Conspiracy and the gym
May. 1st, 2021 06:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
boccaderlupoI dreamed the U.S. was invaded by aliens. This was likely prompted by a couple of recent news stories.
We lived in a kind of postapocalyptic prisonscape, in which humans had been effectively enslaved by the beings, but not everyone even acknowledged their existence! (These latter folks maintained we were just crazy and believing the "fake news" and the government.) People were compelled to stay at home and could pretty much only travel with "hall passes" and visas. It was unclear whether the beings themselves were extraterrestrial or of some other provenance; they looked and behaved much like human beings.
Overhead, in a dark night sky pregnant with clouds, ships like black discs whirled by. I walked the streets, collar turned up against the cold. I had become a notorious "alien killer," and I was being hunted down. There were various checkpoints along the road, but although I was questioned, I seemed not to be suspected. I met up with friends, who expressed fears for my safety.
I returned home--a rather yellow rectangular box of an apartment--to find a couple of "alien" investigators there, one male, one female. They gave me a kind of glazed, disinterested look. My apartment was roped off. They were investigating the killing of one of their kind. They had pried open the floorboards of my apartment, which was on the second floor, and were examining some traces of what looked to be clay. They were using some kind of laser scope on the stuff, which they were also sifting using a kind of sieve, all under the glare of heavy scene lighting. They asked: Did I know anything about the case? I shook my head no. But in my heart I knew that was the very place I had wasted an "alien" with the Beretta. I unconsciously patted the area underneath my armpit where the weapon formed a lump in the jacket, but the investigators didn't seem to take notice, and turned back to their investigation. As slowly and calmly as I could, i descended the stairs and took off into the night.
*
I dreamed I was in a boxing gym, a gym I've visited before in dreams, somewhere along Main Ave. in Paterson. It was in a converted tavern, complete with wood paneled walls, saloon swinging doors, and sawdust on the floor. I was acting as the de facto ref for a sparring session. One older guy, tall and wide as a house, wearing a black shirt and with a block-like head, was sparring with an even older fellow, much shorter than he with sallow skin and liver spots and a grimy, grey goatee, large bags under his eyes--the older of the two had to be an octogenarian. It was not so much a sparring match as a bad grappling match, as the larger guy would throw a single, lumbering punch and the octogenarian would clinch. I would separate them, and they would do it again. They were both sweating profusely despite the fact that nothing much was happening, fight-wise. Finally I called it off.
The rest of the gym, as it turned out, were jiu jiteros, who gathered around for a closing ceremony. I scrambled and found myself a gi and three old obis, crumpled and peeling, and tied them all around my waste. A woman said, to nobody in particular: let's get done with this, I can't wait for the hugging. Apparently, the custom was, after the bowing out ritual, there was a lot of hugging among the students.
I didn't stay for the hugging, but instead sat down against a back wall with some of the boxing guys. A friend of mine who is an expert with holding mitts was there, not saying much. Another guy was challenging him about the reality of street fights. I began to opine: "I don't think that's what [insert my friend's name] was implying. I think he was talking about those times when someone tries to impose their will on you. It's not necessarily physical, though they may be physically imposing; instead, it's psychological, where they are looming over you and using their physical presence to get you to do something you don't feel like doing." Some of the guys nodded. I thought I'd made a pretty salient point.
Then I woke up.
*
I asked what the outcome would be if I taught my daughter some of the family traditions. Got the World, inverted.
I asked whether I should teach my daughter, who is older, the family traditions at all. Got Justice, inverted.
I asked if I should let my daughter pursue a different course for dealing with her problems. Got the Empress, rightside up.
Seems pretty clear.
We lived in a kind of postapocalyptic prisonscape, in which humans had been effectively enslaved by the beings, but not everyone even acknowledged their existence! (These latter folks maintained we were just crazy and believing the "fake news" and the government.) People were compelled to stay at home and could pretty much only travel with "hall passes" and visas. It was unclear whether the beings themselves were extraterrestrial or of some other provenance; they looked and behaved much like human beings.
Overhead, in a dark night sky pregnant with clouds, ships like black discs whirled by. I walked the streets, collar turned up against the cold. I had become a notorious "alien killer," and I was being hunted down. There were various checkpoints along the road, but although I was questioned, I seemed not to be suspected. I met up with friends, who expressed fears for my safety.
I returned home--a rather yellow rectangular box of an apartment--to find a couple of "alien" investigators there, one male, one female. They gave me a kind of glazed, disinterested look. My apartment was roped off. They were investigating the killing of one of their kind. They had pried open the floorboards of my apartment, which was on the second floor, and were examining some traces of what looked to be clay. They were using some kind of laser scope on the stuff, which they were also sifting using a kind of sieve, all under the glare of heavy scene lighting. They asked: Did I know anything about the case? I shook my head no. But in my heart I knew that was the very place I had wasted an "alien" with the Beretta. I unconsciously patted the area underneath my armpit where the weapon formed a lump in the jacket, but the investigators didn't seem to take notice, and turned back to their investigation. As slowly and calmly as I could, i descended the stairs and took off into the night.
*
I dreamed I was in a boxing gym, a gym I've visited before in dreams, somewhere along Main Ave. in Paterson. It was in a converted tavern, complete with wood paneled walls, saloon swinging doors, and sawdust on the floor. I was acting as the de facto ref for a sparring session. One older guy, tall and wide as a house, wearing a black shirt and with a block-like head, was sparring with an even older fellow, much shorter than he with sallow skin and liver spots and a grimy, grey goatee, large bags under his eyes--the older of the two had to be an octogenarian. It was not so much a sparring match as a bad grappling match, as the larger guy would throw a single, lumbering punch and the octogenarian would clinch. I would separate them, and they would do it again. They were both sweating profusely despite the fact that nothing much was happening, fight-wise. Finally I called it off.
The rest of the gym, as it turned out, were jiu jiteros, who gathered around for a closing ceremony. I scrambled and found myself a gi and three old obis, crumpled and peeling, and tied them all around my waste. A woman said, to nobody in particular: let's get done with this, I can't wait for the hugging. Apparently, the custom was, after the bowing out ritual, there was a lot of hugging among the students.
I didn't stay for the hugging, but instead sat down against a back wall with some of the boxing guys. A friend of mine who is an expert with holding mitts was there, not saying much. Another guy was challenging him about the reality of street fights. I began to opine: "I don't think that's what [insert my friend's name] was implying. I think he was talking about those times when someone tries to impose their will on you. It's not necessarily physical, though they may be physically imposing; instead, it's psychological, where they are looming over you and using their physical presence to get you to do something you don't feel like doing." Some of the guys nodded. I thought I'd made a pretty salient point.
Then I woke up.
*
I asked what the outcome would be if I taught my daughter some of the family traditions. Got the World, inverted.
I asked whether I should teach my daughter, who is older, the family traditions at all. Got Justice, inverted.
I asked if I should let my daughter pursue a different course for dealing with her problems. Got the Empress, rightside up.
Seems pretty clear.
