Night of April 14, 2017. Friday. There is a quickly perceived backstory of two unknown men. There is an awareness of each man being dressed somewhat as Zorro (though this is not fully perceived as such in my dream). It does seem that a couple masks are quickly removed prior to the last part. One man is at a table in a restaurant, though in semidarkness. I do not seem directly involved. The two men look nothing alike. One is much slimmer and taller. The slimmer man enters the restaurant and stands near the table. As the slimmer man looks down with his face very close to the one sitting at the table, he exclaims, “What the h— is this?” with both puzzlement and mild anger. Both men have identical sets of symmetrical and parallel scratches on their face (as if the marks were made on purpose), some coming out diagonally (and upward) from near each eye, some mostly horizontal on the cheeks, some down around near their mouth. They look at each other curiously, each perhaps thinking one is impersonating the other. The marks mostly look like cat scratches, and about half are still red. This is some sort of odd coalescence factor, probably the preconscious and the emergent consciousness personified in an oddly projected or secondary way. (I did get the brief impression that I was looking at myself even though neither man looked anything like me.) (There is possibly influence from Balthazar in “The Scorpion King”, a 2002 movie, though the appearance is very different.)
I'm somewhere in Asia, I get the feeling it's Japan. I am driving around in my boyfriend's white corvette. It's kind of an old school model but he's put a black light under it. I'm driving in the snow on some sort of hilly or mountain area, and the car is all over the road, mostly out of control. I notice that I have next to no fuel left. When I get home I immediately get into a fight with my flatmates, about some task we are supposed to do. It's something to do with making small doll's faces/heads. I freak out on them all and stomp off to the bathroom to wash my hands. I suddenly notice my hands, and stare at my fingertips, which look completely normal except for a lot of dark scratches on the fingertips. The shower door to my right opens and and a girl is there, giving me a dirty look. I try to explain that I didn't know she was there, then bend down to splash some water on my face. She and her wheelchair bound boyfriend jump out of the shower and run giggling into the living room to put on their pants in front of the other flatmates. I call them hypocrites. Flash forward to return of my boyfriend (an Asian guy I have never seen before). We're fighting outside the Flat, on the street. I'm complaining about my situation, telling him he's gone to America to bed blond bimbos while I am left here to suffer. He says it's not true, then looks guilty as I point out the lipstick on his collar. He changes the subject by laughing at me that I only have 70 cents of fuel in the car. I demand he come back and help me get better connected to get a better job and place to live. I know no one there. I came there for him. He says I should work as a cleaning lady, and I ask him if that's all I am worth.
Recent Comments
