Killer plants and porno shops

Two seemlingly unrelated dreams puttered out of my skull this morning some time between 8 and 11. I think. Also, The second dream is NSFW. And completely embarrassing. And I blame it all on the fact that I watched Y tu mamá también right before bed. This officially marks the start of mandatory sex-dream blogging so I'm not the only one out here on this skanky limb*.

Dream, the first: There are cars and people everywhere. It's nighttime (Jesus, do I even have dreams set during the day anymore?) and there is urgency in the air. We are escaping or hiding or trying to do both simultaneously, and doing neither very well. It seems like we are in a vast but enclosed space, like either an irrationally large house (with ceilings so high they can't be seen) or under a network of complicated interstate overpasses. I can feel architecture overhead but it's so dark, it's hard to see.

There are large plants everywhere — LARGE, as in towering above us. It soon becomes apparent that this is what all these people are afraid of. The plants — with thick green stalks covered in tiny hairs — are killing. But it's not yet clear how.

So I wander.

This is what I do in my dreams most of the time. I wander. Always with a vague sense of urgency or anxiety. What am I supposed to do? Who am I here with? Where am I? Am I in danger? Guess I'll wander some more.

I am looking for my family. My grandmother in particular. It feels like my family is gathered somewhere with a cooler, taking it easy until the game (what game?) starts, but I can't find them.

I go through houses and down winding stairs and around walls and in and out doors to get to them. I am outside and I look up and realize how the plants are killing people and why we are running. The petals are alive. They have become giant curved spikes with faces — grinning, sinister faces that peer toward the ground and wait for someone to step into the light so they can strike. Quick, like a bee sting.

Dream, the second: I am lying on a couch in a porno store. Of course there are all sorts of skeezy things hanging on the walls around me, but I am barely paying attention because I am thinking about getting it on with Phil. (I think. Details, like the location itself, are somewhat sketchy!) He is there and apparently we are going to do it on this couch, which is situated right beside the entrance to the little shop. The couch is red vinyl. It's not cold anymore, even though I am naked and splayed on it.

There is a television mounted right above one end of the couch, apparently for visual aid. Phil (I'm still pretty sure it's Phil) goes around the corner toward the back of the store. I realize he's going to get a video. I am incredulous. "Dude, what the fuck do you need a video for?!? I'm ready!" Plus we are surrounded by indecent material of every incarnation you can imagine, and it seems unbelievably sad to me that anyone would need a skin flick playing two feet from their face to encourage them to fuck, even in a porno store (though, in retrospect, porno stores are unbelievably unsexy, so I suppose this makes some sort of twisted sense, even if every part of it pisses me off back here in reality; seriously, my subconscious is a comedian to create this storyline). But Phil insists, and pilfers through the videos around the corner and beyond my sight.

He is taking too long for my liking, and he is pissing me off because here I am, a living, breathing, writhing being on this nasty vinyl couch in this disgusting little store, and he's got to have a sexbot on video help him reach the precipice, so to speak. There are other people milling about, doing a surprisingly good job of minding their own business. So I grab this and offer it to this guy and he seems more than happy to take up the slack——

And then Gonzo starts biting at the cage and I wake up and Gael and I will just have to rendezvous some other time. Hopefully not in a fucking porno store.


* Okay, I kid. I can't make you blog about your sex dreams. But I actively encourage you to.