(no subject)
i dreamt that the government wanted me to kill hugo chavez. they could get me the chance to meet him if i'd go through with the assassination. i agreed. i'm not sure if it was out of the thrill of a challenge - as if i wanted to be some sort of secret agent - or because i wanted to meet him. i was outfitted with razors in my boot cups and a pen that, when clicked into an L-shape, would produce insane vibrations. i think it was supposed to stop his heart somehow. there were other weapons too maybe.
when i got to the waiting room - it reminded me of the children's area at the bay city health department - i realized that there was no way i could get past the security checks with these weapons. or maybe i just didn't want to. i ditched all the weaponry and made it through. i was going to meet hugo chavez. cool, huh? here's the thing though: he turned out to be a middle-aged blond white woman - someone who might be the second wife of a least favorite uncle you only see around the holidays or something like that. i was disappointed but still definitely didn't want to kill it.
we walked in a parade, i think. there were holdups and clear impending threats. i wanted to protect instead of kill, even though this wasn't the great revolutionary leader i had been told to expect. it didn't seem to matter that much because they were going to go through with the assassination nonetheless, maybe killing the idea, maybe killing off the spectre the assassins had had to make up. maybe that was the point.
but i can't quite get my bearings in a world where pathetic drunken step-aunts become the boogeymen and inevitable sacrifices necessary to uphold . . . yeah.
when i got to the waiting room - it reminded me of the children's area at the bay city health department - i realized that there was no way i could get past the security checks with these weapons. or maybe i just didn't want to. i ditched all the weaponry and made it through. i was going to meet hugo chavez. cool, huh? here's the thing though: he turned out to be a middle-aged blond white woman - someone who might be the second wife of a least favorite uncle you only see around the holidays or something like that. i was disappointed but still definitely didn't want to kill it.
we walked in a parade, i think. there were holdups and clear impending threats. i wanted to protect instead of kill, even though this wasn't the great revolutionary leader i had been told to expect. it didn't seem to matter that much because they were going to go through with the assassination nonetheless, maybe killing the idea, maybe killing off the spectre the assassins had had to make up. maybe that was the point.
but i can't quite get my bearings in a world where pathetic drunken step-aunts become the boogeymen and inevitable sacrifices necessary to uphold . . . yeah.