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This is how a detached foot & leg of a woman look like. An image from my dream.

I have no clue why the foot of the woman detached from her leg. The leg seemed to be a whole piece of her body, like any other part. No wounds, nothing. The woman didn't even make any effort to detach it. Neither did I. It just fell off. There were these tiny sticks in her leg cuts. You can see them in the picture. As if the two parts were meant to be attached again. Those little sticks that you see in the picture... because of them I was able to attach the foot back into place. This is my second dream about body parts.

However, I remember a few years ago I was holding a head of my class mate, a girl named Vera. In my hands. But in that case I took her head off myself. I do not remembr why. And this is another story. For now search 'cut fingers'.

 

I am buying a car for myself. It's some second-hand used car, but it looks very good. I mean... it looks interesting. Nicely shaped. Original. Good appearance is the first thing that attracts me in the car. As if it's a woman. The way the car looks is something that I really care about when thinking about cars. As if I am a woman. Because I no nothing about engines.

Make sure the car looks good and I will buy it. You will sell any piece of crap to me as long as it looks good. How shallow... I am happy I have no money to buy your crap. I have spent it all on that Jaguar.

So, I am buying that blue Jaguar at some car rancho in the countryside. I like the way it looks, and I almost don't care how it runs. So I buy it. I spend my last money on it. So I have it. It's mine. Happy.

I am taking that car home to my parents' house. To brag about it, about my first car. The nice car I have and have always wanted to have. I park the car and go home to call my folks. I want them to see the car and say: Wow! Now you have the best car in town. Should they say that, I would suffy...The car would have served half of its purpose.

We come out. But what we see is scary. The car...It is there. But it's grown in size. Just like that, out of thin air! It's grown bigger, it's boosted. Like that fish that transforms into a-kinda ball defending itself. My Jaguar. I can't believe my eyes. No longer it resembles the car I have dreamt about. The car worth spending all my money on. The car worth bragging. It looked embarrasingly stupid. Like my face. You can imagine how I feel.

I turn around and start thinking. That is my defence mechanism. I start thinking. Never panic. I have walked back and forth for a minute, thinking. I compromised to have it as is. If it still runs. If it serves the other half of its purpose. But when I turned around I got even more dissapointed. Deadly dissapointed. It's grown insane! Like Google's profits. It's grown too big to fit into any garage. Into any imagination. It was the size of my apartment. So I broke.

Don't make any parallels or think about any practical implications for this dream.

I have recently formulated to myself what kind of songs I like and dislike. I like the songs that are crying, and I dislike happy songs.

This one is crying nicely. Portishead.

You are running. As fast as an antelope through some construction sites; you are running through gardens and parking lots. Eevery other second you turn your head back. To make sure he is not running after you. With a gun in his hand. Firing at you. He, who you trust as to no one else. He, who you have known all your life. You are scared and you feel betrayed. Your brother shot at you several times a couple of seconds ago. For no reason. He was sane, not drunk, and in his own mind. Never had he a gun. You wonder why he shot at you. You are running home.

When you finally make it home, you want to warn your parents about the incident and you want to protect them from their own son. From your elder brother. But they are not in the house. It seems that the house is empty. You are ready to leave as you hear someone snoring in the bedroom. Of course, you think it is one of your parents taking a daytime nap. You rush into the room. And as soon as you get in… you freeze. Because you don’t find none of your folks in the room. There you find you own brother. Your elder brother. Sleeping. And your eyes get red and adrenalin runs through your veins while you think of your next step. You are confused and you start yelling at your brother asking what is going on. Because you yell at him, he yells back at you. He is irritated. He is annoyed at you because you wake him up for no reason. From his point of view. He doesn’t know my reasons. Do I? You ask yourself, what he is doing at home sleeping in the bed with no sign of being awake when five minutes ago he…someone like him was firing at you. Fuck… Confusing. This doesn’t make sense. I didn’t know what to do and who to trust. Not even myself I could trust. Explainations? Perhaps in my dream I had also been asleep and then I woke up still in my dream to discover one dream in another. Now I am awake. I can pinch myself and I will feel pain. I am awake. But maybe I am living in a dream and I should wake up?

 

I will suggest this idea about a dream in a dream to David Lynch. He will make a beautiful weird movie based on that. I have never been killed in my dreams, although they tried it a lot. I always run when threatened. And I run to my home.

This cat's name is Z [zed]. He is in shock because he has been washed in a bath tub. When inside, he was crying and swearing. 

 

You are standing in line with sweat on your face, in line to the emergency room. You are holding your ring fingers in your hands. Nicely cut off your ring fingers. In front of you old ladies and men who don't seem to be that desperate to get help are queued. You want to get in faster. You are worried about the time because from anatomy classes you remember that if you cut your body parts and freeze them immidiately, perhaps, they can be attached again. It's been already 15 minutes since you found yourself biking without two fingers. One is hanging down your pants, the other one you hold in your hand. So, when in the hospital, you only think about the pressing time. You want to have your fingers attached. Standing in line you are trying to do it on your own. You attach the finger, it won't hold, because both surfaces are too dry. You don't want to think it is too late. You imagine how doctors cut a slice from your remaining finger and from the detached finger to make the surfaces wet and sticky to put them back into place. Together. Althou I felt the time pressure, I didn't feel any pain. I ran to the doctors when I got scared to wait any longer. And the doctor smiled when he saw my fingers. You  know, that wise, I-know-everything smile. When I woke up, the first thing I did, I checked my fingers. They were allright. Now I remember a surgery on my thumb in real life not that long ago, when I got the finger into the bike lock. My nail is still black on one side.