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[Dreaming_Of_You: The_WTF?_Edition]

Last night, I dreamt that Trent was driving at night in the desert, on a highway not unlike the one between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, his black car plummeting down the road, into the night. He was tired and bleary, rubbing his eyes, and rolling down the window to try to stay awake. David Bowie's Sound and Vision (the SONG, not the greatest hits compilation) was blaring from his speakers, and Trent was singing along half-heartedly. The long, straight road ahead seemed endless and featureless.

Then, in the distance, there was a light. A town. He decided to stop and get a cup of coffee, some Taco Bell, ANYTHING. He needed to break his journey, to stretch his legs. The anticipation roused him a little from his near catatonic exhaustion, but as soon as he entered the the city limits, he knew something was wrong. It was almost as if the sound of the wind outside had stopped, and eveything out the windows was repeating, the signs, the buildings, the shapes of cars and people on the roadside, as if on a short, inescapable loop. He was stuck in a circular path, a vortex from which he could not escape. The town had him. There was no way out. All around him, neon lights and traffic signs to nowhere leered. Aimless, blank-faced victims of the gyre wandered the roadsides, dazed amid hulking shapes of ghostly, deserted big rigs.

Trent pulled his car over. It was coated with desert dust, dull and ugly, but the town was strangely pristine; nothing seemed real. It was real, but it didn't look like it. It looked like a movie set -- all too perfect, vivid, and contrived. Nothing seemed to bear the mark of time or use. The cars on the roadside were covered in the dust of the desert, but the town, the signs, the buildings; all of them were perfectly clean. He got out, and started shouting questions at the unresponsive zombies on the roadside.

"Where am I?"

"What the fuck is going on here?!"

"Hello? HELLO?!"

Nothing. No response. The people stared past him into nothing, as he grabbed at them, and shook them. They were empty, mere traces of the human beings. Trent stopped and looked around. He was surrounded by the mute shades of people, and he knew he was the only living thing for miles around. He looked down at his feet -- big, black boots -- and back towards his car. He knew it was hopeless, and at the same time, he had to find a way out. After that, Trent was calm. Once he realized that the people were cyphers, it was as if he folded up into himself, and his eyes were razor sharp.

But, you know how it is with dreams, right? There are holes in my memory of it.

After that, Trent stalked around purposefully, looking for a way out. It's a bit of a blur, what exactly happened, and the point of view was crazy, too. Sometimes, it was as if I were looking through Trent's eyes, and other times, I was watching him from outside. Here's what I do remember, though: the dream ended with Trent making out with a mannequin -- white, smooth, bald, made of plaster, and entirely unresponsive. Despite all that, it was hot watching the way his jaw worked, the way his eyes were half-closed, and the way his big, veiny hands and those crazy fingers held her plaster head.


Don't look at me like that! At least he was listening to David Bowie's best record ever!

If I could control my nighttime brain, I'd order up a good old fashioned wish-fullfillment dream where Sparklepants sings me all his new songs that I haven't heard yet, and then feverishly gives me the high, hard one in a semi-public place, because he wants me that bad, and just can't wait to get me home.

Fucking hell.

Posted by Dierdre ~ in dreaming_of_you | Permalink


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Wow, quite vivid, D. Sometimes I have dreams that are like that - where it's like watching a movie of someone else's life and then you become part of their lives and it gets blurred and intermingled. Of course, somehow your dream reminds me a lot of Lost Highway. But the mannequin thing...hmmm...what are you saying about Trent's taste in women?? ;)

PS Happy Bowie Day tomorrow! Excellent segue!

Posted by: Buttercup | Jan 7, 2006 1:01:59 PM

I think it's quite apropos that Trent was making out with a nameless, faceless mannequin -- because nobody here really has any fucking clue about what type of person Trent Reznor would really like to be with, and everything else is useless projection.

I think you're wrong though Buttercup -- it seems more "Starfuckers, Inc." video to me than "Lost Highway". Though it woulda been cool if The Pastor was making out with Bill Pullman.

Or Robert Blake for that matter.

