The following took place between approximately 2:00 to 8:00 am this morning:
I found myself standing alone on a dark road painted in deep browns, reds and greys. The sky was black except for a stroke of soft blue on the horizon where the sun would be rising in a few hours. There was no breeze. Everything sat perfectly still. Ahead of me was a desk and sitting behind it was Mark Zuckerberg. I had serious business with the man, so I walked over and took a seat.
He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk, then said, with a face as expressionless as the landscape around us. "You think you're entitled to some of this money?"
I nodded. "Yeah, well... the idea for the facebook was partially mine." My voice was calm, but filled with strength.
"Everyone says that."
I knew it was true. Everyone wanted a piece of the fortune that had been made on the facebook and claimed that they were entitled to part of the proceeds. To Mark Zuckerberg I was only another flea, biting at his wrists, leaching off his successes. In my eyes, though, I wanted what was fair, and I knew I had an excellent case.
"I want fifty million."
"No way." His answer came even before I had finished saying "million." "I can't do that." He paused for a moment and looked up into the blackness above us. "If I give you that much money, I'll have to give everyone that much. It wouldn't work" He looked back down at me and grabbed a pen from his ledger. "You're right, though. I do owe you something..." And with that he began writing on a piece of paper.
I could barely believe what I was hearing, but masked my excitement by putting on a face as serious as his.
Mark handed a piece of paper to me "Here. It's a check for twenty million. I won't give a penny more."
(To be Continued)
Showing posts with label dream. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dream. Show all posts
Monday, August 22, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Another Crazy Dream
So this morning I woke up with the lingering memory of a dream fresh on my mind. I should have written this then, but with work and all there was no time. By now the remaining memories are only a shell of the dream I had. A husk of something better - similar in nature and worthy of examination - but not nearly as bright and vivid as the original.
With that said, allow me to dive into what I do remember.
I was in Provo. This I know, not because it looked anything at all like Provo, but because I felt that it was Provo. Dreams are funny like that. You could be standing in the middle of the Alamo, but if your gut tells you you're in Alaska you think to yourself, "Wow... Alaska has an Alamo, too?" And that's it. You're in Alaska.
But that was a tangent.
I was in Provo. I was with two of my good friends, Melanie and Tiff, and we were wandering around in the biggest junkyard I've ever seen. I'm talking about tiers of garbage, piles built with old cars, pieces of buildings - columns of refuse that towered high into the sky like sandstone monuments. The girls insisted that to get to a diner we wanted to visit, we needed to cut through this junk yard. They saw it as charming and adventurous, but I saw it as dangerous and scary.
(As I type this, I realize I dream about cliffs a LOT. What does that mean?)
The girls and I made our way up to the top of a spire of trash where a few cables hung over to where the diner was. They went first, laughing and talking like it was nothing, and safely made it to the other side. However, when I began crossing, I noticed that the cables had loosened and, as they tore away from the trash, I nearly slipped to certain death. I watched them fall into the abyss below and retreated from the edge, holding on to an old, mashed car door that was part of the conglomerate of scrap we had climbed.
The girls told me to come on over.
"I can't!" I shouted to them, "The cables broke..."
They gave me a look like I didn't need the cables. Melanie mentioned that if I didn't want to eat, I didn't have to make excuses. I was perplexed by their reaction, as there was no way in HELL I would make it over the chasm without the cables. Then I woke up...
-Barry
With that said, allow me to dive into what I do remember.
I was in Provo. This I know, not because it looked anything at all like Provo, but because I felt that it was Provo. Dreams are funny like that. You could be standing in the middle of the Alamo, but if your gut tells you you're in Alaska you think to yourself, "Wow... Alaska has an Alamo, too?" And that's it. You're in Alaska.
But that was a tangent.
I was in Provo. I was with two of my good friends, Melanie and Tiff, and we were wandering around in the biggest junkyard I've ever seen. I'm talking about tiers of garbage, piles built with old cars, pieces of buildings - columns of refuse that towered high into the sky like sandstone monuments. The girls insisted that to get to a diner we wanted to visit, we needed to cut through this junk yard. They saw it as charming and adventurous, but I saw it as dangerous and scary.
