I had a very strange dream a few days ago. It was very long, and I cannot
remember the earlyer stages. When I woke up I had the distinct feeling that
it was the continuation of an earlyer dream, or maybe even more than one
dream.

The earlyest bits I can remember involved a doctor in a mobile surgery in
the back of a very hi-tech bedford van. The doctor and I were investigating
some sort of secret conspiracy in a large tropical shanty town (like
bangkok, but wet and muddy).

At some other stage there was a south american witch-doctor (stern faced and
quiet, emmiting an aura of ancient wisdom), who gave me a magic talisman. It
was a fish-hook, with red feathers. The fish hook looked like it had been
made out of the hard facial scales of a fish, and was so finely crafted that
it looked like it had naturally grown that way. We were in a punt on an
amazonian river surrounded by jungle, and I was having lots of success
catching fish by trailing the hook like a lure with no bait. I cant actually
remember catching anything, but I felt like I was having success.

Then there was lots of people on the punt, including my family. My father
has the tendency to crack jokes about contriversial issues to de-fuse
potentially tense conversations. Usually this works, but sometimes it
offends. My father started to tell a funny story that was obviously going to
offend the witch doctor. Like telling a sexist joke in the presence of a
staunch feminist. Every one was trying to subtlely tell him to stop, but he
just continued, getting more and more stubborn about finishing his story. So
I hit him in the face. He turned angrily to me and said "Well, someone had
to say it".

The next bit I can remember, I was back in the shanty town, the doctor had
disappeared under mysterious circumstances. I was with another doctor, who
was a hopeless alcoholic derelict. We were getting drunk in a sleazy asian
bar (dirty, dark, and with lots of shady characters).

At this stage things get hazy, but the next thing I can remember, I was
laying on a dissection table in a strange room, with my stomach all opened
up. I felt as if the room was very alien. There was someone or something in
the room with me, and it (it seemed masculine, but not necessarily human)
was doing something with my intestines. I asked it where I was, and
whether I would be all right. It said in a condescending manner, "Yes, there
will be no more pain, especially with your endorphin levels", and it tore my
intestines where they attach to my bowel. It didn't hurt, but I felt like I
had been broken.

Next the thing was leading me down the muddy streets of the shanty town. I
was trying not to drop my intestines on the ground, and I was finding it
hard to breath without them slipping out. We passed a dark side street where
I saw the derelict doctor getting drunk in the mud with some other derelict.
The thing left me, and I went to the doctor.

I said feebly to the doctor that I wasn't feeling too good. He gave me a
very serious and sober look and said "I bet you've been gutted and cleaned
like an animal". He had the knowing tone and conviction that implied that he
had seen it before. I had the feeling that this had been the fate of the
first doctor in the bedford van.

He then started to lead me away to his dirty surgery somewhere, giving me
encouragement that I would be OK. I felt like I would survive, but I would
never be the way I was before.

At this point I woke up with my stomach muscles so tense they were almost
cramping. That afternoon my girl-friend told me our relationship was over. I
felt like I had been gutted.