dreamsDreams at Brunswick Gardens

March 6, 2007

I sit in a backyard with a group of friends. In that circle I only recognize Stephen B. and another person who resembles a combination of two other friends (Pod and Jonathan). Stephen excitedly asks me, “how is your trip going, Russell?” I start talking to him about it as the combined person has to leave the group circle to begin setting up for a rehearsal. As I talk to Stephen, I realize that I’m still on my trip, so I must be dreaming.

As three circus performers show up to rehearse, I walk over to a large, raised circle made from small pieces of wood. Ropes have been tied across the structure. “It’s flimsy, but it’ll work,” the combined friend tells me.


A race is on so I ride a motorcycle contraption and try to keep up with the leaders. We hit traffic, so I begin to dart through cars. Things become quite dodgy when I approach a car with a snow shovel sticking out of its back window. I get by and the race ends up a hill at an old 70s-style suburban house.

At the house, people try to vie for the racers’ attention. One man draws focus by taking a dart-like object and throwing it into the air. Like a camera that follows the object from behind, we watch the thing defy gravity and travel out into the solar system. The dart-thing then turns around and heads back down towards the planet.

Another man then gets our attention by calling us into the house. Once inside he begins to give us instructions for our next course of action.


Something strange is happening in the old brick building by the old mortuary. Limos drive up, well-dressed men walk in with thug security guards. Pick ups and deliveries happen at odd hours.

Eventually, one of the workers at the mortuary disappears for a few days. He turns up and isn’t acting like he normally does. I then notice a huge, deep slice under his left butt cheek. Shocked at the fact that he ignores the wound, I call 911. While on the line I find out that a second mortuary employee has gone missing. “They must be harvesting organs,” I say to myself.