(As I type this, I realize I dream about cliffs a LOT. What does that mean?)
The girls and I made our way up to the top of a spire of trash where a few cables hung over to where the diner was. They went first, laughing and talking like it was nothing, and safely made it to the other side. However, when I began crossing, I noticed that the cables had loosened and, as they tore away from the trash, I nearly slipped to certain death. I watched them fall into the abyss below and retreated from the edge, holding on to an old, mashed car door that was part of the conglomerate of scrap we had climbed.
The girls told me to come on over.
"I can't!" I shouted to them, "The cables broke..."
They gave me a look like I didn't need the cables. Melanie mentioned that if I didn't want to eat, I didn't have to make excuses. I was perplexed by their reaction, as there was no way in HELL I would make it over the chasm without the cables. Then I woke up...
-Barry
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Crazy Apocalyptic Dream
When the dream began, I was walking in the filthy deserts of Mexico at about 6:00 pm, thirty minutes before the sun would disappear over the mountains on the horizon. The air tasted of dust and alfalfa, as the fields were beginning to grow lush, turning the landscape into a checkerboard of fragrant life and dry, listless dirt. I was out with two missionaries who were still learning the language. They were both American and spoke with a slow, steady, sloppy accent. I admired what they were doing and was happy I was there with them. My reason for being there wasn't exactly known to me. I only knew that I was there to help them and that I was involved somehow with the American government.
The three of us approached an old farmer resting in the seat of his tractor as it idled in the afternoon heat. The grime he wore in the wrinkles on his face spoke of the poverty he'd become acquainted with, but his smile told of a happiness I found myself admiring. We talked to him of God and life and everything else missionaries share, but he repeatedly explained to us - in the most polite way possible - that he was not interested. I sensed a conflict in his expression, as if he was truly interested in what we were teaching, but felt nervous about being seen near us. It was then, while we were conversing, that I saw a fighter jet in the distance crossing the sky. I continued listening to the man tell us about his life and his family, while occasionally glancing over at the jet. It seemed so out of place in the valley. It's contrail tearing the sky in two, scarring the otherwise immaculate blue that encompassed us above. I began to laugh at a farmer's joke that the man on the tractor was telling when a flash filled the sky - a grotesque fireball rising from the broken hull of the jet, which was then spinning as it dropped to the distant desert. At this point the guy on the tractor started crying, telling us he couldn't talk to us anymore. In the distance, the wreckage of the fighter jet erupted into an enormous explosion that resembled a mushroom cloud. The sound took awhile to hit us, nearly knocking us over as we ran desperately for cover.
Later in the dream, I was standing out in the desert at dusk with four or five others which included my friend, Justin, my uncle Brent, a few Mexican guys and that girl from SWAT (Michelle Rodriguez). They had all been out there working on something to do with oil and had also seen the explosion. One of the Mexican guys had a radio and we listened to a report that told us about an invasion wherein we would be killed on sight. Luckily for us, Michelle Rodriguez knew of a shelter hidden in a desert cave which was cool and safe during the day. We decided that this would be ideal, even though there was a government base very near where we were hiding in which a lot of activity took place. Men could be seen shouting in a strange language, coming to and from this base in jeeps, tanks, etc very similar to the movie Red Dawn, if you've seen it. One day there was more commotion than usual at the base and everyone disappeared in a matter of minutes. We tuned in on our emergency radios again only to hear a broken transmission about strange deaths, horrifying discoveries, and the end of the world.
After that,the dream got fuzzy, but I distinctly remember us standing outside the shelter cave discussing the recent events when we see something falling out of the sky. It looks like a balloon at first, but as it gets closer we can see that it's a guy in a damaged parachute. He hits the ground really hard only fifty or so feet from us and it sounds like his legs break on impact. We rush over to help him out and then realize that he has been dead for some time. His body is slightly decomposed, purple, and grotesque. His badges indicate that he was US Air Force and an astronaut and tucked into his jumpsuit is a very fancy letter-like invitation thing. And though our curiosity begs us to open the envelope, we don't dare pull it away from his body. Nobody dares touch the corpse.
