Yesterday, I dreamed of eating entrails. My dreams throughout this move have been of dismemberment, not living up to my (still-living, in my dream) father's reknown, maggots & worms, tumors, zits, and bruises received while fighting.
I just awoke from a long dream. In it, I was Barack Obama's butler during his run for president. He was more of a college professor/unknown, than a US Senator.
But in the beginning of the dream, I was sitting around with Wurm (my ex-roommate in my previous housing) & her "husband" (maybe not Tristan - her real husband), and we were watching the same thing on 2 different TVs. It was a special on a police crackdown on sexual abusers. A friend of mine who was a police officer (or dominatrice) helped the police run a longterm sting operation on a sex club where something terrible was happening to the women - maybe enslavement, rape, dunno... I had helped her infiltrate the club, or was her client - can't recall which. Maybe there was a female cop *and* a domme. Anyway, my friend was an attractive, thin black woman.
On the TV show, I recognized my friend, and the show made it clear that Wurm had helped her break the ring that was doing these awful things to women. I called down, and said, "Wow, Wurm! I had no idea you were part of this!"
She was casual, and giggled, "Yeah, that was fun!"
"Why didn't you tell me you were part of this big sting?"
"Oh, I don't know... It didn't seem so big at the time." Now, it was a major story on one of the networks - CBS?
I realized that I had been at the club the night of the sting. I saw my friend the Domme, and was worried she would be upset I didn't recognize her and submit/grovel "appropriately", so I struggled to get her attention. She seemed to not see me at first, and then told me we had to leave... rather forcefully. Maybe she led me out by my elbow. Anyway, it felt pretty natural, since she was my Domme. Somebody questioned why we were leaving so soon, and she shut them up, perhaps by suggesting I needed to be disciplined outside.
She led me out past a velvet rope entrance area, where the police were already staging. Some officer at the door challenged her, but she revealed herself as an undercover agent, and we were let through. She explained what was going on, as police began to gather at the door. We were seated at a wooden bench just outside the velvet rope.
I meant to call some female friends (Grizel & Rowan, at least), and tease them by saying that I'd be on the nightly news tonight, with no further details. By this time in the dream, I was caught on camera as part of the sting operation (one of the good guys, luckily).
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Now, the dream shifts to my bedroom in Barack's house. Mostly I deal with Michelle; Barack isn't present much. He's someone I'm kind of in awe of, partly because I'm so impressed that he's allowed me to live and work in his house. It felt like charity to me (of the good kind), because I needed a job, and wasn't qualified for this one (I had no experience as a domestic servant).
The house front was shaped like a very flattened letter "omega": the entryway was a rather thin front room on the left "serif". The main bulk of the house swelled forward into the front yard like a giant, horizontal arch. The master bedroom was the far "serif". My bedroom was just to the right at the beginning of the swell of the center, along the front wall. (At first, however, it was at the back of this area, along the back wall.)
Barack is planning for the Democratic convention tonight. It's being held at several locations in the adjoining blocks, kind of like a street fair. Barack is going to be announced as the Democratic candidate for POTUS tonight (Hilary and the whole runoff thing weren't a part of the dream). I was coordinating several things, and had to arrange two key speakers. I decided to wing it, and just give both speeches. The first went well - can't remember details except that it was humorous, and I portrayed someone else. Then there was the keynote speech that night, and I decided to give it as Nipsy Russell, the black comedian from "Laugh-In", and recurring "Presidential candidate" (at least in my dream - much like Pat Paulsen and a few other comedians have done). I walked out, having been introduced as Nipsy with big hoopla, as though he were the actual Democratic candidate, and proceeded to give my speech ex temporare. In the middle of it, referencing Barack's unique position in history as the first African-American candidate *with a real chance of winning*, I announced that I would defer to him, and was retiring from the race for the Presidency, giving all my support to him. A bunch of flashbulbs went off from the audience, as though the assembled press were capturing this momentous point in history when the famous Nipsy Russell quit his runs for President (in other words, as though his/my runs were real, and not comedic). I began a sentence saying that "I don't think that you (the mostly-white caucus assembled in front of me) can fully appreciate what it means to finally have a candidate..." [who is AA], and choked up there. I then moved on to the next portion of my speech, as though I/Nipsy had decided that I'd gotten too personal in my speech, and wasn't prepared to continue with that part.
After what I considered a fairly short speech, the audience was suddenly alive with questions. Three people put their hands up first; then suddenly several others. Decorum mandated that audience members referred to each other with careful titles (much like Congress: "my esteemed colleague", "the delegate from ___"). One reporter asked me the first question; in it, he referred to my speech as "long and elliptical, but genuinely heartfelt." I was a bit upset that he thought it was both long and elliptical; I had judged it both short & having a straightforward arc (although, in retrospect, I realized that I erred in not preparing the speech ahead of time, relying on my extemporaneous speaking skills for such an important speech). The second question addressed his question, and so he was allowed to respond before I could reply or move on. I assured the third person, who was near me, that I would call on him next; he had been valiantly holding his hand up to assure his place in the order of questions. I knew him - he was a classmate, peer of mine, or local reporter.
He asked his question, and it continued after that with quick, short questions. The news conference/speech was over, and we began filing out of the auditorium. I was on the sidewalk, walking the half-block to my home, and expecting to get mobbed by people who recognized me as "that white guy who impersonated Nipsy Russell", but if the audience did recognize me, they didn't seem to care much. I was relieved. I had been worried that my race-bending stunt would be judged as inappropriate as black-face skits, but apparently I didn't offend.
I went home, and eagerly (if cautiously) awaited the chance to ask Barack how he felt about my speeches today when he got home.
I remembered I still had to call my friend Grizel, and now I could tease her that I would be on the nightly news for three different things tonight: the sex crimes sting, and the two "impersonation" speeches I gave. I decided to begin my conversation with "What a difference a day makes!".
Quod erat demonstradum.
For those of you who don't know, some background on the dream, and change in tone of my dreams lately… I just completed emptying the moving truck tonight - 28' plus a car trailer, the most steel I've ever commanded, and through a mountaintop snow fog at one point. I've gotten the usual bruises & strains from packing and moving, and dreaded major injury (which reminds me that I need to cancel my health insurance, now that the biggest risk period is over). Mostly, however, I think the awful-themed dreams of recent days were responses to my dread of the move in general.
I've moved in to half of a double-wide prefab home on 11 acres, rented to me for a song* by a friend while I'm unemployed. (*OK, more like: for a verse, or a couplet.)
Sharing the space with a fellow I just met from the West Kingdom who is semi-disabled (occasional arthritis), and makes really awesome leather armor for a modest living.
Derek, you should see his armor. It's not the crude cuir-boilli of yonder years, with truncated cones for limb coverings. His greaves swell over the calf, with pronounced domes over the ankle bone prominences, and all leather is first water-hardened at a controlled temperature, then soaked in a mixture of carnauba and beeswax (carnauba for its high, 180-degree melting point; beeswax for the flexibility), and finally tempered at 165 degrees again to relieve stresses. It's very nearly my dream armor of yesteryear, except that I wanted splinted greaves and gamboised, velvet cuishes.
I was in your dream? Aw cooollll!
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