March 13th, 2004

Tyler

Fight Club and dreams of home

Very odd dreams plagued me last night, something I suspect is due to what I had for my late dinner. Venison jerky before bedtime is probably not the best thing you can do to yourself, especially if it's been 8 or more years since you last touched venison. It tasted quite good, especially after all this time has elapsed... but I steadfastly maintain that it had a hand in this dream. Or maybe it was because Ra was stomping up and down my bed and maiowing in my face to wake me up since I had "overslept" his feeding this morning -- I suppose that's always a possibility too.

In last night's dream I was back on the farm, and it looked like a composite of many of my memories of home. The red polebarn was there on the corner of the lawn, but the chicken coup that we demolished to make room for the polebarn's driveway was still standing in its original place, along with chickens. The porch on the South side of the house was the one my dad put up a number of years ago, but the boards were pristine and unwarped... and it had a railing, like the old porch did before we tore it down. One of my old compatriots from school was visiting, and we were all standing outside on the porch, watching... something happening in the hayfield beyond the South edge of the lawn. At some point another piece of the collage was inspired by my memory, because my father introduced our guest to my old Daisy 880 air rifle. It was still in the protective plastic wrapping! We unwrapped it, introduced whoever it was (Possibly my friend Brian, or his brother Joel) to proper handling techniques, then loaded up a pellet in the chamber. Things got a little weird at this point... Dad did some tinkering before the pellet was seated right, as if the gun had to be "broken in" to accept the pellet -- which I assure you isn't the case. I don't remember much of the details at this point, although I think it involved us hunting down some of the vermin that was continuing to infest our barn and chicken coup. What I remember clearly is the next "act" of the dream, where we'd come back to the porch steps. I think we were drinking iced tea, and I remember asking where the rifle had gone. The friend/guest/ghost-memory said that he'd put it in his pocket (don't ask how a pellet rifle fits in the pocket of your jeans, because I don't know either), and he drew it out to show me. For some reason this absolutely infuriated me. It was as if I had never seen such a blatant disregard for the care of a gun (I know what you're saying... you're thinking He didn't drop it in the mud, he had it in his pocket! What's the big deal? To that I say It's a dream, it doesn't have to make sense.). I remember grabbing the stock and wrenching it out of his hands, then slamming the butt into his stomach so he doubled over... then bringing it up to crack him squarely in the chin. Throughout the whole thing I was bellowing at him to respect his firearm, to treat it with discipline and the care due a fine weapon. While the entire scene may have been inspired by R. Lee Ermy's performance in the Kubrick masterpiece Full Metal Jacket I thankfully don't recall sounding like him.

That's around the time I woke up, and I think it was probably for the best. That dream was going nowhere good at that point. Since Ra was being an absolute pest I got out of bed, washed up for the morning and fed him. After ensuring that His Majesty of Harf and Howling had received enough food I sat down in the computer room to mull things over. It is very rare when I remember a dream, so I was intrigued by this one. I wondered a number of things... like what might it mean? I'm also curious what inspired it, especially the little drill sergeant tirade at the end (complete with gratuitous physical violence, no less!) of the whole thing. It was as I started writing this down into LiveJournal that I remembered a conversation I had with takaza last night, and I wonder if I might have found something that influenced my subconscious into playing this little scene out. Last night I jokingly made the comment to him that yotogi is getting ripped and soon will be able to hand my ass to me on a platter without even breaking a sweat. This spawned a brief conversation about Celebrity Death Match between a number of people we know and discussion of who would take who. Perhaps that's what got my brain rolling on the topic of violence? I'm not sure.

But it does give me an interesting question. It might have been better served by an LJ-poll, but I think I'd rather people comment to answer this question because it gives them a better opportunity to elaborate. So here it is, folks... your moment of Tyler Durden zen. Comment away and be as detailed as you like with your answers.

The question is: Quickly! If you could pit me against anyone in a fight, who would you choose for me to go up against and why?
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ashryn-devious

I knew it!

As we sat through SCI-204 (Environmental Science) today we naturally came back to the whole birthrate/deathrate thing, and how they related to closed systems. To illustrate his point about attempting to control our envionment and how such actions impact the global population level the professor asked the class for suggestions to write on the board for causes of death. The usual culprits were shouted out such as "Disease," "War," "Suicide," "Famine" and everyone's favorite "Old Age." There was a long pause, then a sour voice said from the middle of the classroom, "Reality TV." The instructor didn't miss a beat, it went up on the board right after "war."

The tree-lined avenue
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