>Come alive in the house that screams. I took a spell yesterday afternoon to get at least a thumbnail deep into “Black House” by Stephen King and Peter Straub. I read “The Talisman” about 6-8 years previous, and have wanted to shred “House” story for about the same length of time. So I get 10 pages in and pass out, cold, with the fan on high. It was a scorcher yesterday. I left sweat stains in the air, for the love of Pete. So enter this freaky little dream I had between 1345 and 1525 hours yesterday, 070710.
I’m totally third party watching a family grieve over what seems to be the discovery of a loved one’s grave, conspicuously placed in the end zone of a high school football field. “?” I say to myself now, but in the dream ’twas real. Visceral. I felt that family twist and churn as they realized it was their son, who’d been missing for some time.
In what the family would almost certainly describe as a miracle, there emerged a transformation from inanimate corpse to winged, and brilliant body. The body arose from the ground as flesh and breath, and flew to the top of the field house I shit you not. The family was awash with a voracious gratitude, and casting their eyes skyward they followed their son’s flight out of this plane in silence. I have no idea what all this means, but you have not heard shit yet.
Cut immediately to a small US/Mexico border town. In a nondescript state, or time, I am one to run across the border to get contraband and bring it to my fellow vagrants. Clad in filth ridden rags I called clothes and literally skulking around the hills of this pre-dawn Mexican village, I plan on exchanging something for something and getting back stateside unscathed. And it gets fuzzy. There was a kid involved and I was caught unaware that the law was within a breath and I had to move. So the kid, I think, helps me out and I happen to in turn escort him on my back away from, what I believe, was a duo of policemen looking for the head of one’s wife. Yeah, for real.
I think that was unknown to me until the END of the dream. So the dream becomes a time and place where the police from the US side were pulling all sorts of sneaky moves to off the criminals and kill the kids from Mexico, all because this cop’s wife was abducted, beaten to death and then decapitated. The body, I deduce from all the solid detective work I did in this dream, was buried under a football field at a stateside high school. He has been looking for the head for about 6 weeks now. This poor bastard’s life is a total wreck, his partner is doing the absolute best he can to keep this guy afloat, but eventually the cop snaps. We’ll cut to the end of the dream. I have located the home of the kid who knows what group beheaded the American policeman’s wife, and I am bout to extract the info from him when we hear someone else in the house. Mind you, we are on the second story of a shanty-like house in a little Hooverville somewhere over the border and into Mexico. This kid and myself creep down to a better vantage point and we see the partner of the unstable policeman deliberately placing 2 liter bottles filled with cloudy, colored liquids all over the house. AS he spots us and informs us both, he has done this to every house on this filthy little hill. And upon asking why, it’s so his partner will have peace, he says. And in a flash, the kid with the intel on the murderers goes running out of the first floor below and down through the hills. This is about the time I realize that the other cop’s wife had been killed and that was what the fued was over. Until this point the dream was unraveling like a good book or movie. We beg the officer not to detonate the homemade bombs, designed to incinerate everyone and everything on this hill to give his partner some peace. He is uncooperative, and the kid and I take off. And that was the end of my dream. Pardon my language but HOW FUCKING WEIRD was that? My laws, I cannot stop thinking about it. Anyway, I have a new blog, and I’m formally inviting you all to it. I have linked us up at the top left of our screens. The Main Line Kettlebells Official Training Blog has all the information that is important to our growth as humans and trainers. This blog will be reserved for my personal workouts and, obviously, psychoholic slag.
Come alive in the house that screams,