(Reprinted from illegible handwritten notes)
Wed, 9/19 - 3:28 PM
Remember how I had that really fierce, gut-level reaction to the film, "Right At Your Door?" [see entry dated 8/30/07] Well it finally found a way out of the back of my subconscious, punching into my dreams.
--> It was some time after a nation-and-perhaps-world-wide terror attack (more on its scope below). The spore count was increasing, and people were having really nasty reactions. The end was near, was the general consensus. The beginning is kind of hazy, but I think there were several of us who had sealed and barricaded this apartment building.
--> Eventually, we got sick of hiding, and decided to welcome certain death with a kind of hedonistic élan. I was pretty sure that I could have sex with this girl. She was all pawing at me, etc. I figured "this celibacy thing is bullshit, if we're all going to die." So we head to this stadium/convention center-type building, I think to take in a show [of some kind]. Girl excuses herself, which is when I realize that I don't know her name. I turn to one of her friends and ask him. He rolls his eyes at me and says "Ditka." Yes, like the Bears coach. I remember noticing that. When she returns, her face is covered with terrible acne. Everywhere, bright red. (Probably from the spores.) I'm shallow, so I make my excuses and leave.
--> Outside, the ocean has receded and frozen, leaving a wall of ice and rock. I find some kind of binder, listing locations by number, in order of saturation/severity. That's when I learn that it's been released worldwide. That's [also] when I learn that the town of "[whatever] Beach," where I am, is #1, and I freak out and realize that I have to do something.
--> I have a vision of Bush and his cabinet, holed up in some tower/cathedral, laughing their asses off. It appears they've escaped to England.
--> When my mind returns to itself, I'm having trouble breathing, and I can't stop coughing. (This goes on until after I leave the hardware store, later.)
--> I hop on my bike (for maybe the first time in a dream – and it's actually my actual bike [I've had a lot of stolen scooter/motorbike dreams, even though I've never actually driven one]), and head to a hardware store, which is half cleaned out, panicked customers [rushing in and out]. I realize that I need to stop breathing in the spores/gas/whatever. And while I do have a gasmask, it's missing a filter (Also actually true). So I decide to make one, out of gaskets, valves, tubing, some kind of air conditioning filter fuzz, and what I think was steel wool. The idea here is that I had no idea what I was doing. Since I can't assemble it in the store, I ask for some vinegar, to soak my bandana, which sort of helps when I tie it [on over] my nose and mouth.
[-->] When I get outside, my bike is missing, and so I start looking for those orange handlebars, but everything is connected and wound in this same bright orange tubing [that] I saw in the hardware store. It's then that I realize that I'm dreaming, and so I wake myself up, back to the first level of dream (must have passed out – f-ing spores).
[-->] I find my bike right where I left it, and realize I should probably spend my last couple of hours [alive] with my family. So I haul ass over to my old house on Mt. Vernon St. (2218 – the 3-story one), where my mother has been hoarding supplies [in the kitchen]. I ask her why she came back to the old house, which she won't answer. Various family members and their friends start to show up, and of course the dimensions of the place start to change + extend. It gets a little hazy after that, but I recall the creepiest part of the dream as being when the spores finally get to my mom, and she completely loses it, screaming at me and sobbing hysterically.
----> So when I woke up, I went over to I.Goldberg's and bought a gasmask filter for five bucks. That ought to keep out them spores.