concerts, musicals, and then .. slaves?

I’m sitting in my eighth grade math classroom. The teacher is telling us to make mini stages (that bands would play on) out of construction paper. I glance down at mine; green with random purple frills along it, and “NORAAA” written on the poorly-cut curtains. I know that it’s not going to win but I don’t mind.

I look around the room. My friend PJ’s looks spectacular; a deep blue stage with gold trim. I’m super jealous. The teacher grants PJ the winner, and he hops onto the stage. He sings a popular song (which of course, I’m not familiar with) to the sudden appearance of millions of people. They all cheer and PJ is instantly a rockstar.

After his concert, the stage is empty. Most people in the audience are leaving and the only ones staying are hopelessly drunk. I decide that I need a chance in the limelight. I quickly call the kids in my math class to assemble, and I put on a director’s headset and become the director of a play.

We start to perform, and since we’re one player short I play the lead. The play is 42nd Street (just saw this) and I start to sing and tap randomly. I have no idea what I’m doing, but the audience seems to think it’s an adaption of the very popular play. That’s fine with me.

My scene is over and a few more scenes follow. We’re mostly doing the play improv style, but one cast member knows all the words.

It is time for our biggest scene. I turn down the lights on my switchboard (located directly behind the main stage (so the audience would be able to see me, but doesn’t seem to)). I put on dim spotlights underneath six of the characters, and signal for a fog to roll in. I whisper, “Ready curtain” into my microphone, and hear back “Curtain ready”. I whisper excitedly, “Cue curtain!” and the curtain goes up. The audience cheers and there is a big number with crazy singing and dancing.

But, while the most exciting scene is going on, I hear from down below the stage pipes being sawed. I tilt my head and try to listen better. Yes, that is the right sound, but who would be sawing my pipes?

I give someone the headset to take over, and exit through a door and down the steps to the basement. Here is a door with a plastic window. The door is locked, so I (frantically) bang on the door, hoping to scare the perpetrator into leaving. I then get frightened because I can’t see anything, so I quickly turn and run back up the steps.

Returning to my post, I bring the lights back up and an older man gets on stage. Another scene begins, and I nod.

Suddenly, my cell phone starts to vibrate next to me, as if getting a text. I had thought I turned it off, so I exit out of the message to try and turn the volume down. For some reason, the volume instead goes up, louder and louder. I run out of the main stage and into (an area we like to call) Limbo, for it is where the crew hangs out with cast members about to go on.

In Limbo, a man from my church (Jim Stuz) sits with a headset, holding the ropes to the curtains. In front of him is a switchboard. I wave to him with a shaking hand and am very flustered as I say, “The volume won’t turn off! Help!”. Jim can’t seem to turn it off either, and inadvertently makes a ringtone blast through the whole stage. The actors are thrown off a bit as they glance around, but thankfully the audience either doesn’t care or really doesn’t notice.

I ask Jim to keep the phone with him as I pace, thinking out loud, “Who would tamper with my phone?”. Then I notice the ropes leading up from Jim’s station to what we call The Lion’s Den. The Lion’s Den is this platform above the stage where you can see the whole limbo, backstage, side stage, and main stage and even a bit of the basement(where the sawing sounds are coming from!). To get there, I must (randomly) cross a rope bridge. I ask Jim for the instructions as to cross one, because I’m no dummy .. I have seen a lot of movies where the bridge breaks and the people must climb up it. I do not want to die just to see the stage.

I know that being in The Lion’s Den will allow me to see the pipes being sawed, and most importantly, who is sawing them. I squeeze the ropes like the instructions tell me to, and walk across the bridge, then up a ladder, then through a tunnel, and stand in The Lion’s Den.

I see my old friend Nina (!!!) sawing. She stands up, her evil job finished, and throws the saw down. Her hair is a mess; she’s dyed it black (not the pretty, smooth black, but the kind of gross straw-like, emo black) and she’s wearing a yellow and black striped shirt with black pants. In all subconscious honesty, she looked like Odlaw, Where’s Waldo’s Waldo‘s nemesis.

She climbs up the steps and crosses Limbo, strutting herself to the backstage. I run back down.

My stage has disappeared, and in it’s place is a warehouse. There is two levels; one is a balcony and one is a basement floor. There are chains attached to the high ceiling that run down to the floor. The distance between the balcony and the floor is about three or four stories.

Hooded figures (which I recognize as the cast and crew members) are running around on the bottom floor. I am among them. We are looking for Nina, and know she is dressed the same as us … we just don’t know which of us she is. Someone spots a hooded figure on the balcony (unknown to me) and everyone (besides me) suddenly knows that that figure is Nina.

I decide to check on the balcony. I climb up using the chains. Suddenly, everyone down below thinks that I am Nina (they can’t see my face). In the confusion of me trying to explain who I am, them accusing me, etcetera, Nina slips away and morphs into a cat.

I slide down the chains and end up on the floor, but now, instead of just blank, there are ten or twelve rows of cat vendors. Kittens, cats, everywhere, and my crew and I must figure out which cat Nina is.

We decide that she’s either a creepy-looking cat with black fur or a creepy-looking cat with yellow fur. We spend hours searching, but don’t find her. I tell the others to keep looking, and, glancing at my watch, realize that I’m late for an appointment.

I am outside of an old home. The door is wide open and I must visit an old woman. There is a boy beside me from school, and he wants to go in too. I tell him that if he goes in here without knowing anyone, he will be raped. He understands, but wants to go in anyways.

We walk in and up the steps. I can see the old woman’s room, with the door open just a crack, but I don’t go in. I decide to take this boy around and show him the house. We walk down a hall and down an alternate staircase. There, he changes into one of my friends (Holly) and she looks outside. Out the window is a few old men. They look at her with interest and want her to be their slave (presumably for sex).

I warn her and plead with her not to go, but she is fighting with me and wants to get back at me. She grins and walks out, and I have to listen to her get raped. It is not nice.

I walk back up the steps and to the woman’s room. She is about to bring a man for me (an older, 78-year-old creepo) when I wake up. Thankfully.

Dreams are really fucking weird. I was thinking about leaving some of those weird parts at the end out, but then it would just feel dishonest. I hope you enjoy hearing my dreams. They’re really weird and sometimes creepy, but amazing just the same.

There was a time for a long while where I didn’t dream. Now, whenever I do dream, I am so thankful. I don’t really believe they uncover your “true feelings” about people or life. I don’t believe that they give you a window to the afterlife. I do believe that some of your conscious life carries over into your subconscious. Otherwise, in this dream, the play that I saw in awake-life wouldn’t have existed in my sleep-life. I had never heard of it before, and half of the dream was affected by it.

I’d like to think that dreams are a way of giving our awake-selves inspiration. I also think that we get rid of bottled up feelings through dreams.

I remember, when I was little and my mom just started yelling at me, I would have these dreams where I would try to hide around the house and she would come to try and kill me. In the morning, I would feel a bit better because a) I got the feeling off my chest and b) I knew my mother would never really try to kill me. Dreams exaggerate feelings so you can laugh at them and realize just how silly they are.

Dreams are like natural healers. Who needs medicine when you can just sleep?

So, if you’d like to hear some more of my dreams, feel free to let me know. I hope you find them interesting and not just a bore. 🙂

N

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~ by junkinmahcranium on July 8, 2009.

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