Fragmented

Air Force One had been hijacked, and I seemed to have ringside seats for the ass-kicking of Harrison Ford. Weird though it was, it seemed like I'd landed on the set, except it was all a live sequence and there wasn't any director waiting to yell cut. No, it was more like the real deal. And I couldn't do anything to help, or even to make a difference and take a potshot at Mr. Ford, you know, just for fun. It was like I was a forced silent witness to the fighting that was going on. Oh yeah, if I said ass-kicking I meant fighting, because he was hitting back but the dudes who were pummelling him seemed to be doing so a little more effectively...because he was spitting blood everywhere.

Then, we shifted scene to another movie, and although I couldn't tell which one it was specifically it seemed to be something out of The Fugitive. What was the common element? Mr. Ford was fighting off some other bad guys who were making him spit blood everywhere...again. And as intese as the scene was, you know, people getting thrown around and breaking furniture and other assorted objects with their falling bodies, it sucked to just be around. I wish I'd dreamt that I was eating some popcorn or something. But that's how this sequence ended...just Harrison getting messed up a bit and trying to do the same to the guys who cared to do the same to him.
-----
And then I was in a bookshop. No scenes of rumbling here, thank God, because it was nice and quiet...just the way I like a bookshop to be. I was glancing around aimlessly as I am usually wont to do, but in no time my eyes fell on something that piqued my interest. It was a book by Daniel Quinn, and it was titled "Book 8: The Insects Become One". Now, he hasn't written a book like this, but Mr. Quinn is an author I've come to respect for some pretty extraordinary ideas. I've bought three of his books so far and none of them have failed to interest me. But what about this book in the dream? I mean, Book 8? He's written about 10 books so far. And about insects? Well, I didn't glance through it, and I vaguely remember purchasing the book and leaving the bookshop to go home and read it, just before I woke up...but it didn't make sense.
-----
The last installment of this post has to do with a fragment of a dream that happened three nights ago. It involved a lot of fighting like in the Harrison Ford example, except I was on the receiving end, so to speak. It was wierd, and I didn't make much of it then, but after last night's dream I just got to thinking, "What the hell is up with all this fighting?" Anyway, it involved someone picking a fight with me, and me backing off because that's how I usually deal with these things. But this person, who wasn't familiar but seemed to vaguely resemble someone I knew eons ago, kept at it and finally started shoving me around.

On the third shove, I lost it and hit back as hard as I could. The rest of the fight involved formidable blows by both of us because we were doing a whole lot of blood donation to the sidewalk. And then I told him to take it easy because this wasn't solving anything. He seemed to back off...or at least to back off long enough for me to begin to leave. The moment I'd turned my back on him he was back to picking a fight...or re-picking it even. And I didn't understand why he was doing it, but I decided to put an end to it and made the first move. More blood donating...more formidable blows...and the next thing I knew I'd broken his arm at the elbow and was threatening to rip it off at the shoulder if he didn't cease and desist from this foolishness. And that's when I woke up, short of breath, and wondering what the hell had just gone on.