I had nightmares for most of the night. It was kinda crappy. They weren’t, however, the soul-killing recurring nightmares that occasionally plague even my happy-go-lucky sleep (teeth falling out, starving animals in cages, stabbing thing that just won’t DIE, goddamnit) or even the low level moving-and-packing anxiety dream that will probably go away after a few more months of relative stability.

No, this was pretty much a pure gorefest, shot more or less like a crappy 80’s Stephen King made-for-TV movie, only with Stanley Kubrick directing key bits.

A lot of it was disjointed. We had to fly to Kentucky (god knows why, the only thing I know of in Kentucky is the Derby) and the plane was dark, grim, and the runways were all underground. (I have no idea how that was supposed to work.) There was a lot of stomach lurching turbulence (the fact that James was shoving me off the bed in his sleep probably was responsible) and rather than seats, the passengers were all standing around in a poorly lit crowd, with folding chairs (though nobody was sitting down.)

Then a headless hermaphrodite in black bondage leather did a headstand (without a head, remember–their neck ended in a sort of tapered stump) on one of the folding chair, and a section of the plane turned into this bondage orgy thing, while the rest of us (self included) edged away going “Ooooookaaaaaay…” and were thoroughly creeped out by the whole affair. Hell, I’m still creeped out. Yecch. It was like “Jacob’s Ladder” meets a porno flick. (That movie also creeped me out, not for the premise, but for some of the nasty visuals)

Then I had a really bizarre segue where I was a cop hunting a serial killer with my partner James. He was a very cultured, Robert Redford sort, and lived in Apartment Zero, which was on top of a bookcase with no stairs leading to it. His landlady was a brainwashed zombie who was telling us how great he was, while turning the pages on a scrapbook pressed full of giant and thoroughly disgusting insects (don’t need to dig very deep on the meaning of THAT one.) I went into the apartment while he was out, trying to find evidence to pin on him, while James stood guard. Somehow I got stuck in this odd little alternate dimension full of all the people he’d killed, most of whom didn’t know they were dead, and I had to figure out who was dead and push them down through the floorboards (Like Whack-a-Soul!) Then, with the people who were still alive, we broke out of the alternate dimension, fought the guy into the back of the squad car.

And then I turned into a werewolf and in an absolute splatterfest that had that cheesy eighties gore-flows-like-wine almost comically stupid feel, ripped his throat out with my teeth. Police brutality was evidentally not an issue, as James just kept driving.

I woke up going “Good god.”