Last week, I had a dream where I found myself in a room with a dead, decomposing body. In a completely unrelated note, this post should substantially increase my site traffic among moronic killers. But more on that later.
First of all, I feel it’s important to note that in my dream I wasn’t responsible for the dead body becoming dead. I say this because several years ago, during my fruitless screenwriting years, I came up with a story where a down-on-his-luck writer concocts a screenplay about a writer planning a murder spree in Hollywood. Sorta like “Taxi Driver” meets “Adaptation”. In my story, the murderous screenplay is so convincing, and written in first person (as much as a screenplay can be written in first person), that the police suspect that the writer is actually planning a murder spree. The writer goes on the lam, the script is stolen by a scumbag producer, and the writer is driven to engage in an actual killing spree.
So if you’re following along, I was writing about a fictional writer, who was writing about another fictional writer, who was suspected of being not-so fictional. It was confusing enough that if my story should come true, and the police came across my story and thought it was an actual murder plot, I didn’t think I’d be able to convince them that it was fiction. My outline looked like the notes of a serial killer and/or the disturbed cop hunting him down. I became so paranoid of the trap I was writing for myself that I was too afraid to actually write the thing. And this was before Columbine and 9/11. I can only imagine how today’s law enforcement would react to it.
With that disclaimer out of the way, in my dream, I find myself next to a seeping dead body and must figure out a way to get rid of it. I often have labyrinthian dreams, so in typical fashion, I spend the next two-thirds of the dream wandering around in a mild panic, trying to solve the puzzle. Except when I finally figure out what to do with the dead body, I go back to the beginning of the maze to find out that the body is gone. Somebody else has taken care of it.
It was a vivid dream, so I’ve spent some time trying to figure out what it means. I’ve come up with these options: a) I need to stop accepting responsibility for other people’s problems (a reflection on my current occupation); b) I’m too worried about solving problems that aren’t that aren’t as insurmountable as they seem; or c) I’m feeling guilty about something.
And none of this is something I was planning to write about here, until I heard a story on NPR about a family that was caught planing the death of an older relative. The smoking gun used against them: their Google search history, which included nuggets such as “top 10 ways old people die” and “how to kill somebody.” I instantly thought of my dream and realized that this would be a great way to generate traffic for my blog: I’ll start writing posts like “How to Hire a Hitman” and “The Best Way to Make it Look Like An Accident.”
Then I’ll just wait for the FBI to show up at my front door.[social_share/]