do you dream? of course you do. everybody does. i’m not talking about having dreams, per se, like MLK. i’m not talking about visions, ideals, or aspirations. we all have those too, to a greater or lesser degree. perhaps we have dreams of winning the lottery; dreams of becoming famous; dreams of a better fucking world… yeah, we all have those.
i’m talking about the dreams we have when we are sleeping. you know… the strange mind movies in which we find ourselves cast in a leading role; the weird worlds we frequently find ourselves immersed in, in the hypnagogic state; the queer and fractured alternative realities we all too often wake up from. as ocean-eyed teenage pop phenomenon, Billie Eilish, once asked of us ‘when we all fall asleep, where do we go?’
i have often wondered that myself, Billie.
three nights ago, i had the strangest dream. a dream that felt so real and, most importantly, one i was able to recall in vivid detail.
having studied psychology, i know what dreams are. but what comes of that? why this? shall i share it with you? feel free to comment.
it starts with the sound of a voice. a male voice. speaking in English. it sounds like a broadcast. as i become aware of my surroundings, i realise it’s coming from the car radio and i also become aware that i am behind the wheel of a large beat-up old Army Jeep. it has no roof and it is left-hand drive. i seem to be driving across war torn terrain. i think i am heading towards a city, or what remains of a city, rather. one i know not to be from my native Scotland but what appears to be (from the road signs) somewhere in eastern Europe. my gut instinct tells me i am somewhere in Bosnia and Herzegovina.
the man’s voice breaks on the radio, and he sounds distraught and terrified. it’s a live broadcast. an update. he is telling the people of the world that planet Earth, our home, is going to stop turning at 1600hrs. i glance at the time on the car’s dashboard. it is 15.49. i have 10 minutes left of life as i know it.
i come to a derelict building with vines and trees growing up and through the rubbling masonry. i stop the Jeep and get out. the sun is shining with a new found ferocity. my bare face and arms are burning in the heat. i look up at the white sky, searching for any other sign of life and feel my eyes burn. it feels like they are blistering in the sun’s wave. there are no birds in the sky today. i venture inside – hoping to secure shelter here. the building is merely a shell, no roof, no window panes and a ivy-clad stairway leading to nowhere. the walls are broken and blasted. huge chunks missing, like monster bite marks, from the building where mortar bombs and scud missiles sought to destroy its one time beauty and prestige. i walk through a gnarled door way and see what’s left of one room. a space that offered some kind of haven. some kind of protection from whatever the rest of me was soon to be faced with. the room was rather odd. there were, literally, hundreds of violin bows hanging from what remained of the ceiling, swaying in the breeze. no music.
suddenly the earth began to shake and scream. scream. a sound coming from God only knows where, stunned me, and violently threw me to the ground. i covered my ears. it was deafening. otherworldly. it sounded like the Earth herself screaming in pain, in the throes of her agonising death. and then it stopped. everything went black. just as if someone had pulled the plug on life.
shaken and terrified, i slowly stood up and peered through the dark towards where i had abandoned the Jeep and saw, to my surprise that only this half of my surrounding area was now in darkness.
this must be it, i thought. the world has stopped turning.
the world had stopped turning. and the screaming din had stopped. there was now an uncanny silence. a silence i had not heard before. but strangely, over to the west, and what looked like a 30 minute drive away, there was sunlight. daylight.
i got in the car and drove towards the light.
words/concept/dream (c) Kat McDonald 2019
should i embellish upon this, continue the story? as a book?