There was a hillside where we, the soldiers, hung out. It was joyful to feel myself in my legs walking down and then up a hill of earth. It was a tall mound of jagged dirt at the top. There was some talk and some camaraderie. Not long and I had fallen asleep inside a warm sac. There was a sexual bit. I remember a phallus. Then a mouth sort of yelling from the outside to wake up. The war had come.
I dreamt I was floating over people being marched as soldiers. We entered a compound and there was an amnesty zone where a sport was being held. I thought of the Celtics(a team I guess?) I was filming with an old victorian accordion camera and there were broadsides of poetry and art. Michel had a piece on the counter attached to Susurrus Din. SD’s work was not supposed to be there, but it was attached to Michel’s. Someone sort of shuffled them on the counter. My friend S.K. from Philly was there in profile. The war was still on outside. An urge to leave came and then I saw a man with an M16 and a white T-shirt come in. He was getting the jump on the other side. For all the war feelings and guns, I heard no shots. I had a bad feeling leaving the arena where the poetry broadsides/Celtics game had gone on. I didn’t have my gun. Where did we leave our guns? Where was my baby? I was think this as I was inside the arena too.
When I left the arena, I climbed up in the building to escape. I saw dark-latino or middle-eastern men. They didn’t seem associated with this “war.” I felt a slight tension but they just disappeared. I needed to get out. I had rope. I don’t remember tying the rope to anything, but still I rappelled down the side into a foyer and ran off. I remember thinking I was not sure what color my team was; blue or tan. It felt like a summer camp and not a war after all. I ran off alone and didn’t rejoin the soldiers but came upon an outdoor birthday party that I was not invited to despite the realization that my sister and brother were there. My brother gave me a plate of pomegranate seeds apologetically because there was no cake for me. I arrived just in time to see it placed before his good friend Gibran. They cut the cake and I slipped away. The women were dressy and one had a scarf around her neck. I had been wearing a full-length slip as I walked up alone. I looked in the refrigerator and saw some old cupcakes. I ate nothing, save the hint of pomegranate seeds. They tasted like cranberries.
I am a police officer. It is my first days on the job, the same goes for my partner. We’re driving in our patrol car. For some reason my partner stops the car and gets out–he is holding someone in the sights of his gun. I don’t know why, or what provoked him. He fires. The man dies fairly quickly. I’m not comfortable. I don’t know why he shot. Back at the station our supervisor makes him fill out a bunch of paperwork concerning the death.
A few days later I am in a similar situation. I am holding a man in my gun’s sights–he raises his arms and he is holding a gun. I fire. The man appears to die, and I have to go and fill out paperwork.
More days pass. I am in my room (though it does not represent any room I have every had). The man I shot comes in. My partner is sitting in a car in the corner, laughing, constantly laughing. I shoot the man, and he begins to bleed out of his chest. He is cheerful about the situation, and moves to my bed. He begins to taunt me and is proud that he is bleeding all over my bed. I start to reload my gun. It is taking too long for him to die. My partner hasn’t stopped laughing. I then notice that the bleeding man is trying to put a gun together. So I grab at it and wrestle it away from him. We end up on the floor before I successfully get the gun pieces out of his hand. He returns to bleed on my bed, and my partner never ceases to laugh. I put the gun together with the intention to shoot him in the head. But for some reason I put my two guns down in order to get something. He lunges for them and gets the guns. He is weak but manages to tackle me and pin me under him. He is bleeding all over me and attempting to muster enough strength to pull the trigger. I conjure myself awake before it he manages–my partner’s laugh still in my ear as I rouse into the waking world. ♨
I dream a lot these hazy days but can hardly recall all the pictures and appearing people, situations and moods.
Tonight I was chased by a woman from a religious cult. She shot me in an open street. I knew I was already dead but still conscious. I saw everything happening around but hoped she wouldn’t recoginze.
Though I was already dead I wanted to spread signs that could lead to my murderer later. I ripped some magazines apart and threw the pasges in all directions. I also had a booklet from the woman’s organization and ripped it in pieces, hiding one part of it in my pants.
I felt no pain but that it was a pity I was dead. ☆
I’m at a huge cafe with various seating areas. It’s not quite like a cafe I know in reality but nevertheless it looks familiar. There’s rooms in the back, too.
I’m talking to someone in a car with four people in it. Suddenly I realize that the person next to the one I’m talking to is my ex-boyfriend whom I didn’t meet but somehow wanted talk to for a long time.
Suddenly I’m in the car and sitting next to my ex. He looks younger, thinner and smaller than I expected and not as mature and attractive as I expected.
I’m in a big building now and I think it’s a school. There will be people of all ages later though. A killing spree is going on, someone wants to shoot me. Probably my ex or Michel.
He has a small but long black gun. One shot kills. I think someone gets shot and I can see a small bloody hole on the person’s back. Everybody in the labyrinthlike school building, a lot of people are screaming and trying to run away.
The shooting person who is trying to catch me wears a thick dark blue and red checked shirt.
We, me and all the other people, are running through the corridors of the big building and I feel like I could get shot every second and that the gunman knows exactly where I’m going.
At some point I’m in a room or corridor with a lot of high white lockers and think it’s the best idea to just hide inside one of them. As the corridor gets quieter because the majority of people ran away I see that more strangers are hiding in the lockers and that it’s not a good idea because he’ll be able to find me there. So I start running again. I feel bad because the whole situation is my fault. I’m extremely scared.
There’s a group of people, some clearly defined characters I can’t recall now. I’m not sure if they all want to catch me or help. They are discussing and planning something, I observe them.
And start running again. Through corridors and rooms. In one room there’s a milk glass door through which I see a lot of people running on the corridor behind. Someone is in the room with me and I warn that person that there’s a glass door and that we could be seen through it.
Everything gets quiet, everybody ran away. The room I’m now in looks like inside of a factory building. There’s only the group of people who I think wants to help me left. I dare to leave my hideout. I now think that it’s my ex who wanted to catch me. But he disappeared. We don’t know to where and how and why.
I’m looking up to some kind of wooden balcony and see a face.
“There he is” I say and point at him.
Someone asks the shooter “Why didn’t you say (your name is) ‘Michel’?”
“I didn’t think of that” the person answers.
It’s a thin guy wearing a costume that makes him look fatter and like a girl, he has a blond ponytail but a deep voice.
I now realize that the whole group is against me.
Another guy has the lathy black gun and almost shoots me but the gun goes to pieces. (Like in a bad movie, I think.)
I start running again. I’m outside now. There’s a low broad stone tunnel. I can see some rails, hoardings and high grass.
I try to crawl my way to escape.
I’m positive that I’ll be able to escape but I can hardly move forward.
I don’t know how to crawl I think as I wake up because my heart is hammering too hard to stay asleep any longer. ☆