last night i dreamt of the same weird anal-raping-big-scary-guy�only this time he was roughly stimulating my clitoris, very roughly.

also dream 2:

i am packing lunch with mr.p (aka mypartnerincrime) and m, sandwiches of various types and juice boxes. we are on the move, and must catch the last school-bus out of town. there is about a four mile walk to the bus station and we pack bags�make the journey on foot. part of the way there we need to cross a series of train tracks (at least three in a row), and halfway through the gates come down and all of the trains approach at once�alternating direction.

there is barely enough room in between the trains to lay down and not be struck. m has crossed safely, i have just begun and mr.p is in the middle. mr.p jokingly crouches on the tracks in-front of me, winking and being his mischievous elven self. i turn left just in time to see the train directly there and speeding past, just in time to duck. over the sound of the train i cannot hear my screaming, but i know i am, for it continues long after the train has passed. i look around wildly for mr.p�s body and see nothing but stone and cinders.

a hysterical laughing from in-front of me, and i realize mr.p and m are safe and together on the other side of the tracks. the joke worked, just as he planned. it is very funny for them, but i am left disturbed and shaking.

and, ooh, another dream:

i am at some museum, similar layout and floor-wise to the warhol, with my TT. it is a field trip for school, during the week, and slightly crowded � we make the best of it. there is nothing but wonder in this museum, and amazement. we find ourselves on a floor completely devoted to huge structures wandering around on their own, almost clouds, but more like small mountains, hundreds of pounds and made of plaster hovering above the floor, suspended from the ceiling by long, steel cables.

these sculptures are unpredictable and dangerous. many people are knocked down around us, but we take in the natural rhythm of the area and sway back and forth with the sculptures. one can interact and actually become part of the exhibit, changing the way the structures move.

there are also independent sculptures, alive and moving about the floor. one of these sculptures reminds me of the degasballerina, four feet tall and cast completely in white plaster -- walking around the floor among the people. she seems lost as i watch her wander, museum patrons step back from her slightly afraid and wary. she walks up to me and looks up with vacant plaster eyes, but somehow pleading. i pick her up, cradle her in my arms as a small child and she nuzzles her plaster cheek into my neck, her arms crossed palms-up and unmoving in her lap.

TT and i stroll around the floor and i hum softly, smoothing back her sculpted hair, feeling her lightness and slight movements. she is almost catatonic, a gentle and lost little girl, retarded, innocent and so beautiful in her ignorance.

the sculptures are alive. it is part of the exhibit, and though other patrons around me are shocked that i have interacted, they also understand that it is meant to be that way, although it is something that they, themselves, cannot do.

after a period of time, we decide to explore other floors and i leave the sculpture to herself, watching her wander off among the others after i let her go.

on the movie floor we see myformadibleopponent, and decide to sit with him in the theatre. the theatre is stadium seating, , but only seven or so seats across, long and thin. halfway up the theatre is a wall of thick glass, separating the front half completely. we sit in the second row of the upper half of the theatre.

TT goes in first, then myformadibleopponent then me, sitting on the end. the seats are extremely comfortable but move amazing amounts when sat upon. in this way all of the people in the theatre lean back on each other and become part of a crowd instead of individual selves. this we accept as part of the exhibit.

as we become more comfortable we drape our legs down over the seats in-front of us. just before the show starts two men in their early twenties sit in-front of myformadibleopponent and i. they lean back and snuggle in, the boy in front of me adjusting my legs over his shoulders and his head up against my crotch. i am surprised, but again accept it as part of the exhibit.

the film starts, flashes of pictures and color for and indeterminate period of time. at the end, half of the people in the upper section light up cigarettes as quickly as possible. myformadibleopponent lights one for himself beside me, TT does not. the boy in my crotch shaking-ly fumbles one lit for me, an offering, and i accept it to his great pleasure. all of the smokers are then quickly and roughly thrown out of the theatre, and out onto a balcony on the side of the museum.

part of the exhibit? perhaps, but i notice that TT is frowning at me for getting him kicked out and accepting the cigarette. i decide to finish exploring the museum, leaving him to watch the remainder of the film.

i make my way back to the calming sculpture floor and look for the little ballerina girl. in the process of looking i notice that i am changing. i am shorter, and completely red, dressed exactly the same as the ballerina, but a red version, curly hair intact. i wander around, interacting with the patrons in ways, but they all back away from me.

some members of my extended family are there and they recognize me, talk at me and try to get my attention. i wander and ignore them, rudely, but knowing that it is part of the exhibit and my duty. after a few hours my rents are there, and in talking to them i snap out of my trance, try to explain the mysteries and wonders of the art in this museum, the sculptures on this floor. i ask them not to let on to the rest of the family that it really was me and then i leave them there, running back to the middle of the large sculpture floor.

the museum is closing and barricades are being put up at the entrances to the different floors from the stairwell � these are barricades that the sculptures are unable to pass but which are now being re-enforced so that people are unable to go through them as well. i am unable to find the ballerina, although i still resemble a red version of herself. i glance through one of the barricades and see a perfect and beautiful white violin shattered next to an exact copy of itself in red. i am at a loss without the ballerina, without our violins.

*pshew!*

it was that dream that woke me at 6�made me come into work almost an hour early to type and type�that dream that caused me to sob into my sheets, and to think and circle think and whir.

interesting to think where they came from. went to see a disturbing movie last night, smoked a cig after (even though i am still a tad ill), could not get a hold of TT when i got home from the walk�the scary and fearful walk, my mind racing and slightly panic-ed, my back aching and throbbing from emotion as i dialed and dialed again to *beep*beep*beep* busy signals that i know were untrue, damn indiana. sometimes dreamscapes can be traced to the exact moment in a conversation, the exact idea...and sometimes they seem to just morph out of nowhere.

they run away with these emotions, they do, especially in the dark.

next time i will drive down, silly though it may seem, yes.