Friday, March 16, 2018


Here’s a dream from last night.

I’ve acquired an antique glass terrarium of sorts, octagonal with multi-faceted panes, about the size of a large platter. At some point it was fitted as a diorama, with dinosaurs fixed in one corner and, opposite, suspended from the top, two figures and a small dog. I understand the narrative to be that the dinosaurs were going to attack but these godlike anime figures appeared inverted from the sky and stopped them; they all remained forever frozen in a standoff. I consider donating the terrarium to the museum that employs me, but I wonder if anyone will appreciate it as I do.

Walking through the museum, I find a new wing has incorporated the terrarium, now enlarged to a courtyard. This seems sudden and unwise; when was this decision made? Others have also wandered into this space, which isn’t cleaned or equipped for visitors. The dinosaurs are in the far end, the inverted figures overhead, still locked in their standoff. I notice an ice cream parlor to the right. I’m worried that this indicates more rushed decisions. Entering the parlor, I see that the tables are occupied by mannequins as a life-sized diorama. This puts my mind more at ease.

A figure darts through the parlor. I follow him upstairs into a hidden area. I lose track of him and wander early twentieth century period rooms that seem lived in, with scattered clothes and unmade beds. I notice a young man in a loft bed. He’s nude, blonde and angelic. I’m very aroused by him. He has an erection. I invite him to come from the loft to join me. We begin to kiss. He pulls back, angrily, to say he’s waiting for his boyfriend. We return to kissing. He recoils again and repeats that he’s waiting for his boyfriend. I pull back and suggest that he return to his loft to wait, which he does.

In another room, I encounter two women waking in beds. One is dressing for her job as an usher. The other is buried in bedclothes. She stretches free; I see she’s nude, with long red hair. Her roommate chides her to hurry or they’ll be late. The nude woman complains that she’s “too itchy from desire” as she wriggles uncomfortably. I offer to rub her body. She thanks me. As I do so, I cup her genitals, rubbing gently. She responds pushing against my hand and orgasms. She thanks me and vanishes back into the covers. I realized as I touched her that she was waxy. I now know these people are Edwardian automatons. I feel protective of them. I don’t want them to be bothered. I also realize they are programmed to behave in these ways: the boy in the loft waits, the roommate readies for work, the redhead needs to get off.

I come across a child’s birthday party. I know the children are also automatons. A one-man band has arrived to entertain them. I can see that he’s human, like me, so I’m concerned that he’ll disrupt things. I stay for a moment. When I see that he’s taking care of the children, I move on. I come across a meeting of concerned citizens discussing life now that they are attached to the museum. I’m aware that their concern is also programmed and superficial, but determine that while pointless, it is of no harm.

An interloper runs through the space. I follow chasing him. He dives under a bed and tries to vanish under the covers. I pull him back. One arm and part of his head had vanished into a hidden well. When I retrieved him, those body parts were missing. I realize he won’t be whole unless I allow him to escape. As he does, I see that he’s become an animated figure descending a beanstalk. I capture the well and bring it outside with the intention of preserving it as a possible escape route for the automatons.

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