(no subject)
• going to a party. the "house" consists more of a few stage flats and a stairs, the skeleton (or rather bits of the anatomy divorced from function) of a house. I don't know the host, an older woman, typical arts scene people (even though I don't tend to get invited to parties held by people of that age group,) I think. a certain WL person I want to avoid stands around on the first floor. first instinct to bolt but I ignore him. I stand around in the kitchen on the second floor. have a vague impression perhaps of a 19th century iron machine like a lathe or a mangle.
out on the street (time has shifted to the day time) I easedrop on two police (who I can't see, as if they have no visible form) talking about some sort of containment policy here just like in Greenwich Village. I take that to mean they have intercepeted a terrorist threat in both cities and not told the public. as soon as I get home I will post news of this online. except what about the consequences? perhaps by alerting other civilians I will also alert the terrorists to the operation.
(it occurs to me now but not at the time that last night I dreamt of reading a news story about the detection of radiation at a harbor in NYC implying the discover of an un-activated dirty bomb. the news story in the dream had no fantasy content whatsoever. it seemed totally factual. I think I saw it in a hypnagogic state.)
at some stage I fixate on a blue-gray color of the sidewalk or something and go lucid(?) a false awakening may have happened between this part and the next.
• standing around in the same building where they had the Boston Visionary Art Cell opening many years ago. for some reason I stand around thinking of action figures. a long-haired man in a motorized wheelchair passes me by. on the rims of the wheels or elsewhere on the wheelchair he has florescent green rims. somehow I have transgressed his dignity. this leads to a series of events to expiate myself. like skipping forward through a movie on DVD this turns into Euro-horror psychodrama. I have turned into the protagonist, a woman who, at first acts as the slave of the man in the wheelchair unwillingly and then more and more comes to participate in masochistic rituals on her/my own volition (if you can call it that).
sitting on a couch, in the same position as the one at my place, a banal living room. lurid rich colors. a young woman sits wearing a jet black bob hair cut and what looks like a mask of blood. actually she has flayed the skin away from her face. she stares unblinking. that leaves me to do something even worse to demonstrate even deeper loyalty or repentance.
(and no, I would not class this as a nightmare.)