Nightmare on the 10 yard line

Night.  On a highschool football field a half-dozen young men drive cars in bumptious circles.  At the other end of the field an old man sits at a makeshift desk.  Papers and other humdrum objects are scattered on it, and hold his attention.  Myself and a friend walk onto the field knowing that the old man was our chief tormentor in high school, a bully and a villain.  We approach him and push over his desk and send him flying onto his back.  The scene blurs here but somehow our attack kills him.  Awareness now splits, so that I'm standing off the field while also digging a ditch with a backhoe to bury him in the field.  My friend and I admire the fact that we/they are burying him in the football field, it seems a charged act. 

All during this and what happens afterwards, I am aware of myself thinking that this is a Stephen King story, that I've read it before.

The scene shifts to later in the night or the next night.  We're now in a large dining hall filled with the people of the town.  They are rewarding us for having killed the villain, who apparently tortured them all in one way or another.  They show us gratitude with gifts and food.  One Oriental man offers me a painting from his art shop--can't quite remember the artist. 

I half wake and realize that this isn't any King story I've read before, that I'm the one making it up.  It's a disturbing dream but I drift back into it and try to re-write the ending so that it is more of a story.  In this re-writing I realize that I am now being cast in the role of the new villain to replace the one we killed.  As though there was a psychic ecology to the town that demanded this role exist.  As an amendment, I realize that the friend and I will now have to fight it out for first place in this role. 

I think I know where this partly came from.  I've been watching Breaking Bad every evening for several weeks, and I'm reading a novel by Edward St. Aubyn--both bleak and thick with monsters.   The power of the dream was not so much the horror elements as the sense that it was a significant story revealing itself and being revealed by my lucid rewriting.

Zip lines and old people

Sitting in restaurant with S, outside I see a Western view--ruddy orange rocks which block my view into a very deep canyon.  I can see the other side of the canyon rising above them in the distance.  I see people jumping from the top of the far canyon wall, just small dark silhouettes at this distance.  S is talking and I interrupt to show her the jumpers, and count ten of them.  Then I notice that there are wires strung across the canyon, several of them, and that people are using them as jump lines.  They speed across the air suspended below a line, zooming into close up view before jumping off onto the near cliff face.  (I recently watched a video about S. American people commuting across a valley using these zip lines.)  Absurdly, a Volkswagon minibus glides across the wires as well.
Scene shifts to edge of canyon.  I'm in line behind others, particularly an elderly couple, as we wait to descend the cliff face sitting in inner tubes.  My attention is focused on the faces and near-naked bodies of this couple.  They are oddly beautiful, with translucent skin over lean bodies.  Their cheekbones are prominent, and they are happy.  I wake before we descend.  Very positive encounter.

Frogs, OK, and even the slug--but the giant peacock?

S and I in bed in a small room whose door opens to a flat desert outside.  Bright outside, dark inside.  I look from bed through the open door and see an enormous bright green bullfrog hopping by.  It splits into two bullfrogs who bounce? against each other and then become one again.  Then a fantastical slug scoots by.  It is about a yard long, colored in various shades of blue, with snake-like blue scales on its top.  It moves not like a normal slug, or even a snake, but in a steady effortless glide across the desert floor, like a little train engine.  Then an enormous blue peacock prances into the bedroom.  It is the size of an emu, with azure tail feathers and a short fat beak.  It pokes around in the room, slightly threatening but more of an annoyance than a serious threat.  It pecks at my back (I'm now lying on my stomach in bed) where I'm not covered by the blanket. 

tree at night

Deep night.  I'm in a bare-branched tree, high above the ground, reclining on a branch with no sense of threat.  The limbs of the tree are dark against the night sky, which is filled with a semi-regular pattern of small clouds.  The clouds are dark gray, blue-purple against the nearly black sky.  They are luminous is this somber register.  A young black woman is behind/below me in the tree, both of us naked.  She reaches one hand around my chest and rubs one nipple in a decidedly erotic manner.  I wake. 

More mystic light on water.

Last night dreamed of R.  She was standing at a distance from me in a field of bright green grass that grew 3 or 4 feet high.  Behind her the land dropped away as a massive cliff down to the ocean.  The light was cloudy/bright, saturating the colors.  In the far distance down the coastline I could see an island covered with many large buildings, almost like a castle or fort.  The sunset was behind it, so that the island and the structures were silhouetted.  The contrast of sunset and silhouette made the island seem to glow.

I approached her and saw that she had gained a lot of weight.  Her face was garishly made-up, with bright red rouge spots on her cheeks. 

 "Are you surveying your domain," I asked, somewhat ironically as I pointed to the island, which I knew to be her home.  She didn't reply, but I could now she that she was weeping.

"What's wrong," I asked.

"No one likes me," she said, and turned her face away.

After some confusion I found myself lying the ground beside her.  We kissed a bit, and I remember kissing her neck. 

That's all, but on waking it felt like the dream was in the 'mystic light on water' category.  Not last night but the night before I remember wishing I could have another dream like that before falling asleep.

helicopter landing

Landed twice in a helicopter last night--maybe the President's helicopter?--both times the landing was jarring.  Later went to the truck but found that the back half of it was missing.