Fillet of Soul

Boy, I had far and away the weirdest dream (and the strangest waking-up experience) in recent memory last night. I dreamt I lived in a humongous, ramshackle yellow house, which was filled with people, tables, and junk to the point that it looked like a giant flea market. To emphasize the weirdness, students were racing each other around the perimeter of the grounds, which was lined with a high wooden fence, on levitating pillows while solving math problems. Meanwhile, there was a white rap star there who could fly (I think his name was Aaron Boone, although upon waking, I remembered that Boone's the shortstop for the Cincinnati Reds). In this dream, I recalled being able to fly in previous dreams, which is true -- I usually fling myself to the ground and find myself floating like I'm being repelled by a magnet. In this case, though, it wasn't working. I was getting jealous of the flying rap star and really wanted to fly again.
So I finally found a piece of paper in the house that outlined the steps to being able to fly again, although it listed a catalog of sacrifices I'd have to make in order to make this happen. I only remember one -- I'd have to cut off the tip of my elbow. Regardless, I became wildly excited at the prospect of flight, and began keening in a falsetto howl until I woke up gasping for breath. And if you want to know what it all sounded like, listen to the last few seconds of PJ Harvey's "The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore," cranked up as far as your stereo cranks.
I've never woken up gasping for breath -- it was like some sort of apnea attack. And I haven't been exhilerated by a dream like that in years -- I felt charged all day, especially to and from work, with PJ Harvey blasting through my moon roof. I'm not sure what my subconscious is trying to tell me, really -- I was able to "fly" once, and will again if I give up... something? Part of my elbow? All material concerns? Is Eminem guarding a bizarre secret? Is Reds shortstop Aaron Boone? And at another point in the dream, I was trying to kill someone with a flamethrower, but I couldn't get the thing to work right. What the hell's that about? Or maybe my cat's just stealing my breath as I sleep. Jesus.