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Had one of the strangest dreams this morning, I've ever had. One that both woke me up, at it's end, and with a plot so intricate and well laid out, that I lay in bed remembering, reliving it again: Getting it down, understanding it, putting a moral to it.

The dream was unpleasant and garish and had a starring role for an older woman I do not know in waking reality. Honestly, after I did get out of bed, I came here to the internet, to confirm who it was who starred in this dream.

Bette Davis.

Or, more accurately, "Jane Hudson". It was Jane Hudson in a vivid morality play in my head. Odd, I have never watched the entire movie "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?"; and it was easily over 20 years ago. There was no "Blanche" in this dream at all- but there were alot of other people whom I also don't know in waking reality.

I drempt that there was a woman whose ego was just monsterously huge and out of control; this woman, played throughout my nightmare by Jane Hudson-Bette Davis, demanded adoration by everyone who knew her. In her own mind, she could do no wrong thing, no matter how atrocious.

{There is just no language or verb tense available for describing vivid dreams. For in dreams like this one, I had a sense of a past immediately; I knew from the start this woman's bad temper, her unmatched ego, and I knew that other people in my dream also knew these things}

The woman was some kind of celebrity, but neither a movie star nor politician. But again, she demanded and expected everyone who knew her to virtually worship her; and I understood that she expected even those who did not know her to also revere and worship her, from afar?, that is the feeling I had in this dream.

The dream began with a scene which must've been a waiting area, or a dressing room where the woman, some other people and I were awaiting for her name to be called. She would again sweep out, onto a stage somewhere to graciously be. I knew that I was to praise her at that and every moment in her presence, and the other people did so too.

Next, I remember that I was expected to write something on a blue, sparkly book for her; I remember writng "You've Never Been Second to Anyone" on the blue sparkly book, in fawning tribute to this woman.

She leaves the room. I "knew" that everyone really disliked this woman; it bordered on hate- but no one dared to ever, ever tell her anything but loving praise, for fear of her supreme temper.

Next, I am in my grandmother's kitchen, where my Mamaw is making a pastry dish for this woman. My Papaw is also there. And on every wall of my grandmother's kitchen, are pictures of this woman, or little figurines of her.

And the woman appears there, in Mamaw's kitchen, and she is enraged at her. The woman steps in front of my grandmother, and swings her arm at the bowl or something, and flour goes flying everywhere. The woman is shrieking at them, my grandparents, and she tears off my grandmothers clothes in her fit of rage. She continues to throw the photos of herself and the other tributes around that kitchen at them, derisively, condescendingly. The things of my grandparents' adoration of this woman are "not good enough".
Again, she leaves that room. I begin to sweep up the flour on the floor, thinking to myself that I must not look up, and see my grandmother's nakedness, standing there next to me. I concentrated on sweeping up the mess, and looking only down on that floor.

In the next dream image, another guy my age and I are going around room to room in my own house-- we have been instructed by the woman to remove every single item which had her likeness on it. It would seem that I had alot of things-- again, pictures, figurines and even a knick-knack stand of little items of her in one corner; this guy and I went from room to room, taking down every picture, unscrewing a big plaque-like thing from my hall wall.
She had demanded that every item must leave my house.

In another room in my house, there were many people singing a song to her, and it was something like the many verses of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" song, with each verse singing a differing virtue of this woman. But I knew that not one of these people really loved her, that they only sang in fear of her. This woman stood there listening to her song being sung, as my pal and I took out things with her image on them, outside.

The last scene of my dream is the point of morality, the point of irony:
Now, instead of my house, all these people and I were in a large room in a tall building, on an upper floor, and the woman has just left our presence. But then I see that someone has shot her in the stomach, killing her, and that her body is in a dumpster, behind the tall building, in a shaded alley way. A policeman comes into the large room on the upper floor where all this group and I are, and askes us if any of us know anything about the woman's death.
A prominent man in the middle of the group, tells the officer that 'No, nobody there had anything to do with murder, that we all are rehearsing a play.

Then all at once, as if to prove to the policeman that we all were indeed, rehearsing a play, he began to sing the same song with many verses, and with each new verse, more people there caught on to what this man was doing, and they too, played along, singing verses to a song, as if it were a scene to a play.

But this time, the verses sung were not adoring the woman, but had different words: Words in celebration that she was dead. And some people danced around in circles.

This is the woman who was in all parts of my dream:

Jeez, I'm freaking out, freaking out, I'm freaking out: The dream is still going on, right now, and I've been awake for two hours now, typing out this during a thunderstorm...

The very song to which Jane Hudson, as "Baby Jane" danced to in that movie, "Manola del Avapies (Tonadilla)", is CURRENTLY PLAYING ON MY SPEAKERS, from sky.fm, the classical channel.

I hate creepy shit like this.