Even later in the dream (and this is where things get really fuzzy) Brent comes back to our shelter with others who I suppose are some of the few that have survived - a large Mexican guy, two black guys who look like gang thugs, and that really attractive detective from "Crash." She carries some papers with her which are more invitations, like the one we saw on the corpse which by this time we'd had the decency to bury, but not before removing the envelope. She mentions that each one speaks of one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse and that each message was pulled from a body of a dead astronaut which fell from the sky. It all makes sense to me at this point and I swear to everyone that this dream is a movie I've seen and that it ends well for most of us.
And then I wake up.
The three of us approached an old farmer resting in the seat of his tractor as it idled in the afternoon heat. The grime he wore in the wrinkles on his face spoke of the poverty he'd become acquainted with, but his smile told of a happiness I found myself admiring. We talked to him of God and life and everything else missionaries share, but he repeatedly explained to us - in the most polite way possible - that he was not interested. I sensed a conflict in his expression, as if he was truly interested in what we were teaching, but felt nervous about being seen near us. It was then, while we were conversing, that I saw a fighter jet in the distance crossing the sky. I continued listening to the man tell us about his life and his family, while occasionally glancing over at the jet. It seemed so out of place in the valley. It's contrail tearing the sky in two, scarring the otherwise immaculate blue that encompassed us above. I began to laugh at a farmer's joke that the man on the tractor was telling when a flash filled the sky - a grotesque fireball rising from the broken hull of the jet, which was then spinning as it dropped to the distant desert. At this point the guy on the tractor started crying, telling us he couldn't talk to us anymore. In the distance, the wreckage of the fighter jet erupted into an enormous explosion that resembled a mushroom cloud. The sound took awhile to hit us, nearly knocking us over as we ran desperately for cover.
Later in the dream, I was standing out in the desert at dusk with four or five others which included my friend, Justin, my uncle Brent, a few Mexican guys and that girl from SWAT (Michelle Rodriguez). They had all been out there working on something to do with oil and had also seen the explosion. One of the Mexican guys had a radio and we listened to a report that told us about an invasion wherein we would be killed on sight. Luckily for us, Michelle Rodriguez knew of a shelter hidden in a desert cave which was cool and safe during the day. We decided that this would be ideal, even though there was a government base very near where we were hiding in which a lot of activity took place. Men could be seen shouting in a strange language, coming to and from this base in jeeps, tanks, etc very similar to the movie Red Dawn, if you've seen it. One day there was more commotion than usual at the base and everyone disappeared in a matter of minutes. We tuned in on our emergency radios again only to hear a broken transmission about strange deaths, horrifying discoveries, and the end of the world.
After that,the dream got fuzzy, but I distinctly remember us standing outside the shelter cave discussing the recent events when we see something falling out of the sky. It looks like a balloon at first, but as it gets closer we can see that it's a guy in a damaged parachute. He hits the ground really hard only fifty or so feet from us and it sounds like his legs break on impact. We rush over to help him out and then realize that he has been dead for some time. His body is slightly decomposed, purple, and grotesque. His badges indicate that he was US Air Force and an astronaut and tucked into his jumpsuit is a very fancy letter-like invitation thing. And though our curiosity begs us to open the envelope, we don't dare pull it away from his body. Nobody dares touch the corpse.
Even later in the dream (and this is where things get really fuzzy) Brent comes back to our shelter with others who I suppose are some of the few that have survived - a large Mexican guy, two black guys who look like gang thugs, and that really attractive detective from "Crash." She carries some papers with her which are more invitations, like the one we saw on the corpse which by this time we'd had the decency to bury, but not before removing the envelope. She mentions that each one speaks of one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse and that each message was pulled from a body of a dead astronaut which fell from the sky. It all makes sense to me at this point and I swear to everyone that this dream is a movie I've seen and that it ends well for most of us.
And then I wake up.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
I bought a brand new baby...
Sometimes, when I have really strange dreams, I dictate them into my iPhone so I don't forget about them. This dream is from December 6, 2009 - almost a year ago. I had completely forgotten about it till last night when I rediscovered it...
