I had a strange dream last night. Unfortunately there were no pretty Argentinian girls, which I'm fairly sure is the reason I keep getting requests to write more. No, this was a regular weird dream with an almost certainly incorrect interpretation. Let me preface this by saying I am not a dream interpreter; I have enough trouble with literary symbols.
Like all of my dreams, this one took place in a strange, larger version of a familiar setting. In this case it was my living room, which had tripled in size since I was last in it the night before. I might not have noticed, barring the fact that my subconscious transplanted a southeast Asian jungle into it. I was pretty much observing and letting my body run on autopilot. I was gathering small pieces of equipment from the branches of a large tree that was growing out of one of the walls. It was going well until I slipped on a branch and started falling to the ground. Probably symbolic, I don't know. I caught the lowest branch on the tree and clambered back up, where I came face to face with a baby. Holding a sniper rifle. Smoking a cigar. In an Iron Man suit. (I didn't question it at the time.) Next to him (it was definitely a boy; his Rambo voice made that clear) was his spotter, an equally young girl. They were locked in a long fight with a Russian sniper team on the other side of the room, on the stairs. The Russian spotter was dead, and they were working on the trigger man when I fell into their perch. I gave away their position by falling next to them, and a bullet whizzed by my ear and hit the wall behind me, which was now tree bark. Suddenly I was sitting by the Russian, and then I was in the middle of the room-jungle, dodging the traps that were set up between the trees. The short, suppressed bursts of sniper fire erupted into a full-out automatic firefight, at which point I made a tactical retreat into the kitchen. At that point I half-woke up and promptly fell back asleep, where I found the babies and the Russian all sleeping around my house. I'm not going to jump into the symbolism, because it'll probably be wrong, but there might be something about childhood with the babies and my interests in foreign cultures with the Russian. The cigar' most likely a phallic symbol (ew), but I'm stumped about the Iron Man suit. Ideas? My email is j.perric AT gmail DOT C
Like all of my dreams, this one took place in a strange, larger version of a familiar setting. In this case it was my living room, which had tripled in size since I was last in it the night before. I might not have noticed, barring the fact that my subconscious transplanted a southeast Asian jungle into it. I was pretty much observing and letting my body run on autopilot. I was gathering small pieces of equipment from the branches of a large tree that was growing out of one of the walls. It was going well until I slipped on a branch and started falling to the ground. Probably symbolic, I don't know. I caught the lowest branch on the tree and clambered back up, where I came face to face with a baby. Holding a sniper rifle. Smoking a cigar. In an Iron Man suit. (I didn't question it at the time.) Next to him (it was definitely a boy; his Rambo voice made that clear) was his spotter, an equally young girl. They were locked in a long fight with a Russian sniper team on the other side of the room, on the stairs. The Russian spotter was dead, and they were working on the trigger man when I fell into their perch. I gave away their position by falling next to them, and a bullet whizzed by my ear and hit the wall behind me, which was now tree bark. Suddenly I was sitting by the Russian, and then I was in the middle of the room-jungle, dodging the traps that were set up between the trees. The short, suppressed bursts of sniper fire erupted into a full-out automatic firefight, at which point I made a tactical retreat into the kitchen. At that point I half-woke up and promptly fell back asleep, where I found the babies and the Russian all sleeping around my house. I'm not going to jump into the symbolism, because it'll probably be wrong, but there might be something about childhood with the babies and my interests in foreign cultures with the Russian. The cigar' most likely a phallic symbol (ew), but I'm stumped about the Iron Man suit. Ideas? My email is j.perric AT gmail DOT C
