These scenes started out with Nick (a friend of mine that recently moved to Minnesota) and I meeting up with two other guys. Nick, for some reason looked a bit older than he is. And looked a little bit more like a vulcan than he does. I have no explanation for that. We met up with these russian guys that were taking us around to private clubs and such. I could tell by the begining that we shouldn't have been hanging out with them, but it was fine I guess. We walked around this euro-styled town, into a couple shops and then finally found ourselves in a small but fancy little eating area. It was all white and blue. White benches, white tinted walls with blue trim. It was pretty cool, until the dream went absolutely weird. Someone walked in our booth, shot one of the guys we were hanging out with. His body goreishly exploded and his hand with a white glove was the only thing left. For some reason or another in that dream, I knew that the aggression that made that shooter shoot, had now fled into the hand of the blown up body. The hand began to run away, I chased it down- knowing that it was a danger to everyone. I found myself running up an american suburban driveway, in a neighborhood similar to mine. I saw the hand climb up someone's house and dive into their garage. Then I heard a women screaming in the garage. At this point, I want to take a second to point out... the last scene, this scene and the next scene make absolutely no sense pertaining to each other. But they did at the time. Back to the screaming. I run up to the garage, and notice that the things that I need to do in order to save this women are being highlighted in my vision. Like a videogame, telling you to go here, pull this, jump on this-etc. So I see a lever being highlighted on the garage door, I jump up and pull it down. The garage door opens and I run in an smash the hand while it tries to graphically assault the woman. Being thoroughly disturbed now, my consciousness backed up. As if I was looking at a screen. I was looking at this screen, with the creepy hand, and some weird people around it as video game characters. I start reading the words next to the pictures and it describes partially what had been going on. It was a plot summary. My wife comes up behind me and sees my innapropriete screen, and gets upset that I'm watching such a pervert game. ... This dream really fucked me over(Haha). But it was interesting none the less. After that, I went back into the screen I guess. But it changed. I was walking down some street that reminded me of a san fransisco/thailand ghetto. A bunch of strange deformed pornagraphic adds that weren't actual people, just... weird picasso style genitalia going for each other. I kept walking, hoping to get out of this place and saw some weird bars. There was this one pimp that looked like a circus clown, his hair was all bright orange and green and he had a white vest on with a bunch of accessories. He was in a hooker bar. It kind of seemed like this whole neighborhood was a hooker bar. I'm pretty sure the dream ended after a few more steps.
Dream: January 14, 2012 This was another one of my 9-day dreams, the dream that occurs once every nine days since I began blogging/journalling. Although more of my dreams were being remembered now, this one was particularly stark (reader's discretion advised). A dark tragedy unfolded in 1989: the Montreal Massacre, at the École Polytechnique in December of that year. The perpetrator was Marc Lépine, who went on a rampage against those he called 'feminists'. This time, he was still alive, had an accomplice, and that was me. I didn't know what the murderer really looked like, but the description seemed to fit. He uncocked his gun, shot fewer than a dozen people, who fell to the ground. That part would be blocked out from my memory, for I too was in shock. We ran onto some grounds, a mix between a university campus and a hospital. The perpetrator again pointed his gun, but this time some security guards ran out, using walkie-talkies to signal each other that there had been an incident nearby. One or two of them were female, blonde, but none of them knew of our presence. Other than the atrocities we were about to commit, it was a rather fine day, little or no snow on the grass, and not a cloud in the sky. We ran beside a concrete wall, in some type of enclosure. Marc lined up four adults: two men and two women; two Asians, one middle-eastern and one Caucasian. None of them seemed related. I stood to the side as the crime scene unfolded. The lights dimmed. It was a scary sight. One by one, he shot them with a semi-automatic revolver. Blood flowed from their faces, and they dropped to the floor. A short time later, I woke up, trying to remember what was going on. I had had some dreams before, in which a murder took place. Usually though, the person being pursued or killed was me. This time, though, I had actually been the accomplice to a murder. Never before had I been the actual murderer. Well, let's just hope it stays that way.
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