Rafe (etcet) wrote,

weird, wild shit

So, what is usually a vibrant and fecund and surreal landscape in my dreams was cranked up to eleven or twelve last night, and Jet Li was driving the bus.

Phase I:
I was a character being portrayed by 90's-vintage Arnold Schwarzenegger - after he'd lost the worst of his accent and the ostentatious bulginess of his physique, but was still obbiously a badass, circa Terminator 2, and I was the companion to Nona Gaye's character in a combat dojo, where the weapon of choice was, I believe, the Bo staff (about four or five feet long, a bit thicker than and about four times the weight of a broomstick; these were all wooden but prone to being sheared off cleanly if struck just so - I suspect the SFX department jimmied them)... and upon my arrival, she went absolutely Crazy 88 on everyone else there, while I stood around and barely held my own one-on-one with some supernumerary, and occasionally, would throw her another staff when hers broke, got embedded in the floor/ceiling/wall/opponent's staff/opponent's body. Very, very stylized fight scene - there was a set piece where it took place among some pillars, and a series of doorways, and, as the main opponent made a break for it, I whipped my staff in a lucky shot off a door frame, breaking it and getting the ricochet to catch him in the back of the knees. I was (and this was absolutely me-as-menresponse) way chuffed by this, and when I turned to her for approval, got the same look from her that Danny got from Mr. Miyagi when he caught the fly with the chopsticks.

Phase II:
Keeping up with the surreal dojo theme, my friend B invited me to join her and someone who I believe is an RL friend of hers, since we're all loosely connected on FB, but whom I have never met, for some three-way sparring... but before we got down to business, she asked me to set off one of those bang-snap non-combustion fireworks (the things that look like stumpy paper sperm, with explosive salts in the head) on her abs... throwing it was utterly ineffectual, so I eventually cupped it in my hand amd slapped her upper abs with it. The firework went off, but apparently the sting was poignant in an unexpected way for her, because she dropped into subspace. Her friend and I looked at each other with a mutual expression of "well, this is awkward and not the time for it to be sexy," and coaxed her back to mundane reality. The decice had left a small welt shaped like a winking smiley face on her skin. BECAUSE OF COURSE IT DID. *eyeroll*

Phase III:
Moving into college dorms, with a bunch of guys who were obviously friends of mine in the dream, but whom I do not know or recognize from real life. It might have been some of the less-prominent male cast of the Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones - the dude who played Samwell seems like he's tickling at that particular memory nugget - but everyone was dressed suburban white boy schlub - t-shirts, the occasional short sleeved button-down, jeans, slacks, whatever. My posse had gone out to dinner (there was a comedy of errors trying to find a restaurant that actually had food; there were a bunch of buffet places that only had deep-fried waffles under heat lamps, and no maple syrup with which to make them edible) and when we came back to unpack and party a bit, two dudebros walked in, peed in my sink, and started drinking my Gatorade as if they were invited and this was their frat house. So, I asked them to leave. Then I told them to fuck off. Then I ranted, shouted, and physically threw their goddamned asses out, while railing at the to of my lungs about how sorry I was to all their friends who had showed up that "This is my fucking room, so get the fuck out, because I. AM. TRYING. TO. SLEEP. YOU. MOTHERFUCKERS." It wasn't quite as stirring as Doctor Who's "Pandorica" speech or up to the standards set here... but it worked.
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