Dream – December 19, 2005 – A Kiss Before Death
For some crimes, John Malkovich had been sentenced to death.
He didn’t have long to live, so I decided: “At least let me give you a kiss before you die.”
John really liked the idea.
He gently pressed his lips against mine — at first it was nice, but then it became unpleasant. Still, I endured it — after all, the man was about to die; maybe he’d never kiss anyone again…
Somehow, I ended up holding his wallet, which had a small amount of cash inside.
I considered keeping it, but a passerby noticed and seemed ready to scold me.
Quickly, I covered it up, saying that it was John’s last will to donate the money.
“By the way, John, to whom?” I asked.
And John started to drone on about where exactly the money should go.
We never finished the conversation — the dream shifted into something else.
It was winter.
I needed to get to a department store because my beloved had asked me to buy milk (this actually happened in real life when he left for work — and now it was in my dream).
I was wearing ridiculously thin, out-of-season boots, and my feet were freezing.
In my backpack, though, I had warm shoes tucked away.
Almost while walking, I started pulling off one boot, trying to get a warmer shoe out.
I was balancing awkwardly on one foot — holding a boot in one hand, a shoe in the other, and the backpack dangling.
A feeling of being followed made me glance over my shoulder.
Behind me was a suspicious-looking Ethiopian man, bundled in many layers of clothing against the Moscow cold.
I was hopping forward on my right foot, barely able to see where I was going.
To the left and right, there were two narrow passageways.
I headed to the right and hopped along until I reached a dead end.
The Ethiopian man closed in and made it very clear that something was about to happen.
I shouted at him: “Don’t you dare! I have a boot in my hand, and I’ll beat you with it!”
At the same time, I somehow managed to put the warmer shoe on my left foot under his very offended stare.
The Ethiopian started laughing and grabbed my arm, completely paralyzing me.
I realized I couldn’t move, and he was absolutely about to assault me.
I don’t remember exactly how, but somehow I twisted free and ran down the other passageway — thankfully, this one didn’t end in a dead end.
Wearing a shoe on my left foot, a boot on my right, backpack in hand,
I burst into an open area and ran toward home, hiding along a line of red garage-sheds.
When I was sure the Ethiopian had lost track of me in the light of the evening streetlamps, I calmed down a little and continued on toward home — and to the store to buy milk.
Dream – September 9, 2005 – The Horrors of My Kingdom
I dreamed about crocodiles today.
They lived in this narrow trough, and strange people would go down into it and just stand there,
which turned the whole trough red with the blood of those bitten by the crocodiles.
Around the trough, there were corpses of people who had stayed in too long.
There was blood everywhere —
but strangely, I wasn’t afraid.
Just… surprised.
So I left.
All this took place in a faraway land — Australia.
I had been brought there because I was an orphan and had been adopted.
The family already had lots of children, all very friendly,
and they gave me my own cute little cabinet just for my shoes.
The house was big and beautiful, the windows looked out onto a bay —
but the windows were dirty,
and on the beaches, people lay inside large metal boxes that belonged to each family.
It was dangerous to be on the beach outside these boxes.
The roads were covered in strange creatures — scorpions, jerboas, tiger-rats —
and the only way to avoid being harmed was to run fast
(unless you were wearing special protective shoes).
I ran down one of these roads,
and something stabbed into the bottom of my foot —
a small wooden splinter and a two-centimeter tip of a bird feather.
It hurt.
Strange, isn’t it?
Dream – November 28, 2005
First, I killed a man with a knife.
We were supposed to fight, and everyone knew he was a bad guy.
I drove the kitchen knife into his chest with incredible brutality.
I was amazed at how soft and smooth it was —
how easily the blade slid into his body.
Until that moment, I hadn’t known it could be that easy.
He was just about to strike, but I beat him to it.
I stabbed him again and again, cutting through his soft flesh.
The knife went into his heart — he collapsed, motionless.
He was dead.
There were about 20 people standing around us.
I knew no one would see it as a crime.
He was evil and deserved to die.
I wiped the knife clean with a Clorox wipe,
careful to remove all fingerprints.
A little later, we were cruising through the city.
We needed a car.
We stopped someone — and I shot the driver.
I don’t know what happened to him afterward.
No one would have judged me.
I was cool.
I was wearing a badass jacket.
I glanced at his passport.
Turned out I had killed John Lennon.
At first, I didn’t care.
Then guilt hit me —
How could I have killed John Lennon?
How!
Only near the end of the dream did I remember
that John Lennon had died in 1980.
A thin thread of thought slipped in —
maybe this was just a dream…
And then I woke up.