Dreams are weird. :)
-Barry
Dreams are weird. :)
-Barry
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Joining the Army for a Cheap Vacation
Last night I dreamed a dream.
I was standing before an enormous theme park with friends and family. Inside, one could see roller coasters stretch so high and far that the structures resembled a city of the future, sprawling over miles and miles of lush, green plains. The smell of cotton candy and fried corn dogs lingered in the air, mixing with the sound of gleeful screams to form an intoxicating invitation to enjoy the park. Every ride was painted red and white and moved in shapes so magnificent and contrived that I wondered how it could be physically possible for them to move like they did. The line to enter was very long, and as we stood there my Dad was trying to find a way to get a deal on the park entrance. This was when he spotted the booth.
To the left of the entrance line was a small, square, PVC and canvas tent. The front of the tent was open and a table was set up inside with a young man in uniform. My dad went up to the guy and started talking, then motioned for me to come over. I could tell by the opportunistic look in Dad's eyes that something interesting was about to go down.
"Hey! Barry! We can get into the park for half price if you join the Army!"
I nodded politely, pretending to actually consider the possibility. Under the facade, though, I was dumbfounded. Did Dad remember that we were at war? He wanted me to join the Army for a mere discount on park entrance!?
The next part of the dream is fuzzy. I only remember that Dad was very insistent on me joining the Army and I finally joined and we got into the park. When we entered the park I was issued my gear and gun right then and there, so I had to walk around the park with this HUGE duffel bag in my arms and an M4 slung over my shoulder. I wasn't at all happy with my decision, but figured I'd make the most of it and started wondering if I'd die when I was shipped out on my tour. We got on our first ride - the biggest rollercoaster in the park - but because of my gear my seatbelt wouldn't latch.
And then, to my great relief, I woke up.
-Barry
I was standing before an enormous theme park with friends and family. Inside, one could see roller coasters stretch so high and far that the structures resembled a city of the future, sprawling over miles and miles of lush, green plains. The smell of cotton candy and fried corn dogs lingered in the air, mixing with the sound of gleeful screams to form an intoxicating invitation to enjoy the park. Every ride was painted red and white and moved in shapes so magnificent and contrived that I wondered how it could be physically possible for them to move like they did. The line to enter was very long, and as we stood there my Dad was trying to find a way to get a deal on the park entrance. This was when he spotted the booth.
To the left of the entrance line was a small, square, PVC and canvas tent. The front of the tent was open and a table was set up inside with a young man in uniform. My dad went up to the guy and started talking, then motioned for me to come over. I could tell by the opportunistic look in Dad's eyes that something interesting was about to go down.
"Hey! Barry! We can get into the park for half price if you join the Army!"
I nodded politely, pretending to actually consider the possibility. Under the facade, though, I was dumbfounded. Did Dad remember that we were at war? He wanted me to join the Army for a mere discount on park entrance!?
The next part of the dream is fuzzy. I only remember that Dad was very insistent on me joining the Army and I finally joined and we got into the park. When we entered the park I was issued my gear and gun right then and there, so I had to walk around the park with this HUGE duffel bag in my arms and an M4 slung over my shoulder. I wasn't at all happy with my decision, but figured I'd make the most of it and started wondering if I'd die when I was shipped out on my tour. We got on our first ride - the biggest rollercoaster in the park - but because of my gear my seatbelt wouldn't latch.
And then, to my great relief, I woke up.
-Barry
Friday, September 25, 2009
Disneyland, a Little Girl, and a Dangerous Walkway
I've decided to share my dreams with you all more often than I do now (which is pretty much never.) When I say "dreams" I don't mean hopes and visions for the future. I'm talkin' about crazy, strange randomness that happens in my brain when I'm sleeping.
The primary goal of this dream disclosure is, of course, entertainment. However, I'm not closed to the idea of feedback - thoughts as to what my dreams mean and such. If you can make sense of the madness, by all means speak. :)
Let's talk about last night's dream, then...
