Voodoo, Vomit, and Flooding
Dream | February 7, 2010
It had rained all day and during the night while this dream occurred...
...so the first thing I remember was being waist-deep in a brown alley river in New Orleans. On either side were grungy, washed-out buildings. In front of me was a large Creole woman with her hand stretched straight out and planted firmly on my heart. She was saying something to the effect that she had to perform some Voodoo magic on me if I wished to live in the city.
The banks of this alley river were muddy, and embedded in the crusty mud on the left was a skeleton that I assumed was some deceased relative or ancestor of hers. She said I was being purified of foul spirits from other cities I had lived in, and that this skeleton was a witness to the ceremony.
Someone waded by and in their wake drifted some heap of bones and skin. I turned and clambered up the bank and was met by a couple of guys waiting there next to a futuristic-looking house. One guy was dressed all in black, wearing a black Fedora with a pointy brim pulled down over his face so that only his chin was even visible at first. I dubbed him Mister Mysterious. The other guy was more of a jock character, clothed in some sweatpants and a gray jacket or sweatshirt. Behind them the house was composed of some glossy pearlescent metal and shaped like a Quontset hut with beautiful arcs and oval windows. Across the cement driveway that ended at this alley river was the garage which I had just rented.
As I walked by, Mr. Mysterious flashed a bright grin at me. In his mouth were rows of sharp teeth. His face was painted like a tiger or cheetahoranges and yellows with white around the eyes, accented with bold lines and decorative patterns. It looked like a masquerade-style mask, or more perhaps a costume for Mardi Gras.
I said, "Hey, cool mask man. Very foxy!" His suggestive smile led me to believe this fellow might be gay.
As I passed the jock the fellow in black turned towards the house and vomited suddenly. "errrp blaaaaaahhhh!" I turned slightly and saw the scene out of the corner of my eye. Mostly the man's black back and the chunky greenish-yellow puddle splattered at his feet. But I kept going. Seconds later he threw up again. Profusely.
But I had a mission. For I had just moved to this fair city and had already secured a place to stay. It was the garage across from the aforementioned house. It was open and contained nothing but a filthy mattress on the floor and some ragged cardboard boxes strewn about. But my hound dog Windsong was already there waiting so it was home.
So I puttered around in this open garage trying to clean up when it began to rain. I poked my nose out towards the driveway where the two guys had been standing and there was this vast puddle of vomit. It smelled vile and the rain was just spreading it around. On the ground was this gray sweatshirt. I mistook it for the vomitor's shirt and started mopping up the mess with it, muttering that if he was going to blow chunks and not clean up, then this would be the consequence.
Having cleaned up a fair bit, I stood up to assess the job when the jock showed up and asked for his sweatshirt. It was then that I realized I had made a mistake. I handed his sweatshirt over with an apology and he left with a sarcastic "thanks."
So I returned to my place and laid down on the dirty mattress to sleep. My German Shepherd curled up nearby.
A short time later I'm awakened by a deafening sound like a huge toilet flushing. Then a WHOOOOOOSH sound and I look into the driveway towards the alley river and see a wave of water rushing towards me!
I duck back into garage and suddenly I'm knee-deep in cold water. The mattress is soaked, my dog is freaking out and splashing about, and there's floating debris everywhere. I'm not sure what to do at this point but eventually the water recedes and washes down the street.
I walked around the buildings, wondering what to do. It's an odd situation when everything is essentially fine but drenched. There's nothing to clean or dry stuff with. And my place has no possessions to safeguard. Standing there on this empty concrete driveway, my dream existence felt drained and desolate. My only consolation is that the flood washed all the vomit away.
And that's when the next flash flood surged through and knocked me off my feet and down the driveway past the mouth of my garage. I'm splashing about trying to get a hand-hold. My legs and knees are getting scraped up. Garbage is being thrown around in my face as I struggle. I grab at something that turns out to be a wooden pallet.
Once again the water washes down the street but this time I'm left haggard, on my hands and knees, soaked and chilled to the bone. Windsong looks like a drowned rat. I stand up. All around me is this empty industrial-looking area with dirty cement walls and factory buildings. My garage residence yawns open nearby, the waterlogged mattress languishing half-outside like a sickly tongue. Everything is wet. The sky is a washed-out gray. It's dismal.
I am exhausted so I curl up on the wooden pallet and go to sleep.