the gas pump, filling an over-priced, poorly made, dissatisfying vehicle that the bank owns for you.
It is the world at large, the lazy government worker behind the desk at the DMV, the surly clerk at the supermarket, the future dropout failing his test with a shrug of the shoulders, the skateboard punk throwing a spark plug through a car window, and the crazed gunman who just shot ten people at the mall. It is the man in the lab coat telling you we're running out of water, yet that we're all going to drown under rising oceans because of global warming. It is the politician who say he cares about you, then bails out a bank by making your savings account worthless. It is the man who stands on the street corner telling you to end a war by supporting a man who wants to start another war. It is the man who accosts you after you buy a gun, telling you that you are dangerous, while alcoholics in cars kill more people in one week than you will meet in a month.
It is the politician promising change, while outlining a plan for the status quo. It is the screaming crowd that listens to him, cheering for business as usual. It is outside someone's door, where some woman is raped and killed by the man neighbors later will describe as "quiet and reserved." It is the debate, which is simply a biased, rhetorical firing squad, in which honest answers are unwelcome. It is in the cubicle, where a man who has $20,000 in credit card debt of his own calls to collect $77 from a poor family three states away. It is in the Pennsylvania warehouse break room, where three men and a woman smoke cigarettes and complain about corporations, such as the corporation that will mail their minimum wage checks from a beautiful town in California. It is the public servant who flaunts with impunity the Constitution she swore to uphold. It is the cancer patient who now faces hundreds of thousands of dollars in hospital without insurance. It is everywhere.
It manifests itself as the madness, the fear, the anger, and the hysteria that surrounds us. People willfully ignoring reason, religion, and ethics to get on the bandwagon. Some know it's wrong, some can't understand "right" and "wrong," but neither type can help themselves. They aren't in pain, but they want to be. If they are in pain, they refuse to give it up because they need it for validation. Maybe they need a hobby. Maybe they want fame and fortune. Maybe it doesn't matter because if they dropped their causes, twenty more needy extroverts would take their place. It isn't abortion...that's already killed off a generation's success stories. It isn't drugs...those are just a way to put the nightmare on hold for a little while. It isn't crime...that's only a symptom. It isn't Jerry Springer and Oprah...they're just letting us watch the nightmare with the in-studio audience. What is it, then?
It is the paradox, the spirit of our time, the zeitgeist. We are free, yet we are slaves. We cannot be productive, yet we need to consume to dull the pain that comes from dissatisfaction in life. Try to start a company, and the government will shut you down. If they can't do it, the bank will oblige. If the bank fails to stop you, some enterprising activist or corporation will step in to do the deed. We aren't permitted to own anything, either. The bank owns your house, your car, and your XBox. We aren't permitted to advance in life, and we are punished if we do so. That's right, you payed off your house? Now, you have to pay a mortgage (property tax) to support the local school system, which is coincidentally the worst one in your state, or they'll sell your house out from under you. Remember, teachers' pensions are our top priority. If you want to protect yourself from the rampaging horde, you'll be sued. If you give up your gun, you should at least call the cops before you die so that they can try to arrest the guy who wanted to stab you for $25, but he'll be set free anyway, so don't bother.
The madness never ends. We wishfully say, "Well, at least it can't get any worse," yet we say it as a joke, knowing well that it will get worse. we don't even have to ask if it can be averted. Old-timers tell us about the "good old days," but they are the ones who bequeathed the madness on us. They took what they had and turned it into today's society, which they rail against aimlessly. Our problems are legion and systemic, with plenty of blame being assigned and reassigned, yet none are responsible for the nightmare itself. One faction may be blamed for idiot school children, while another may be guilty for the crackhead who scored fifty grand from a welfare office, but no one is guilty for the whole problem. We can't even define the problem.
What is the problem? Is it you, me, or that guy who drives a nicer car than us? No. You are living in a time of momentous change. The Greeks had only legends to describe times such as these. What we are watching, friends, is the destruction of man. His will is broken, his industry blunted, his property surrendered, his soul slain, and his nature stripped of all redeeming virtue. The state has made us all free, yet it has done so by enslaving us to the will of the state. Yet, the state is but a pawn of the people, and the people are but the pawns of the demagogues. The people crave bread and circuses, yet they do so because they need distraction from the shallow lives they lead.
Once one has no reason to live, one loses the need to think. Without thought, any vice will suffice to distract from the nightmare. Kill, ruin, pillage destroy, or watch TV. There is no history before "Season 1," now on DVD! We look to a man on TV to save us from ourselves, yet we know that he cannot. It is thought that maybe another man will save us, yet we neglect to ask if it is even within his power to do so. Can a man you never met save you? Can that man end the nightmare? No, and neither can you, apparently.
I hate to break it to you, but I think you already figured it out. This is the point where the author breaks it down, Barney style, and gives you three to four trite answers, if I remember the essay formula correctly. Sadly, I don't have those answers. This a a nightmare, not an essay. Besides, the writers' strike is over now, so we can go back to ignoring it again without any fear of reruns. I could quote facts and figures to you, but you know them already. Are we prepared to ride this nightmare out to the inevitable end?
Last night I suffered through a nightmare.
It was so vivid, so real, so intensely felt that my stomach still crawls at the very thought of it.
I dreamt that I handed in a Very Important Research Paper that I hadn't bothered to proofread.
It was horrifying. Seriously.
The embarassing and humilating typos had a detrimental effect on the final grade, and I couldn't face the instructor again without an overwhelming sense of shame.
What a relief to discover it was only a dream. I am, however, none too eager to ascertain what this dream says about my psyche...
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