I'm at Disneyland with my family - parents, brothers and sisters and their spouses, and a little girl. It's late in the day - that time when the sun has fallen behind the mountains - but the sky retains the brilliance of the moments before when the sun was out. Disneyland isn't Disneyland. It's like a mix between Disneyland, Hogle Zoo, and the west desert of Utah. I look down at the little girl who holds my hand and walks tired next to me. She's probably about two years old. I ask my parents, who walk ahead of us, who she is and they look back at me like I'm a moron but don't respond. I realize, then, that I'm wearing one of those strap-your-child-to-your-back contraptions and carrying a diaper bag to boot, giving me the vague impression that she might be my daughter. Usually this thought would freak me out. I've got a little girl who could be my daughter next to me and I have no idea who she is nor who the mother could be. For some reason, though, I'm not fretting, but instead I accept the situation and continue on as if all is normal.
We get outside the park to one of those motorized walkways. Colorful signs indicate that this walkway would take us out to our parking spot, so we climb aboard. Things are good for awhile, as the walkway moves along at a reasonably slow pace. My family is talking about the day and laughing about this and that - their voices muffled by the similar conversations of people around us. Its really nice. I look ahead of us and see that the walkway climbs steeply in the distance, like a roller coaster. I notice, too, that the walkway is going faster. I look around, trying to hide my panic, hoping that somebody sees what I do, but my family and everyone else on the damned thing seems completely oblivious to the fact that we're now hurdling through the desert at an insane speed. With little time to act, I decide to strap the little girl into the article on my back for safety and just barely get her in when we hit the incline.
Momentum carries us almost all the way to the top of what is probably a fifty foot rise, but the slickness of the walkway becomes very apparent here and I start sliding back down toward people. I drop the diaper bag, watching the wind carry it away from us to where it crashes violently into the windshield of a car below. Bending down, I dig my fingers into the walkway, which was made of felt and leather, all grey, and desperately try to cling on as we rise over the incline.
As we come over the top I see that the walkway splits into multiple directions below, twisting and passing each other like a California freeway. My parents and family are already well ahead of us, having taken one of the off-shoot walkways. The descent is horrifyingly long and steep, and as we begin to fall I pull the little girl around from my back and hold her tightly in my arms. In an instant, the path my parents took whizzes by us - nothing more than a blur - and I see them in the distance raising their hands as if to say "where are you going!?" I have no time to respond, though, because in a flash we're well down the chute and out into the middle of the desert. I begin to panic; not because of how far away we are from everybody, but because I can see the walkway suddenly end ahead. I look behind me and see nobody. I wonder how in the hell everyone else got off - my mind as blurred as the landscape that shoots by us - and then feel the walkway disappear beneath us.
There is a moment of peaceful weightlessness. The cool desert air rushes against my face. The only sound is the wind. And then we begin to fall. I look ahead and below us, observing the abandoned gas station that we're about to hit and scarcely have time to think of the ramifications of such an impact before the collision happens.
The next thing I know, I'm sitting in the middle of a dirt road. The gas station is on my left and is on fire - part of the building collapsed and broken. On my right, in the road, there is a car turned over, badly contorted and on fire. People have stopped to help the people in that car and an ambulance whines in the distance as it makes it's way toward us.
I stand up and realize that there is no sign of the little girl. I walk into the gas station and see nothing. I walk outside and ask the people if they've seen the little girl and they reply in the negative, then tell me I need to sit down and wait for the ambulance. I shake my head and start walking down the desert road, intent on getting home. The people shout at me and ask where I'm going, but realize that I'm not listening and continue tending to the accident victims. I pull out my iPhone to make a call, marveling at the fact that it is unscathed, but I realize that I have no signal out there and put it away. I keep wondering about the little girl - where she went, if she's still alive, how she disappeared - when a young man, Latino, dressed like a gang member, walks up to me and tries to talk to me. I'm afraid he's seen my phone and is about to mug me. I don't remember what he says, but I brush him off and he returns to a small hill adjacent to the road, where he and his friends warm themselves over a fire in a barrel. I walk off into the desert...
And then I wake up.
-Barry
The primary goal of this dream disclosure is, of course, entertainment. However, I'm not closed to the idea of feedback - thoughts as to what my dreams mean and such. If you can make sense of the madness, by all means speak. :)
Let's talk about last night's dream, then...
