PJ's Personal Archives

Journal Excerpt [table for 700]

{October, 1994}

Last night I had a total sci fi dream. Wow. There was this planet that was being set up as a work station, with buildings here and there... it was going to be like, many men would come there for 3 to 12 month contracts and live and work and then move on. It wasn't a place where people would live normally, except the workers and people who worked as support for the men, like keeping the buildings, food, management and such. I was some kind of manager and I was going to be living there.

There was a big deal about having some huge tables, one so large that 700 men could sit and work at it. (Odd.) I kept saying, You could never get a table that big, I insisted they'd have to have little ones, but the 700 number was some big deal.

Then I realized, all those men together in one place, no families with them, temporary assignments, what the place really needed was a good call girl type service. So I proposed it to the boss and became a madam, and began hiring girls for the occasion.

Then it was the end of the dream, as if it were the end of the project and the need for that planet, and I discovered that I and others who had lived and worked there for what seemed like eons had actually been wearing "skins" over our heads, like human skins of a normal face and such, and underneath our faces were similar but "real" while the outside hadn't been.

We weren't quite identical, not quite human like here, but very close. I didn't know why I'd been wearing the mask and hadn't realized I was. I had been working there and wearing the mask too long though, and I knew that I was beginning to "crumble" physically underneath the mask and it was about time for me to... I'm not sure, maybe die?

So I took off my skin mask and discovered that my real face underneath still had a deep gash along the right cheek that apparently I had received just before I put on the skin all those years ago... it had never really healed.

The dream was smooth until then. Then it ended, and I changed, and it all seemed to become more like a normal, if chaotic, dream. I have chaos dreams as "tag" ends to more linear dreams regularly, don't know why. There was a gun or guns involved... and a girl (I think it was that Courtney Love rock star, the trashy blonde one) there who said something to me quite mildly, calmly, looked at me like I ought to know, and then shot herself in the head. OK I admit that part was really weird. I'm sure there's some cosmic meaning in all this but I am terminally stupid about things that relate to me. I can counsel and have tremendous insight into total strangers and friends but damned if I can figure out what it means when I trip over my own feet.


Maybe I should mention that briefly after the above dream, Courtney's husband, Kurt Cobain, shot himself in the head. Maybe this is completely unrelated, maybe not, but since I had zero interest in either one of them or their music, I think it must be. The publicity that generated was huge, so maybe I'm just picking up bits and pieces in some mass consciousness, some astral stuff, and weaving them into my dreams? I get media-related things in the "chaos tags" at the end of dreams regularly. But why can't I get good stuff, instead of tragedies?


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