wild dogs and crackhouses

It's twilight, and some friends and I are walking past a long row of crackhouses by the bayou. The crackhouses aren't your usual broken down, boarded-up-window shacks though. They're really nice 1930's houses, big, well-maintained, clean. They just have huge heaps of trash around them, and lots of glassy-eyed people cowering in corners and on the lawns. I say lawns, but there is really just a bunch of concrete.

A bunch of trembling, dirty wild dogs walk tentatively up to us. We pet them, even though we know they're about to attack. We then slip inside the door of the nearest crackhouse and lock it behind us. The people inside are NOT happy to have us there. They glare at us. I watch through the window for the dogs to go away. Outside, a really fat man is choking on his own vomit. An equally fat police officer is hugging him from behind and laughing. The choking man bends forward into a convulsion, and dies. The cop laughs louder.

A Sassy Belt

I wake up to Kirk gently flagellating me with his member. Only it's longer than usual - long enough for him to wrap around his waist and tie as a belt.

Groovy

Tony was so impressed with the way that What You've Done was staged that he decided to do the same thing with Full Circle. Only, our cast was way too big to fit into a little Project Rowhouse. So he found a low-ceilinged ranch house out in the suburbs. He asked Kirk to come up with a new design, something to fit the architecture. Kirk covered the floors in thick shag carpetting, the walls in dark wood panelling and shiny silver, blue and brown wallpaper, and threw lots of low Noguchi coffee tables and groovy floor pillows everywhere. There was also a creek, with large river stones. All the women actors now wore the Pamela suit, unbottoned, with a cigarette dangling from one hand and a rocks glass in the other. The baby disappeared from the play. People started making out in corners and behind doors, so you could just see their bare feet peeking out.

Cities

I dreamed of cities. No people. Just cities.

everyday at the Axiom...

Computer screens everywhere. Disks littering the floor and crunching underfoot. Dammit! I wasn't supposed to walk on those. Now they're useless. I have to upgrade each of the computer screens. There are hundreds of them. I don't know how. There isn't a slot for inserting the upgrade disks, and even if there were, I've just broken half of the disks, and the other half aren't labelled.

Jumbled Mess

everything is jumbled and fading fast. What I remember:

Four IBP company members, standing in a row, on an old-fashioned proscenium stage. I can't identify which company members they are, because they all look like Spanky Hamm from Drawn Together. They're all naked except for a metal codpiece. The third company member/Spanky Hamm has a codpiece with an oversized coin slot. They are waiting for me to do something.

Kirk and I are in Hamman Hall at Rice U, waiting to see a Pussycat Dolls performance. It's important, even crucial that we get in to see the show. It's even more important that we have ice cream before we take our seats, though, so we go over to the ice cream bar even though the show is about to start. Beyond the ice cream bar is a vast meadow, complete with sun shining, birds chirping, small woodland creatures romping without ever pooping, but I need to get ice cream and go into the show, so I try to ignore the meadow and get my treat. The server is slow. It takes him forever to put the ice cream in the damn bowls. When he's done, I realize that I need some crunchy sprinkles. More waiting. More mess. It's maddening, waiting for my ice cream, but I have to have it. We miss the entire performance.

I'm at the Axiom. Tamarie comes in wearing aviator goggles, outlandish make up and multiple corsages that look like they may have been awards of some kind at a 4-H Club. She and Elaine have just gotten wasted at Rudz. She giggles and runs away, and I get out her yoga mat. The walls of the Axiom dissolve, and I'm too embarrassed to do yoga where people might see me.

Crumbling walls. Lots of mirrors that aren't actually mirrors when I get up close to them - just pieces of cheap glass leaned against a darkly painted wall. I can hear voices through vents. Are they talking about me?

Weddings & hobbits

Tamarie is living in a hobbit hole. A really nice one. Spacious, airy (as airy as an underground hole can get), lovely views of an apple orchard, hobbit-sized round windows and doors, the whole nine yards. Like all other engaged women of the world, she has been given a charge card with an endless limit, the only caveat being that all of the charges must be wedding-related. But in the dream, I notice that she is putting all kinds of non-wedding related expenses on her card, like her nice, spacious new hobbit hole, and her four shiny new leather sofas. I call her on it, and her eyes fill with tears. "But I do need these things for the wedding! I do! Can't you understand that?" I feel like such a cad.

Liquid Dreams

It was rehearsal for Full Circle. Only the baby wasn't a baby, it was a big balloon full of liquid cocaine. (again with the balloons, I know. I always have these dreams right before I wake up, when I haven't peed in over eight hours, and K is taking his shower.) Sometimes the director was our artistic director, sometimes it was Ms. Bennett, my theater teacher from my senior year of high school. All of a sudden, it stopped being a rehearsal. All of a sudden we all realized that the baby was not a baby, that it was a big balloon full of liquid cocaine, and that there were sirens outside. People rushed the stage, trying to get the ballon. They began to tear it apart, and the liquid cocaine gushed all over the floor. I started to cry, because I knew there was no way in the world we could afford to replace all that cocaine in time for opening night.

Sisyphus

I dreamed I was in a vast, navy blue room. And when I say vast, I mean enormous, cavernous, going on for as far as you can see, and yet you know that it is a room, not just empty space, and that it is dark blue. I'm hauling weather balloons full of pee from one end of the room to the other. I have to drag them on the floor because they are so big and heavy from all the pee. They keep snagging and breaking. Hundreds of gallons of pee gush out over the floor. Although I can't see faces, I know that people are looking at me disapprovingly. Hauling balloons full of pee should be such an easy task. They know it, I know it. I haul another ballon and it snags again. Over and over again.

Home Depot aliens

Earth has been taken over by a race of space aliens. Like they had with the inhabitants of so many worlds before our own, they have hypnotized our entire poulation. We all believe that we are shopping, shopping, shopping, and so happy doing it. In actuality, the aliens have set us up on billions of rows of industrial metal shelves, and stunted our bodies so that we look like furbies. They dress us all up in dirty orange Home Depot smocks, and make us sing them songs. The enslaved peoples from the other planets are there too, on their own dirty industrial shelving units, singing songs in unison, in their dirty little smocks, occasionally flapping their stunted wings and looking at each other and cooing.