I had a dream this morning.
It started out as a work trip to some kind of a huge formal building of some description. Rich red carpets on the floor, tasteful décor. Theresa got everyone lined up to get temporary photo-passes printed. I was last in the queue, and when I got my photo taken, and walked around the corner to the pass dispenser window, what came out was a generic pass with a generic name and photo.
I said, “hey, this isn’t me”
“We’re out of passes,” came the reply from behind the glass.
“Okay, just so everyone knows,” I said aloud to the whole room, “I’m not this guy.”
So I went to join the rest of my party, but unfortunately, they had left me and I had no idea in what direction they had gone. So I picked a corridor and wandered down it. It was a huge maze of a building. Eventually I found myself entering a huge theatre – and I mean really huge, like Madison Square Garden, but all the seats facing the same direction. I wandered around looking for any members of my party and I couldn’t see any of them. Soon a voice told us the presentation was going to begin.
I sat in a seat, for some reason several rows in front of Jon Stewart. Some African ladies came onto the stage, and began talking about their country, and their noble struggle to bring democracy and women’s rights to the fore. However, eventually one of the women listed the aims of the nation’s new government, and one of those aims was “to undermine our enemy Pakistan”, a proclamation which elicited a general uproar from the crowds.
Jon Stewart then made a joke which I forget because it probably made no sense, and the women on stage seemed highly offended. I got out of my seat at this point, and moved towards a second smaller connected theatre which seemed to facing the opposite direction. Nothing was happening here, so I continued out into another corridor.
At this point, I noticed Jon Stewart was walking around in a franctic panic. Except it wasn’t Jon Stewart. Instead he had somehow turned into David Lynch.
Suddenly I was holding a camera, making a kind of documentary about David Lynch. I followed him through the corridors, as he peeked into rooms, mumbling nonsense. It occurred to me that he was so upset about offending those African woman, back when he was Jon Stewart, that he wanted to find them and apologise. I followed him down a set of carpeted stairs where he became even more agitated. We reached a set of doors with guards outside who refused to let him pass. So we returned up the stairs, and I realised I was getting sidetracked from what I was really supposed to be doing.
I decided to leave. So I found the nearest exit into the outside world, whereupon I found myself in a grey modernist car park of sorts. Looking back at the building, it seemed a perfectly smooth concrete form, subtle curves and angles abound. Also, the light seemed pale but intense, and kind of blinding.
Then I woke up and realised that was the light from my window.