Lovesick Singalong.
Had a Sleep No More dream last night, after invoking the memories of all my usual little dream beasties & besties. Or rather, a Punchdrunk dream, since the context of the dream was that there was a new immersive show. I think the only part of my dream that ties in to my own personal mythology was when the militant Harlequin came out of the red drapes to give me a glass of chartreuse, which I promptly drank & used as a crutch to explain why the rest of the events were so fragmented. You met at a bar on the docks; the ocean lapping at the wooden prominence jutting out over it as martinis were served. That location was stable, the sort of quasi-Manderly, because I ended up there when I was accidentally ejected. The actual show started with a great deal of menace. You are drinking terrible alcohol with teenagers in a storage locker, or garage. It is filled with broken lawnmower equipment, blades ready, tools & sharp edges. They blindfold you, & lead you through the labyrinth of sharp metal objects, Wire Mother's garden-- maybe I was wrong, maybe the Frequency was on-- & they take the false wall away & you are inside. The space is fluid; a huge underground water reservoir, emptied & filled with Twin Peaks-esque red curtains. The curtains are heavy enough to be a barrier to passage & more to the point, they move, connected to motors far above. The maze is ever shifting. Outside of the first "room" I start in, I hear dozens of horses riding past; outside, a science-fiction Ceasar rides in a parade, back from the war. There are girls all in green dresses, nymphs flittering about, kallisti apple tossing like, even. There are mythologies at war under the red tent, I think, but I am drunk. I loose my way, end up outside, but an usher finds me sitting at the bar, harried-- "they're looking for you inside, sir! You're on!"