Two horrifying dreams (1 of 2): Vampires.

Me and someone else are fleeing a group of vampires like the kind from “Twilight”, where they wear nice simple moddish clothes and move super fast...  The terrain is hilly covered with scattered trees and patches of snow like the terrain where me and my one (Dutch) friend had hiked in Missouri one time, and me and the other person are running ahead on the dirt path, and we encounter someone who says not to go straight ahead, but rather climb up the very steep side of the hill and hide in a tree and that way we can definitely avoid the vampires. 

So, somehow we do that - we are up at the top right after he says that - and are in this tree at the very top of the hill where the slope is drastic on either side, and the other person is out on a further limb, and as we look down the steep hill, we see the group of vampires small and distant down there, just the top of their heads, mostly, as they pause and look at our tracks and dispute, their little arms so far away down there jerking up angrily here and there first one and then another as they argue about which way to go.  They then begin to move up the path away from us, as I can see the top of their heads and small small bodies – and then the limb the other person is on breaks and she falls down and down to the vampires, who group around her, while one suddenly stares up and sees me, and in a flash darts up the hill towards me, almost flying directly at me in what seems like a single leap the entire distance.

It’s then that I know that I’ll die at his hands, and so I look off the cliff behind the tree, which at the top  has what looks like an embedded rustic wall of stones like a seawall from the 1950s, and I decide to cast myself down it, and as I throw myself away from the tree and go down a few feet and begin to hurtle back down toward the canyon, my arms and legs loose and trailing behind my body, and my face towards my knees as I jackknife – I wake up, with a huge clutch in my chest, and lying on my back, my torso actually flying several inches up, in shock, as my eyes are wide open and unblinking, and I’m in abject horror.

It was too much mentally to commit suicide in my dream?

Addendum Addendum.

I forgot forgot -

It took us forever to find even just the plot where the one Jesuit exorcist was buried, and even though I hadn't been drinking water that day, we were 20 minutes inside the cemetary on foot when I began to really really need to piss.

There were groves of trees here and there, and luckily I spotted one where the trees were put together in such a way that I could step between them and piss and shield myself from anyone seeing myself pissing in a cemetery, except from one far direction where it was just fields of empty lots extending out to a blank wall that kept the cemetery from a main road.

Like a quarter of the way through my piss, I noticed that a small stone plaque was tangled up in the roots just west of the trunk of the far tree of 2 trees growing together that I was pissing on, so I quickly shifted my dick and made sure I pissed so that all the piss ran down the trunk on the far side of the tree farthest away from the grave.

Addendum.

When we had entered the cemetery, there were a couple (white) guys ahead of us, with mullets, and in shorts and jackets and backward baseball caps. 

We were both looking around for maps, and so when we were done figuring out that there weren’t any except for one taped in the window of the (closed) office, I was like, “So whose graves you looking for?”.

“Our buddy’s,” the one guy was like.

Memories of St. Louis (6 of 6): An exorcist’s grave.

During the two days I was in St. Louis, me and my one (Dutch) friend visited the 4 sites associated with the exorcism case there that had inspired the book and movie “The Exorcist” (and through that, had helped revive and institute the practice of  exorcism among American Pentecostals and Catholics during the last quarter of the 20th c., continuing into the present) (in order of our visiting them):

- the site of a rectory where some exorcism of the kid had taken place.

- the site of a hospital psych ward where most of the exorcism had taken place and finished.

- the house where the kid’s relatives lived, and where some exorcism of the kid had taken place.

- the grave of the Jesuit who was the exorcist.

The grave was tough to find, but luckily, the plot # was given online.  After a while in that plot, my one (Dutch) friend found the part where all the Jesuits were buried, and then it was just a matter of reading through 5 rows of simple stones, many with 2 names (Jesuits were buried doubled up, perhaps for simplicity, or perhaps since they ran out of room?).

Interestingly, and, as both of us thought, very coolly, the memorial to that province’s founders that towered over the plot included the name of 3 slave couples, with the explicit recognition that their labors were not given of their own free will.

Later, we fortunately stumbled across the graves of Tennessee Williams and William Tecumseh Sherman, who we knew were buried somewhere in the cemetery, but no idea where at all since plot #s weren't available online, so we hadn’t bothered looking for them.

When we were standing in front of Tennessee Williams’s grave, this (fatter) (middle-aged) (white) woman cruises by in her SUV, her (fattish) (middle school-age) son in the passenger seat, and she asked us something about directions to graves, and then we started talking to her, and it turns out that she lives in St. Louis, and the last few weekends she had been going around to graveyards, as well as sites associated with the exorcism that inspired “The Exorcist”, so we told her how to go find the Jesuit grave.

Then, she started talking about how the other weekend she and her son had gone to the kid’s relatives’ house (which is currently a private residence), and they had gotten out of the car and taken like 4 photos of her son, and 1 photo without.

“So I was uploading them to Facebook,” she was like, “And you know how that feature zooms in so you can tag people?  I tagged my son, and tagged my son, and tagged my son, and then the last picture, he’s not in it, but there’s something in the window, like a ghoul face, and Facebook zooms in and asks me to tag it.”

She paused to gulp and wet up her throat, and was like, “So, I put ‘Scary’, because it was!”

Then, after a short pause, she was like, “But when I went back to that picture, there was no tag there, and no ghoul face!  It was gone!”

Later, she was talking about a vanishing hitchhiker who appears outside the cemetery, and my one (Dutch) friend said that was a common story, and then she went to say farewell, and I joked that her car would vanish as she drove away.

“Go back to [my city name]!” she said with a grimace, and swatted her hand at me.

Memories of St. Louis (5b of 5): Night Previous (Last Drink).

On the way home I stopped for a gyro at a 4am bar with a late kitchen, since I was a bit hungry.

To my right were 2 (mid-20s) (white) (hipster-looking) guys, one a (thin) guy in a porkpie hat, and the other a (heavier) (slightly bearded) guy in dark jeans and a thin red plastic-y jacket like from the 80s and thick-rimmed black glasses – and from their talk, it turns out they were both cops.

The one in dark jeans said that if he used force wrongly and killed a (black) guy, he’d pick off the parents too, rather than put up with the bullshit.

The other guy nodded and totally agreed, like the world had wounded him.

Later, the one in dark jeans said that the next time a female partner goes all bleeding heart and tells him to calm down with force, he’ll take her down to the prison and let her find good in the guys there and just stand there while she gets raped.

Again, the other guy nodded and totally agreed, like the world had wounded him.

When I was getting ready to leave, they were talking about “comrade Obama”.

Memories of St. Louis (5a of 5): Night Previous.

The night before I went to St. Louis I was out at this lounge-y urban (= black and Latino) gay bar for young folks on the west side of the city.

Several (early 20s) (thick) (black) lesbians in colorful monotone t-shirts (daisy yellow, hot pink) were twerking each other and occasionally egging each other on to put a dollar in the go-go boys thongs (2 would dance on the bar, while a 3^rd recovered before coming back and switching someone out), and some Latino (Mexican?) gay guys were doing bachata on the darkened mirrored dance floor dais way in the back.

The doorperson was a(n early 20s) very butch Latina in a b-ball jersey and slouchy jeans and a backwards baseball cap and a very masculine big diamond earring in one ear, and this big tooth-y mouth that takes up half their face like very skinny Puerto Rican guys have.

At 1am, a (Latina) tranny in a shimmery blue dress came out and lip-synched a couple numbers while everyone applauded.