Note from Johanna: Sometimes the unconconscious mind calls on a rich tapestry of abstruse symbols and signs to make a point. Sometimes it's a subtle as a halfbrick to the head. This is one of those latter times. Weirdness abounds.
Rumble, Thud - What?
at a house - not my own - visiting with a friend. I had intended to be
hanging out with MG, but in one of those moments of dream re-casting, I
blink and it's now RH sitting on the sofa and bitching about his job.
I'm sprawled on the floor, lounging on a sheepskin cushion and playing
with a cat and listening to the wind pick up as a storm blows in. The
sun has just gone down, but it becomes dark much more quickly than
usual as a thunderstorm asserts itself.
It's a dry
storm, with only a little wind, but a lot
of thunder and lightening. During one of the breaks in the cacophany, I
rather sheepishly admit that I'm scared of loud thunder. Far-off storms
in the spring aren't a problem, but the wrath-of-God stuff right over
my head unnerves me. RH makes fun of me, a bit, but I can tell by his
expression that his mind's on something else; he's worried about
something and it's not the storm.
A few moments later, I realize that what I
had thought to be a quieter rumble of thunder isn't, as it's getting
louder and is following a steady, almost familiar cadence. I'm
confused for a moment and then I remember something. The house is near
a levee (or perhaps a small dam?) and although it doesn't seem like
much rain has fallen, the levee has let go in a serious way. The storm
might not even have anything to do with it, but that's doubtful.
I look at RH, both of us realizing that
the house is not going to
survive what's about to hit it, nor is there any way we can outrun it -
not a pleasant moment.
I make some bitchy comment that my friend should have wondered as to
why the property was suspiciously cheap when he settled here and, in
fine nothing-left-to-lose tradition, grab him and plant one on him. I'm
thinking it's better to die do something fun rather than in a
death does not manifest. The narrative does a hard cut - no transition,
no explanation - and I'm walking around an arcology. The building is
vast, housing several thousand people, and is almost totally self
contained. It seems that society in general got walloped by Mother
Nature in the last scene and, in the aftermath, this arcology thing
struck the Powers That Be as a good idea. I'm not one to judge, as I'm
not more than a medium sized cog in this machine.
I'm also supposed to be blind, but I'm
not. The Huge Disaster - whatever it was - left a large percentage of
the population without sight. Approximately 2/3 of the women and 1/3 of
the men can't see and are looked-after by the state to one degree or
another. I know that I - like many others - hold a regular job and
manage to maintain a middle-class position for myself, as evinced by
the level of the arcology on which I reside. My socio-economic status
is also indicated by a necklace that I'm wearing (not a choker or a
collar, just a regular chain) as the color and link-type of the
necklace describes my status (and my physical state) to anyone who sees
me. At the moment, I'm wearing a broad, silver, 'herringbone' type of
chain. It's what I usually wear.
I'm not sure why I'm pretending to be
blind - I just know that it's important. I think that if I'm discovered
to be sighted, I'm doomed some Handmaiden's
Tale-esque fate of churning out healthy children for the next
generation, or something.
I'm heading down towards the lower levels
of the arcology. Only the upper-classes can go down there - and from
there, outside - so I don a 'disguise' that will get me past security.
I simply step into the shadows and switch my modest silver chain for
one of oversized gold links (it reminds me of a mayor's chain of
office) and drop the blind act. From that point forward, all doors are
open to me.
I come to a secret room, buried somewhere
in the basement of the complex, and there I meet a group of friends who
are hoping to foment rebellion against the Powers That Be. The societal
order has been imposed on us, and we're not happy about it. Looking
around the room, I see people that I game with in real life, and I
vaguely wonder if this wasn't all some very sophisticated LARP. If
that's the case, everyone is well in-character and the meeting gets
underway. The plan at hand features disrupting some big outdoor
event, one to which only the priveleged upper-classes are allowed to
attend. The idea doesn't involve me at all, so I space out for a bit
and, having removed my 'status chain' (as we all have because
revolutions are all about egalitarianism, doncha know), someone - RH -
makes a crack about what use is a blind person going to be in the
revolt. I had defaulted back into my blind-act, through force of habit.
AB starts to step up to my defence but, wanting to look after myself, I
rather tartly cut RH down and mention that the rebels are going to need
the support of the genuinely blind,
sooner or later, so knock it off with the wisecracks.
meeting winds down from there, and I depart feeling unsatisifed and not
reassured that these lofty aims are actually going to get us anywhere.
Holiday Camp From Hell? Not For The Clients!
I have taken up residence in a place that resembles a 'motor court' that would have been the groovy, cutting edge of motel accomdations in the mid 1950s. The camp - because that's what it is - is small collection of boxey two-storey buildings, surrounding an emerald green lawn and the obligatory swimming pool. The buildings are in good shape - new paint on the walls, bright glass in the oversized windows, but that's where any resemblance to normality ends.
The camp is
something like the Stepford Wives
meets the tacky men's magazine of your choice. The staff is
entirely female, the clientele is all male. The establishment is run by
two women who utilize a combination of Prussian efficiency and
bondage/discipline to keep the staff (and sometimes the clients) in
line. Apparently I've ended up there at the request of my family
because it's a better place to find a husband than finishing school -
sorry, Alex, you were nowhere in sight.
enjoying my 'employment' at this place, despite the fact that the
business seems to be accepted by the community and most of the clients
are pleasant, middle-class chaps looking for a bit of pampering and,
okay, wild sex on the weekend. I'm constantly trying to determine a way
to escape the place (short of marriage) but the ladies--in-charge have
thwarted enough attempts to stop any of mine before I start. At this
point, I'm being passed between them like a pet project and that's all
you're getting for prurient details, lest I startle a random websurfer.
concludes with a camp activity. All of the clients - all of them, this
is a mandatory event - are sitting on chairs or reclining on
sun-loungers on the lawn. Every fellow has been given a snake to hold
and never mind if you're not too keen on snakes. The ladies-in-charge
are quite the herpetology fiends, it seems (no comment). One chap is not enjoying the exercise, even
though the snake he has been handed - a rather fine red python with a
feather-like crest of scales running from between its eyes to halfway
down its back - is quite friendly and almost kittenish. At a nod from
one of the bosses, I pick the snake up - he's a bit unwieldly at almost
five feet long - and walk around with him making some comments about
how all the snakes have different personalities, which they do. As I
walk around, some lazy boa-types are just draped around shoulders,
whilst other snakes are playful as puppies, in their way. I stop by to
let the red crested python visit with his littermate for a second (who
looks exactly the same, but black rather than red) and then the dream
ends because a cat jumped onto the bed...
Tell me your dreams