One person in our lives doesn’t ask for anything in return. They don’t look to be recognized for the things they do. They do it all out of love. They do it all for you and for me.
We might not be real Olympic winners but we’re all winners to our moms.
Life is about to get a lot more complicated. I have been tortured for 2 years by a zombie, a bi-lingual ghost, and most recently, a witch. How can anyone live comfortably with the knowledge that one of those three things could easily creep into their bedroom as they sleep and rip them apart. Peeling back their skin and making their ribs a xylophone. Do I fear this? Yes, I do. But I shouldn’t. I’ve been protected. I’ve had this invisible force field keeping my safe from all the things that go bump in the night. But what if the protection expires? What if the safety net I took for granted is about to void and be no more? What am I to do when God’s protective force decides to up and move, leaving me to fend for myself against a Hispanic ghost, a dead zombie wife, and a pregnant witch?
I am being selfish. I am going to miss my neighbors. Sure, I’ll be happy to have room in the laundry room for so many activities like aerobics, step class, or playing army men. At least they were never as bad as the Lazy Laundriers. If you don’t know who my neighbors are were, I dubbed them The Boston Pops. I needed a name and this suited them well. When they arrived, the zombie encounters, the ghost sitings, and the witching hours were dwindling. I was safe. For the first time in a year, I was feeling like I could live my life and not have to worry if a ghost was going to scare me screaming,
”¡Ándele! ¡Ándele! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba! ¡Epa! ¡Epa! ¡Epa! Yeehaw!”
then busting a pinata in the middle of my living room. No zombie was going to eat my face and no witch was going to place a curse on me with the saliva she wiped off of the cigarette butts she voodooed off the Cryptkeeper.
Nothing last forever. All good things come to an end. I am mainly talking about the protection I had against the evil forces that surround me. The Boston Pops are fleeing. They are giving me the [mfs] and going off to live a life away from the burden of witches, zombies, ghosts, and the newest evilness that took my neighborhood by storm. What could this evilness be? What is about to poison my world and spread like a virus among the other tenants that live here? We all moved in here to feel safe. We (mainly me) were not aware of the past history that soaks the walls inside my abode. If I had known that a man buried his wife alive in a wall to join some evil organization determined to rule the world, I swear, I would have never moved in here.
This virus that is slowly taking building by building is spreading fast. I’ve watched it grow. I’ve watched it spread like wildfire and move about with not a care in the world. This virus has a name. It isn’t something you can fix with a good nights sleep. It isn’t something you can fix with an aspirin or a swig from the cough syrup bottle. There is no cure. It will overpower you and engulf you. With no escape, you have but two options. You can either suck it up and deal with the strange, habitual grill outs or you can pack your bags and leave. But leaving will only give them another place to infest. You don’t want that. I don’t want that. I cannot let them win. They’ve already overpowered many other places and I fear that with the departure of the Boston Pops, the virus will stop at nothing to take the empty apartment and slowly but methodically, get me to go insane till I void my lease to give their tribe another place to perform sacrificial rituals to their God or whatever being it is they pray too. Thankfully, there is no volcano nearby. Who knows what crazy islander crap they are in to.
I am talking about a new problem I am now facing. The problem isn’t new really. It’s been 
here since the beginning days of my inhabitance. I am sure they were here before I moved in. It wasn’t until about a year that I began to notice them and their creeping about. They ran off one friend, infesting her apartment with rodents, insects, and a foul stench of a roasted whole pig migrating inside each of her rooms. These creatures, the Samoans, were exiled from one abode and like Joseph Smith and his merry gang of Mormonites, they treked their way to a new home. You’d think that maybe some died along the way, suffering from typhoid, cholera, or perhaps for dissing Terry. But nothing attacked them. No savages raided their wagon, no one got lost along the way, and all the berries they ate were okay. These Samoans survived and grew in numbers.
