2007-12-06
sweet dreams are made of these
Last night I had some weird dreams - possibly the result of the sudden shock to my system of Za's after weeks of abstaining - but who can say what sweet dreams are made of? (these?)
Anyway - in one of them I called up this drug service (I guess?) and you could order small amounts of random drogas like "can I get $5 worth of pygmie speed?" etc. Anyway, part of my candy-store like array of micro drugs included crank. Not being a crank user in real life (I swear--not just saying that in case an employer is reading this) it showed up in my dream as some janky shreds not dissimilar to chewing tobacco. A quick Google image search would reveal this is not what crank looks like, however my unconscious mind is not yet equipped with wireless internet access. Anyway. I had my crank and that what's important. I had no way to smoke my crank though, so with my mom's help, I fashioned a pipe out of tin foil and stuffed some of the janky flakes into the bogus pipe apparatus.
I smoked my crank and suddenly I was at this old-timey carnival (here is where the dream begins to crib heavily from this rerun of House I had recently seen). So there is this "ride," or should I say, "attraction" that is basically just a metal lifeguard's chair - the whole deal being that it's as high as the empire state building. Maybe in DOG INCHES!! I know this because I could totally still talk to my mom who was on the ground. I have never been to the top of the Empire State Building but I'm about 85% sure you can't have a convo with people walking down 34th street. (However I hear a falling penny can have a convo with a person's head, neck, torso, viscera, bowels, and lower extremities when dropped from the roof - but given what I know about basic physics I'd hazard to guess this is a real exaggeration. Al? Myka? Check with Hakki for me?)
Point being- this Empire State Building chair was cool at first but then I got so scared I could barely deal. I was convinced it would tip over and my cranked-out self would come crashing to the fairgrounds, embarrassingly.
In the end it did tip over. I leaned back but to my surprise, falling to the ground was neither scary nor painful, perhaps a result of the crank. I couldn't say. Sitting on my ass (typical) at the base of the once-again-upright empire state chair, I perchanced to notice a pile of some old mixtapes of mine, circa '98-99. Oh how stoked I was to be reunited with them! I tried to scoop them up but I was all butterfingers, besides I had no bag to put them in and all my friends (oh yeah and suddenly I had friends there) were like, "I don't want to carry around your stupid tapes all night. Maybe they'll be here later." But I knew that was highly bullshit because what fool would find a nailpolish-encrusted Spice Girls/*NSync bootleg and not immediately pocket that shit?
I was seriously in a bad mood at this point in the dream and desired to see what else was in my brown paper bag/ drug sampler that might cheer me up. I guess I found something because the next thing I knew I was up out of that ridiculous scenario and back in my apartment.
My pal Mark was there, bugging me for a glass of white wine. I managed to find a bottle and pour him some but warned him that it might actually be Hawaiian Punch - but again, I attributed this to the crank I had injested earlier, which I just assumed had the ability to majorly fuck with your tastebuds.
I never got to find out whether my 'buds were fucked or not since this dream abruptly ended in favor of another dream for which I can't remember the details but I know I was smoking crank in the backseat of a car thinking to myself, "I hope nobody thinks I'm addicted to this yet. I don't even know if I am. I just kind of feel like smoking it in this car right now. No reason to panic."
zebrasaur at 4:54 p.m.
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