At semi-regular intervals, she spoke to save her life, or something like it.
Sunday, August 04, 2002
Last night I had a dream, which was more of a nightmare. There was some general decree about the "browning" of the populace, and overpopulation in general, so women were forcibly put on birth control pills. I remember in the dream going from house to house in this neighborhood in someplace that looked like New Orleans to see if other women were complying with this, but no one would talk to me.
I refused to take the pills and was shipped off on a train with other women who were presumed pregnant. We were put in someplace that looked like a cross between a wearhouse and an old high school-- maybe a bit like the school in Dario Argento's Susperia--. We were given drugs to help us forget what was going on, and though I struggled to find a way not to swallow the stuff, eventually I started to forget. Maybe it was in the food, I thought.
But I "came to" in the dream, wandering the building. They had told us that once we had our babies (though I wasn't pregnant) they would be adopted. But I wandered into this vast storehouse filled with row upon row of dead babies who'd all been poisoned or gassed or something-- they were all extremely pale and their small faces somehow webbed over.
I woke up from this, shaken, and when I finally was able to get to sleep, the dream continued. I was in exile somewhere-- it looked like a cross between Dublin and Portland or Seattle. I lived in the basement of a hotel and had nothing. I'd lost everything while at the camp. My job was to somehow monitor this huge weather forecasting device via email, and I was always reading numbers, which meant different kinds of rain to some guy over the internet. The machine was huge, black and rotating. One day I woke up and saw piles of bodies outside, covered in blankets in front of what looked like a pizza place. I took the elevator up and two blonde girls in their bathing suits were giggling. They were on vacation. I walked through the gift shop filled with glittery clothes, like show girl outfits, and once outside, the bodies were no longer there. The sun was coming out and the buildings began to turn, revealing the interior designs, much like the cross-sectioning of doll houses, many faux Rococo, others neo-Colonial. It was a good show, and I imagined what it might be like to live in one of them.