The Dreamwork

Movies I watched this weekend produced in me, last night, a near overdose in paranoid dreams.

Typically, I only dream of Sean Young. Ever since I broke up with Michael the Ex, Sean Young has been a recurring cast-member in my dreams. I could not fathom why for the longest time. She would simply appear and whisper-talk me into terrifying dream stunts. There was the time Sean Young explained that to overcome my fear of heights, I would need to climb down from the sky in a hot air, steampunk, balloon via a rope ladder. Eventually, I would see the VH1 True Hollywood story on Sean Young, where it was revealed to me that she attended the same arts high school, Interlochen School for the Arts, that the ex attended (as did Jewel and Meredith Baxter Birney). I suppose I should be grateful that my mind chooses Sean Young over a visit from Elayne Keaton or any of Jewel’s boobalicious pop-wisdom.

I had a NIGHTMARE last night that felt like it was an after-effect of M.S.G. poisoning, except I had eaten nothing with M.S.G.. I think it was a result of having seen Robert Rodriguez’s Planet Terror.

In the dream, I was working for a secret agency. We had a security alert. Someone was posting important secrets on the Internet. I *knew* this someone had to be my ex-roommate, Cameron. In real life, he was a 20 yr old, self-proclaimed punk, stoned out-seeming, video game player with a drinking problem when I lived with him. In my dream, he had also worked at the agency and had been fired. Now he was a bitter drunk, who, in his soused outrage, was risking his life to reveal these secrets. I wanted to warn him to knock it off, but knew our security people would track my emails to him and both of us would be executed. Before the execution, our balls would be cut off (I think my brain lifted this directly from Planet Terror). I tried contacting a mutual friend, then I woke up!

I woke up sweating with a swollen lip which I had stress-chewed into hamburger meat. It was midnight. I washed my face and then went to my computer where I saw some new emails. I also saw Dat online.

12:13 AM darknessatnoon: I just had a dream that scared me awake
Cameron was giving away national secrets on the internet
Dat: lol
darknessatnoon: I was working for a secret agency (he had been fired from)
12:14 AM and I couldn’t warn him to stop in his bitter drunkeness, because the agency would track my email to him and kill us both
I was trying to get Omar to meet me and save him.
Dat: what…like how to get to the secret potion in 3 moves on legend of zelda
i’m surprised this would scare you enough to wake up
darknessatnoon: It was intense. My lip is all swollen because I was stress chewing it in my dream
Dat: wow
12:15 AM me: I saw Planet Terror this weekend
I was afraid someone would chop our balls off and put them in a zip-lock baggie.

I think I was also experiencing some sort of contact high from having just watched Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. I’d seen most of this several years ago after the break-up/crack-up, when I was at my lowest point. This was a period when I was on multiple prescription meds, but no longer had health insurance, so had gone into withdrawal shock. A couple of times, I even resorted to using heroin to mitigate some of the more intense symptoms, which of course was not a sane decision since heroin withdrawal is worse than Aderral, Lexapro, Xanax withdrawal (though, actually, it’s not much worse than Xanax withdrawal). During this period of time, my IKEA bed-frame was broken from rough sex with a former model… he had been the bartender in those famous beer commercials from the nineties with some spotted dog… I can’t recall the name of the dog. The model had rape fantasies and kept shouting that “We’re not supposed to be doing this. We’re not supposed to be doing this, [darknessatnoon]!” I kept hissing at him to lower his voice since I was on the first floor and there were children playing right outside my window, who were probably trying to coax George into meowing at them over from the kitchen window. Because of this, I’d had to drag my mattress to the living room floor until I could repair the bed frame. Empty prescription bottles everywhere, a guy I knew had stopped by while I was in the middle of watching Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle. I sucked down the bottle of wine he’d brought over as he alluded to my current state by saying, “your apartment looks like the apartment of people I know with drug problems.” I nodded sagely and drank more wine.

I suppose my mind may have been flashing back on this period as I finally watched the movie all the way through this weekend. My impression of it was that it was, much like Planet Terror, a sneak-attack on Caucasian Hollywood. In the case of Harold & Kumar, the underlying claim of it is that non-white people can be functional, stoner, fuck-ups too! We can make claims to comedic failure ourselves, and don’t necessarily have to be the bit-players in other people’s Romantic Comedic stories (as the opening scene teases that this is what the movie might be about; how a white yuppie gets over a break-up and learns how to talk to girls again).

I look forward to seeing the sequel this coming weekend, Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, but in the meantime, I think I’ll calm my brain down with a romantic comedy such as My Best Friend’s Wedding. The only sub-text that movie sets off in my brain is that Julia Roberts consciously plays a transsexual in it. Then again, I always think she’s playing a tranny in every movie she stars in. Julia is path-breaking and fashion-forward. I would much rather be drinking martinis with her in my dreams than having Sean Young dare me to overcome my past with idiotic and extreme stunts.


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