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Last night I this dream, I’ve always wanted to write about my dreams or make movies of my dreams …

I fell asleep and shortly after I was waking up too that I’m falling off a cliff feeling and my body jumped so high I think that I startled my cats more than I did myself. After being afraid to fall back asleep for an hour or so, my mind finally drifted back off to my imaginary world when my body felt it was right.

The house I resided in was so big and colorful and reminded me of somewhere I had been in my childhood or maybe a house I dreamt up as a young child. There was one room with magenta pink walls that caught my peripheral vision a few times. And my cousin Kirstin was there, she’s grown now, but this was when she was a child maybe ten or so. I don’t remember having any conversations, I just remember people coming in and out the house so fast, almost like a still acid trip. I felt people but I doubt there was much communication.

There was a white door with a thin black pen—like border around it, and I felt it calling out like I was made to open that door, I was put on this earth to go see what lied behind that door. And that I was determined to do. And when I opened it, it was almost as if I was snowed in from a never-ending blizzard, except there was no snow, just sand. And it was a tunnel that went on for a while. It felt like hours before I saw sunlight. But when I got to the end of the tunnel it was a sandy beach. The first thing I took note of was the house along the dunes. I had that oh no I’m fucked feeling and felt my heart sunk into my chest and into my shoes.

The houses were creepy and abandoned they looked as if they should be on the top of a hill in a deserted town with Frankenstein living inside and a huge lightning bolt flashing over every minute or so. But it was daytime, with a bad overcast just a few rays of light coming from the sky. There were crosses everywhere, almost as a cemetery there on the beach. NO tombstones, just spermatic wooden crosses. All I could see was houses. Creepy houses and crosses. I started to walk out of the tunnel, being so scared but noticing the grave yard like surrounding made memory curious. I felt that the unknown territory needed to be explored, by me. I ember seeing a green or maybe purple body half covered in sand under a cross and there jaw was still alive almost it had a mind of its own and it spoke in tongs. She had long black hair; it was a woman I’m guessing

If you’ve ever been on a boardwalk or a pier—the wooden planks that hold it up—somehow I was crawling about ten feet in the air on one when a man in a dark suit and a dark bowl hair cut with thin glasses approaches me. He points to a water stain in the boardwalk like plain and said this is where I killed Tabasco and has buried in the woods. I was so scared and asked who Tabasco was and he told me my guinea pig. Mind you I do have a guinea pig, whose name is Taco not Tabasco. I looked at him and ran back to the tunnel and I didn’t hesitate too look back, not once. I felt his presence chasing me the whole way home until I got back to the door. I was in my childhood dream house, and everyone was there, but leaving so fast without saying a word. I was alone, out of breath, and starring at the white door with the thin black pen outline around it.

I woke up feeling myself being pulled out of my own skin and moaning. Tacos still alive. Tabascos dead.


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