Posted by: Gabriel | Jan 7, 2006 1:21:42 PM

I hate to seem like I'm agreeing with Gabriel AT ALL, because seriously, no one is a bigger douchebag, but yeah, I think the mannequin thing has little to do with any thought I might have about a subject we won't be discussing here on Wearing These Chains. To be perfectly honest, I have to say, I don't have any real thoughts on that subject. However, what I do have is a feeling, and that feeling is ENVY.

To me, it seemed like the events of the dream had more to do with the lifelessness, in general, of everyone except Trent. With the mannequin lady, at first, she didn't seem like a mannequin, and in fact, before he kissed her, maybe she wasn't, but as soon as he touched her, it was clear that she was.

Maybe Gabriel, the armchair psychoanalyst can deliver more of his incisive genius on that. Meanwhile, good thing we have Mr. Above-it-all to keep us on the straight and narrow.

Finally, I'd like to note that Trent making out with Bill Pullman is not the kind of thing that would appear in my dreams, but I know exactly why the notion appeals to you, Gabriel.

Posted by: Dierdre | Jan 7, 2006 2:44:18 PM

Fucking "Pastor" crap again. *bitch slaps Gabe*

Interesting dream, D. I think I had some dream about vampires or immortal beings or something last night. Who knows.

Posted by: Kim | Jan 7, 2006 6:35:35 PM

Got the tragus, by the way:

Posted by: Kim | Jan 7, 2006 11:16:06 PM

Hooray Kim. Did you just get the one side done or both?

I wish I had a bit more control of what I dream. More dreams about what I would want Trent to do to my body would be nice, useless projection or not. But instead my brain spits out crap like my high school psych teacher (older manly beard sporting kind of guy in his 50s at the time but not a real looker) picking me up to go on a date to a fucking city council meeting while he's dressed in drag (ill-fitting hot pink see through dress with a feather boa, pantyhose with hairy legs, strappy sandals that his toes hang over the end cause his feet are too big, and a crooked blonde Dolly Parton reject wig). Of course I remembered none of this dream when I woke up. No my brain decided to give me an all too vivid flash back while in class. What a fucking nightmare! I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry. That was the longest class I've ever had to endure.

Posted by: Iris | Jan 8, 2006 11:07:54 AM

Just one side, lol. I'd have a little more trouble trying not to sleep on both sides. Hehe.

And that's a scary dream. I'd be embarrassed if I had a dream like that with one of my teachers. =x

Posted by: Kim | Jan 8, 2006 12:02:06 PM

Gabriel, we know exactly what kind of girl Trent dates. There's photographic evidence.

He's on the DeNiro tip.

Posted by: Baal Glyttr | Jan 9, 2006 10:31:58 AM

Do you have to make him so *unattainable*, Baal? I'd like to think there's a place in his heart for really short white girls.

Posted by: maise | Jan 9, 2006 10:50:23 AM

THAT'S SO HOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ssexy sexxy sex

Posted by: james | Jan 10, 2006 7:17:19 PM

Oh, and this morning was a muddle of dreams, but I did have a Trent-related dream. I dreamt that he was back here playing the closest arena, and I was in the front row for a soundcheck or something. The place was surprisingly empty, and I was the only person right up by the stage. At one point, Trent got off the stage and was roaming around the floor and at one point was singing "March of the Pigs" about two inches from my face, but I couldn't look at him because I would have just started laughing out of sheer discomfort and nervousness. Then he got back onstage, and there was some nice eye contact. Then, he took a break or whatever, and for some bizarre reason, I just *had* to have a hot chai. So I met up with a friend, and she drove slooooowly to the coffee shop (we all know which one, but I'm not going to say it because they're not paying me), and I'm like, come on! The concert's going to start! So I got my chai, but I was late for the show, and I was worried that because I left the arena, they wouldn't let me back in, and I can't really remember how that all turned out in the end...I think that's when it turned into other dreams, but all throughout the night, I kept thinking, "I have to tell my friend about when he was right next to me!" I even thought that when I woke up and remembered, oh yeah, that never happened.

Dammit. :(

Posted by: maise | Jan 14, 2006 12:28:25 PM

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