With them growing, they need to expand their land. They need to set up camp in every inch of this complex. They now reside in four different areas of this complex. The families that live in each building are large. I can take a wild guess and say that their families are the size of the population of Rhode Island. I’m not talking about all 4 separate buildings. I am talking about each one. There is a limit to the amount of people who can live in one apartment. Follow the rules. I know you know English. You’ve spoken to me before and I fully understood you. Sure, you were wearing a grass skirt and a bone was sticking out of your nose but I caught what you said. I heard you ask me if I wanted to join you and your mammoth tribe for a bountiful feast that was set up to please your God(s) for sacrificing a virgin. I had to decline. It’s not that I don’t love a good BBQ. I just don’t and didn’t need to see you clean off the bloody, raw piece of meat with the faucet attached to the side of the building. And speaking of that meat, where did you get it from? Did you buy it from the supermarket or did you go hunting yourself? I haven’t seen many stray cows wandering around like I used to. Care to explain?
The islanders are coming. I don’t know if I am going to end up with them as neighbors. I really don’t feel like living next to them. I am sure they are nice people but their yards are a meeting place for them. They have luaus in the front yard and let their kids off the leash for one night and let them run amok, like the feral creatures they are. With the Boston Pops leaving, there is no telling what dangers lie ahead. I could be subjected to anything paranormal. I could be subjected to islander music and their islander customs that a city boy like doesn’t and won’t understand. But I will say there may be hope. I could have already been saved. When I say, ‘saved’, I am talking about more than one way of being saved. My soul could be getting returned to me. I could be saved from getting attacked by the Samoan virus. What could save me from everything?
A little group of saviors called,
to be continued…
If you’ve seen Star Wars, then you know quite well who shot first. Han did. But if you ever wanted to argue about it, I suggest you ask just about anybody. Just don’t ask Cleverbot that question. Cleverbot has other things on his/her mind.
I want to make something clear about this post before you read it. I wrote this at about 1am. I had just woken up from the dream and didn’t want to forget it. It isn’t like the other dreams. It’s different. Just read on. I need to write this down before I forget it. I won’t post this till the morning. I just had a dream and while I have some pretty fucked up dreams about nothing, this one actually wasn’t a dream. It was more of a nightmare. Chinese food and a couple of beers is to blame. I have had nightmares before. One was about a cyclops and another was me walking into a spider web. I have lots of dreams about zombies but those never scare me. Never once did I wake up screaming about the zombies that were after me. Other things scare me. Let me get to the dream…excuse me. I meant nightmare.
I was doing my daily run. I came to a local park. I run there often. I know the place well enough that if anything was out of place or something new was added, I would catch it. I noticed something. There was this board thingy on the ground. It had boxes drawn on it. There were numerous pictures on it. I only remember two of them. One was of a pterodactyl and the other was of a clown. There was a random man standing near the board. He says something to me but I don’t recall what he said. I hope it was nothing important. I am standing over the strange, misplaced board. I bend down and mess with some switches on this board. There is a voiceover. It says, something about a switch and tells me,
but we’ll explain that later.
I am now someone else. I am no longer myself running through the park. I am the father of 
two kids. I am with one of my kids and the other is somewhere else. I don’t know where they are but I have some strange feeling that I know more than I actually do. My son and I are at some stairs after some running around. Looking to the top of the stairs, I see a clown. The picture on the board from the park had come to life. The clown is real and is after us. My other son is holding his hand. The clown is covered in blood and is laughing. All this is creeping me out because I know that the clown was never real. He had somehow came to life and is after my kids.
I need to get away from the clown and feel safe. I build up the courage to wake myself up. I shake to wake myself up. I wake up but I am still dreaming. I am not in my bed safe and back to reality. I am still in my dream. I’ve already been to the park. I’ve already been in a clown infested house. Now, I am at a beach with 2 gals. I think this is real and not a dream. I am telling the two girls about my dream and how it scared me and such. The three of us are walking and talking. One of them turns to the other and mentions something about a city under water but was really talking about other things you can do at the beach (i.e, bar under water).
