Squirtings from the Space Goose

Squirtings from the Space Goose

Where do dreams come from?

From the subconscious mind, trying to work through the day’s experiences and emotions? From spirits, angels or demons walking among us, attempting to communicate? From humanity’s collective unconscious, yielding ancient symbols and archetypes in new guises? Or from something much more natural, simple and straight forward – like a giant Space Goose, effusing streams of sensory shadow play into our nocturnal minds?

Do we create our own lives?

dreamsPosted by Nick 03 Jul, 2013 05:37PM

I was in my old room, sitting on the bed. My left knee had a big open hole right in the middle of it. It looked red and smooth inside the hole. Somehow it wasn't supposed to matter, like it was temporary or make-believe, and I had a vague feeling that I was some character in a comic book. Still, although it didn't hurt now, I wondered what would happen if I touched it. I didn't have the nerve to feel it with my fingers, so I took a stack of papers and slapped them on my knee. It felt uncomfortable and there was some moisture from the rim of the hole that was transferred onto the papers. I wanted to go into the living room, but my mother and grandmother were there and I realized that I couldn't go in looking like this. I thought about getting some bandages to cover up the hole.

I was now reading a comic book. A vague connection between the character in the book and the character I'd just felt like. The ending was strange; there were several page-wide panels of the protagonist driving into the desert. he was on the left side of the panels, while on the right side was an odd man standing in the desert. His appearance shifted from panel to panel; his face changed and he turned from fat to thin.

I was now driving the car, or maybe still observing somehow (but it was now real). The driver picked up a young boy, about 8 years old, with red-blond hair and a very distinct face. He had just been on a kind of experience where the fictional and the real mixed somehow. This was like something he had ordered. He said he had put in the last few people himself, but he wasn't pleased with those. He wanted to think or try a bit more before making his decision. I understood it now. He said he was done with "bad boying" (being the only exact words I remember he used). I think this referred to an earlier part of the story.

The car was high up now, either flying or driving on some elevated road. There was a railroad track at the side of a mountain below, and the driver wanted to bring the car down there. He wanted to be clever, and used his "powers" to make the track into a dirt road, raised it up and landed there. Suddenly the train came. It managed to drive on the dirt, past the car and into the tunnel that was nearby. The man and the boy went into the tunnel too, by foot. I observed this from above, but I could also see inside the tunnel. Since the train had just passed, they/I thought it wouldn't come again soon, but there was a bad feeling anyway. And then a train did come, from the other direction, speeding towards them. In panic they ran, crisscrossing the tracks. I thought the train seemed slow. But then it neared the boy, who could do nothing but press close to the tunnel wall. The train crashed into the wall, the boy horribly caught between. The man ran towards him. The boy's body was mangled and bloody.

Now the police and ambulance personnel were at the scene. A man was treating the boy. The boy's head was completely ruined and in pieces. I thought it was too much, over the top, like I would think if I were watching a movie. The boy's face kept falling off as the man tried to treat him. I then realized it wasn't a real head; there was no blood. Actually the boy's body seemed to be made of building materials. The man was cranking something, as plaster and wood fell off the body in pieces, and the man seemed to be collecting it for reuse.





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