Death-date!

AD 2029, September 2, 2029—St. Paul, Minnesota
(From a dream)

I was at a shopping mall, a number of guests jumped into my car that one had to put herself in the back part of the hatchback area because all the other spaces or sitting areas were taken. I drove a ways, asked if we should go to a nightclub-restaurant, I wanted a sandwich, and I kind of felt everyone else wanted to dance and drink, and perhaps were hungry also. Somehow we got off course, and I got onto a one-way street, and thereafter, I got onto one after the other one-way streets, as if it was a suicide in the makings; therefore I felt I had to park the car to see how to get around this situation, and now I was with only one other person, that was in the car, the rest must of remained in the car waiting, or something (in dreams you don’t always get every detail, some are smudged by your subconscious, too hard to breath into your reality banks), and as we went through this walled section of houses, likened to a maze (I got the sensation I was the mouse caught in it), my so called friend spotted a stairway over beyond a ways—but a wall was blocking me from it and I’d have to go around that wall to get to it, but it was my way out…and I saw him climb it from a distance, then he disappeared. It was a narrow stone stairway (and a man told me to be careful as he went inside his abode—, be careful because there were many robbers about this area; at any rate, I was at a dead-end); then as I turn about, walked a few feet, perhaps twenty feet, straight ahead, I headed down a flight of steps down the stairway to go around the wall, to climb those stairs to where I figured was the way out of here, I had noticed one person approaching me, and as I went down a few more stairs to get on over to the other side of the wall, the man started coming up those very same stairs in front of me; at the same time, the fellow I saw before who told me to be careful, he was blocking the back side of the stairs, he even stepped down a few stairs—I suppose to insure I didn’t escape, but as I mentioned before there was no escape, it was a dead-end, now myself being in the middle—between these two characters, they both went inside their jacket pockets to pull something out (something I never saw) —the one in front of me, and the one in back of me, as I had looked over my shoulder for an instant, were both in the process of pulling that something out, at the same time I pulled out my 36-revolver out of its sheath, pointing it inside my jacket, as if it might be a finger, extending my jacket outward, told them two guys to halt, back off I had a gun (and still I had not seen what that something was they were about to pull out), but they didn’t believe me and each came a foot or two closer almost on top of me, and I shot a hole through my jacket, and the one in front of me dropped to his knees, the other one came down upon me—near on top of me but not quite, not sure what he had time to do to me (but I kind of felt he did something, tried something, in dreams sometimes the subconscious produces blind spots, blocks out the messy parts, tries to wipe them clean from your memory banks, fills them up with nothingness, or something less, or a little more, but nothing the conscious mind cannot endure, it is mankind’s safety valve you might say) but I shot a hole through him also, in his stomach, and he fell back.
I am not sure what the one in back of me did—as I find myself repeating myself, he did although have time to stab me, and perhaps he did, and perchance I died there, thereafter, and then the date came about in my mind, or out from within my dream mind—as if it was a flag waving in the dust, in consequence, the death-date appeared: 9-2-2029; if you’re asking how do I know it is a death-date, well, that’s a good question: because a voice said it was, because it appeared out of that blind spot I mentioned before, because that is the only thing my mind would accept, or my conscious would accept from my subconscious to replace reality for my mindful awareness, if that all makes sense (and sometimes in dreams nothing makes sense, and sometimes everything is a warning, or an unwrapping of events to be, or Mr. Death playing games, or Mr. Demon producing nightmares, but this was of course not a nightmare, and sometimes in dreams, they are desires, wishes and fears all rolled up on top of one another, on one stage to be played out, or perhaps cutups—who is to say?).
And the guests in my car, now that I think of it, were strangers, simple strangers, no more than that, not one familiar face; perhaps their objective was to keep me company on my last ride or last hurrah, and the one who disappeared, perhaps escaped knowing he better, I mean, maybe he was part of the dramatic, dreamatic, screenplay. And for the curious minded soul (like me), how did I end up on so many one-way streets to where I couldn’t turn the car around. So Death, set up a trap, provided the means to entrap me, and brought me to my dooms date, —but why, another good question?
I asked him, and he said “I ran out of chains!” (But I got the oddest feeling, or call it a sensation, he wanted to add (but didn’t for personal reasons): you’re a feisty one, and won’t come willingly, have to tire you out someway first. In any case, if there is any truth to this, and I doubt it, I have another 20-years to live, and that’s a bargain anyway you look at it. )

No: 479 ((9-25-2009) (from a dream))