I shut my eyes and go under the water. I open my eyes at some point and see a giant clown, the same clown from my dream. I begin to panic and have an attack. I don’t want this thing coming close to me. I don’t want the clown near me. I can try and hide but I know it’s coming. I sense it. I watch it through the cracks in my fingers. It’s not moving and not working it way towards me…yet.
The clown comes near me and a lady from work is telling me to not worry. She tries to convince me that he’s a good clown and that my fear is all in my head. I am not buying it. I am scared. Try and tell me not to be scared but I am. I am hyperventilating. I am breathing heavier and heavier until I wake up, (for real this time) buried under my covers.
/dream.
So that was my nightmare. I was scared. The clown scared the shit out of me. I don’t like clowns. Do I have a phobia? No. I just get very uncomfortable around clowns for some reason. I will do what I always do and pick out the key points from the dream. Maybe it’ll mean something or maybe it won’t. Who knows, maybe this was just a nightmare caused by overeating Chinese food and kicking back some beers.
To my site for all things dream related, dreammoods.com. Let’s see what craziness I thought up this time.
Park: To dream that you are at a park represents a temporary escape from reality. It indicates renewal, meditation, and spirituality. You may be undergoing a readjustment period after experiencing some serious personal conflict or an end to a passionate affair.
Running: To dream that you are running alone refers to your determination and motivation in the pursuit of your goals. You will find success and rise above those around you. Alternatively, the dream may mean that you need to hurry up in making a decision.
Clown: To see a clown in you dream symbolizes absurdity, light-heartedness, and a childish side to your own character. The countenance of the clown is a reflection of your own feelings and emotions. Whether it is a happy clown or a sad clown, that will help guide you through how you may be feeling. The actions of the clown signifies your uninhibited nature. Alternatively, a clown is an indication of your thoughtless or insincere actions. But, since I have a ‘phobia’ of clowns, it says, If you have a fear or phobia of clowns, the clown may represent a mysterious person in your life who mean you harm. Somebody you know may not be who they appear to be. Or somebody may be pretending to be somebody they are not and are hiding under a facade.
Pterodactyl (dinosaur): To see a pterodactyl in your dream, symbolizes an outdated attitude. You may need to discard your old ways of thinking and habits.
Dreams: To dream that you are dreaming signifies your emotional state. You are excessively worried and fearful about a situation or circumstance that you are going through. Dreaming that you are dreaming also serves as a layer of protection from what you are feeling. The dream within a dream allows you to experience certain difficult feelings that may otherwise be too painful to confront if you were directly dreaming the scenario.
Beach: To dream that you are on the beach and looking out toward the ocean indicates unknown and major changes that are occurring in your life. Consider the state of the ocean, whether it is calm, pleasant, forbidding, etc.
Ocean: To see an ocean in your dream represents the state of your emotions and feelings. It is indicative of spiritual refreshment, tranquility and renewal. Alternatively, the dream means that you are feeling empowered and unhindered. You have a positive outlook in life and are not limited by anything. If you are sailing across the ocean, then it signifies new found freedom and independence. You are showing great courage. If the ocean is rough, then the dream represents some emotional turmoil. You are doing your best to handle life’s ups and downs.
Underwater: To dream that you are underwater suggests that you are being overcome with emotions and are in over your head regarding some situation. You need to gain greater control of your life.
Think you can tell me what it means? Let me know. I’d love to hear what you think. Been a long time since I’ve been scared from a dream. No lie. I was breathing deep and heavy when I woke up. I was sure the clown was going to get me. I wish I can describe him. He wasn’t evil looking. He was just a clown. A normal clown with a thirst for human blood.
I like to blog. I blog so you can read it. When I am not blogging, I like to write. I write about necrophilia, murderers, and bunnies. Oh, I like food too.
