awesome discount jetpack adventures and French Canadian crust punk clowns


I had a jetpack.

It was rad.

I was rocketing around the city, going from one place to another, just enjoying the commute in a way that for once did not involve reading a novel, oggling a pretty lady commuter, or playing a game on my cellphone. All those things are lame compared to the thrill of absolute freedom of movement (within three dimensions, at least).

I can’t even describe it, but it’s neat. It’s like feeling important because you’re the only guy who can fly, plus also you can fly. I flew day and night, going from one place to the other. Up the sides of buildings, through windows, wherever there was an empty space that begged to be briefly occupied by a man wearing a metal backpack what had flames shooting out the bottom. People would look up in wonderment and/or confusion. Yes, I am a flying man. No, I am not Jesus come to earth for the Rapture. Yes, I am too cool to own a bike or take the bus. No, you can’t try it. It’s for me. It’s my thing. Get your own.

(I had apparently came into the possession of the jetpack by ordering it online or finding it at a flea market. It was one of those things that was really cheap but also really hard to find – in other words, it was extremely valuable despite being monetarily cheap. It was like a small piece of junk from an era banished by time to not exist – either in decades past was a secret age of scientific marvels that had fallen out of fashion, or simply it had been created by a nameless company from an Asian country you’ve never heard of that had since vanished from the face of the earth. Trying to remember the specifics just turned up a weird mental collage of all kinds of stuff including the sensation of that summer I spent at my aunt and uncle’s place when I found a Sea Monkey kit, and wrapping my mind around the shape of this idea was difficult.)

The other part of the dream had me staying at a house. I had a room filled with my stuff, but I nevertheless felt that I was just visiting and had to behave like a guest does. An odd thing about my room was that it was very tall and up above there was the upstairs hallway, separated from my room by a railing. It was like a livingroom, but had a basementy feel.

When other people who were staying there left, some mildly foreigny guys showed up claiming to be friends of a housemate who would be staying here. Pretty soon a bunch of people arrived. They all seemed to be musicians and entertainers of some kind. They seemed Quebecois, rather crust punky, but also clownish.

One girl had her face done up in this impossibly bright white makeup, as well as areas of black. Her teeth and gums, too, had some sort of black and white makeup on them so that the look was seamless. Her face had the appearance of a photocopy of a photocopy of a torn photograph of a woman’s face, and it was amazing. I asked if this was the intended idea, and she said it was. She had large breasts and encouraged me to fondle the right one, which I did, and enjoyed immensely. I had the impression this somehow tied into her performance art or character’s persona, and was not sexual at all, so I didn’t linger. (In retrospect, I should have lingered; if the Department of Heterosexuality finds out about this they might revoke my license.) Anyway I had a huge crush on her and for the rest of the dream wondered what she was up to and wanted to go see her.


jetpack + boob touching
= best dream ever

Much of the rest of the dream involved me running around the town that this took place at. It was built into a fenced in area that seemed to be a large array of hangars or some other type of large demi-cylindrical buildings. It was crowded, there was a lot going on. Some sort of fair? Or maybe it was market day. There were also zombies.

Some men from the compound town were hunting me. Three in particular, large muscley guys. They were doing this because they either thought I was a zombie or was the cause of zombies, or because I was some sort of political competition to whatever they represented and they wanted to kill me and use me as a scapegoat. I remember dashing around buildings, trying to keep out of their line of sight, watching them split into two groups and trying to figure out where to go where they would not find me.

I also remember my friend SD telling me “I’m falling in love with you a little” and my responding “Again?” My college friend CC was also in this dream. There was some sub-plot regarding him and some type of thing we were both interested in but it escapes me.


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