Shotgun Dreams

             Last night, I had one of the craziest dreams I’ve ever had, I can’t even begin to tell you what it was “about,” I can only tell you what it involved. 

            There was an amusement park with roller coasters and whatnot, but it must’ve been lame, ‘cause I went with my brother and Larry and told them I was just going to meet them at the “hotel,” never heard from them again, the rest of the dream I was in this… this… “mansion” just doesn’t cover it. 

            Instead of a highrise skyscraper, it was one level that stretched out beyond God’s imagination.  It was big.  And security was topnotch.  I was locked in there good with a creepy guy and his three dogs, my girlfriend’s daughter, Jonalyn, who was only there looking for protection from the creepy guy, and there were demons and this Dracula/Freddy Kreuger guy, and an excess of booze and pills, this was all somehow involved with the dissolution of Comedy Central, the disintegration of tv’s comedy champion, the county coroner stopped by on personal business, as did my high school art teacher, and I had a shotgun with limitless shells. 

            The Drackeuger guy was the end boss that I never did get around to fighting.  I spent the whole dream plowing through his minions.  It was awesome.  I was blasting away at first.  Shooting at anything that moved and frequently taking the head clean off.  But these were speaking demons and after awhile, once I got comfortable with the situation, I wouldn’t shoot until they spoke.  They could go anywhere in the compound they so desired, until they spoke up.  At which point I shot them.  Killed them dead.  Took their heads clean off. 

            In between demon attacks and shotgun sprees, I had set up a studio with my old friend Bob Treece, who remained conspicuously absent in the dream, while I was surrounded by a conglomeration of his artwork and mine, and one piece the two of us had evidently worked on together, a black and white drawing of bodies contorting through the sky. 

            That was the one our high school art teacher liked the best.  I’m not sure why he stopped by.  But he liked the artwork.  That Bob and I had set up in a cave, in the compound.  The county coroner’s son and I go way back.  It was his son’s professional pursuit of art that fed his own interest in the subject.  He had stopped by to check out some paintings. 

           

            It’s not like it’s a stubborn refusal to take my meds. 

It’s just that every once in awhile I forget, and my dreams go funny.