maleficentmoi

I find it stupid when people (especially women) rant and rave about having dreams heavy in sex and nudity. How boring and easily deciphered these dreams are. The dreams that really get me going are impossible to figure out; conundrums of the mind's deepest dream factory, leaving me shrugging and saying, "What the hell?" Consider the following:

I am Moses. Well, I'm dressed as Moses, all the way down to the sandals and all the way up to the dangling, curly beard that we like to think he supported. Now, I, Moses, am standing in front of a vending machine that is as big as a gas station. A marvel of creation, really. However, it is seriously flawed. First of all, the items in the machine are so varied and extensive that they literally recede from sight, back into the black depths of the gigantic machine. It is impossible to see what the vending machine offers entirely, so I'm left squinting and frustrated, my head up against the glass. Second, the sun is bright and glaring, so what I am seeing mostly in the glass is my own reflection: Moses. A group of people are behind me. They are barbecuing and talking jovially. At one point they call to me in my proper name, saying, "Jeff, have some barbecue." Indignant, I turn to them and say, "For God so loveth the lamb he did not barbecue him," or some shit like that (it's okay to paraphrase your own dreams). The group whistles and cheers in approval and it is then that I, Moses, somehow realize that I am in an acting troupe. It was probably when a guy said, "Wow, you're really into character!" Anyway, Moses (me) return to the enormous vending machine and start squinting into its depths again, trying to find something I like. Moses has some quarters and they're burning holes in his smock (or robe, or whatever). I see a Skor bar and get excited, but the glare on the window is so strong that I can't figure out what number it is. I try to follow the other item's numbers in the Skor row, but they're so random (ex. F45, LO2, *&^8, etc.) that I give up in frustration. Then I realize that my tit is cold. Looking down, I see that part of the glass, for some reason, doesn't match up with the molding against the pane's edge. Freely available, due to this design flaw, is row after row of ice cream bars. I reach gingerly inside to grab one, but hesitate. I am Moses, after all, I debate. So, I give up on the machine altogether and take the stairwell under the vending machine (!) and leave. Fade to light...

So, have fun interpreting that nonsense. I told my wife about it (in her glorious morning sexiness) and got distracted (by her glorious morning sexiness). We did shrug a lot and laugh and decided fuck trying to figure it out. So, that's all I've got to say. Sex dreams are boring. Dreams about me dressed as Moses contending with foulness of the Lucifer Vending Machine (my latest theory) is fun. Hell, I guess, after all, it could've meant I was just fucking hungry.