Saturday, October 6, 2012

Drowning In Horse Meat

Recollections of a dream.

I am at an event that purports to be a filming of a live-action version of the opening for "Super Jail" which somehow involves the slaughter of a horse on set during the climax. After the horse's throat is ripped open by a jungle cat of some sort that literally disappears immediately afterwards, the horse sort of collapses in on itself in the hole in which it was killed, turning into a whirlpool of meat and blood. I manage to fall in and go under. I black out.

I awake on a table in an extremely bare room with a hardwood floor. I cannot immediately tell if the table is positioned on the floor, or attached to the wall. I look at the door to try and get my gravitational bearing, to no avail. It's not until my rescuer--a bearded man my age--walks in that I am able to figure out which way is up, and become appropriately affected by gravity. It turns out the table was attached to the wall, and I awkwardly somersault onto the floor. 

We talk briefly when suddenly there is a raccoon at the window, flinging itself against the screen. I secure the screen to make sure it can't get inside, but it keeps flinging, and looks like it might bust the screen and make it in. I close the actual window and the raccoon bounces off, falling to the ground several floors below where it is eaten by yet another jungle cat. This is the Leopard, my rescuer explains. I find his off-handed explanation to be completely satisfactory.

This whole time, I am taking great pains to touch and/or step on as few surfaces as possible. After all, I am still covered in a bloody residue of horse meat. I express my urge to take a shower, assuming my rescuer will be more than glad to loan me clothes so that I can get out of these bloody ones. I also express my intentions to mop his floor after all is said and done.

Stepping into the bathroom, I see the tub is made out as a bed, with a pink spread and pink pillows. It's very girly. My rescuer has returned to his bedroom in the meantime and beckons me in. It seems that he and a little girl (his younger sister I either instinctively know, or he tells me) live together and share the bedroom in this one bedroom apartment. I notice that there are two beds in the bedroom, and a small girl at a desk doing crafts of some sort. My rescuer explains that he lets his sister have the final say over the room's decor--which is pink-themed--as a way of keeping her comfortable, apparently after some sort of tragedy. This somehow explains the situation in the bathroom. It now occurs to me that having stepped in the bedroom, I have contaminated the carpet. I offer to vaccuum it, as if that is a suitable solution for cleaning up meat-juice. My rescuer does not seem to disagree. 

Somehow, my mother winds up coming to the apartment to pick me up. I walk out to her car through the apartment's parking lot which is littered with junk, broken down cars, etc. My mother gets out of the car and begins to question me in an accusatory fashion. How can I stand to associate with people who live in these sort of conditions? I explain that this guy just saved me from drowning in meat, and that he's surely worthy of being a friend now. I express my desire to get in the car; I am covered in meat and saw a fucking Leopard earlier. We drive away.

Somehow, we wind up in a weird sort of public square. My mother, my father, and my rescuer are all present. I am still covered in meat-juice, and I notice that it is beginning to make my skin sting to the touch. Inexplicably I fall into a previously unnoticed pit of greenery. It's not clear whether the plants are prickly or whether I am sensitive because of that meat juice, but it hurts. Again, I find myself in a hole from which I cannot escape. This time my father reaches out a helping hand and manages to pull me out. 

My rescuer and I begin to trade contact information, the underlying presumption being that we have become fast friends. As he gives me his cellphone number, a largish man chases and catches a small girl in the background. His intentions are obviously malicious. I run towards them, as my rescuer notes that the incomplete phone number is insufficient for any future contact.

I shove the man away, which works as an oddly effective deterent. He walks away with a cohort who was further behind, grumbling all the while. One of us--my mother, my father, or I (me?)--observes that this has been quite the eventful day.  The young girl, ignoring me, returns to a group with which she is apparently associated. Only now do I notice that they are all "Whos," like from the live-action Grinch film. I find this to be very unnerving. The lot of them ignore me entirely. 

What feels like hours later, I am suddenly wandering the streets, attempting to return to my rescuers apartment. I still do not have his entire phone number, but only the area code, 314. I attempt to use this to search for his apartment on my phone, using Google Maps. It doesn't seem to be working.