I'm at Disneyland with my family - parents, brothers and sisters and their spouses, and a little girl. It's late in the day - that time when the sun has fallen behind the mountains - but the sky retains the brilliance of the moments before when the sun was out. Disneyland isn't Disneyland. It's like a mix between Disneyland, Hogle Zoo, and the west desert of Utah. I look down at the little girl who holds my hand and walks tired next to me. She's probably about two years old. I ask my parents, who walk ahead of us, who she is and they look back at me like I'm a moron but don't respond. I realize, then, that I'm wearing one of those strap-your-child-to-your-back contraptions and carrying a diaper bag to boot, giving me the vague impression that she might be my daughter. Usually this thought would freak me out. I've got a little girl who could be my daughter next to me and I have no idea who she is nor who the mother could be. For some reason, though, I'm not fretting, but instead I accept the situation and continue on as if all is normal.
We get outside the park to one of those motorized walkways. Colorful signs indicate that this walkway would take us out to our parking spot, so we climb aboard. Things are good for awhile, as the walkway moves along at a reasonably slow pace. My family is talking about the day and laughing about this and that - their voices muffled by the similar conversations of people around us. Its really nice. I look ahead of us and see that the walkway climbs steeply in the distance, like a roller coaster. I notice, too, that the walkway is going faster. I look around, trying to hide my panic, hoping that somebody sees what I do, but my family and everyone else on the damned thing seems completely oblivious to the fact that we're now hurdling through the desert at an insane speed. With little time to act, I decide to strap the little girl into the article on my back for safety and just barely get her in when we hit the incline.
Momentum carries us almost all the way to the top of what is probably a fifty foot rise, but the slickness of the walkway becomes very apparent here and I start sliding back down toward people. I drop the diaper bag, watching the wind carry it away from us to where it crashes violently into the windshield of a car below. Bending down, I dig my fingers into the walkway, which was made of felt and leather, all grey, and desperately try to cling on as we rise over the incline.
As we come over the top I see that the walkway splits into multiple directions below, twisting and passing each other like a California freeway. My parents and family are already well ahead of us, having taken one of the off-shoot walkways. The descent is horrifyingly long and steep, and as we begin to fall I pull the little girl around from my back and hold her tightly in my arms. In an instant, the path my parents took whizzes by us - nothing more than a blur - and I see them in the distance raising their hands as if to say "where are you going!?" I have no time to respond, though, because in a flash we're well down the chute and out into the middle of the desert. I begin to panic; not because of how far away we are from everybody, but because I can see the walkway suddenly end ahead. I look behind me and see nobody. I wonder how in the hell everyone else got off - my mind as blurred as the landscape that shoots by us - and then feel the walkway disappear beneath us.
There is a moment of peaceful weightlessness. The cool desert air rushes against my face. The only sound is the wind. And then we begin to fall. I look ahead and below us, observing the abandoned gas station that we're about to hit and scarcely have time to think of the ramifications of such an impact before the collision happens.
The next thing I know, I'm sitting in the middle of a dirt road. The gas station is on my left and is on fire - part of the building collapsed and broken. On my right, in the road, there is a car turned over, badly contorted and on fire. People have stopped to help the people in that car and an ambulance whines in the distance as it makes it's way toward us.
I stand up and realize that there is no sign of the little girl. I walk into the gas station and see nothing. I walk outside and ask the people if they've seen the little girl and they reply in the negative, then tell me I need to sit down and wait for the ambulance. I shake my head and start walking down the desert road, intent on getting home. The people shout at me and ask where I'm going, but realize that I'm not listening and continue tending to the accident victims. I pull out my iPhone to make a call, marveling at the fact that it is unscathed, but I realize that I have no signal out there and put it away. I keep wondering about the little girl - where she went, if she's still alive, how she disappeared - when a young man, Latino, dressed like a gang member, walks up to me and tries to talk to me. I'm afraid he's seen my phone and is about to mug me. I don't remember what he says, but I brush him off and he returns to a small hill adjacent to the road, where he and his friends warm themselves over a fire in a barrel. I walk off into the desert...
And then I wake up.
-Barry
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