once upon a time i had a dream––tell me what this means..
i’m moving through a street at dusk, trailing an indian man i don’t know but implicitly distrust. he vaults across city blocks with quiet certainty, as though he’s attuned to a geometry i haven’t learned yet. then, almost imperceptibly, he slips through a seam in the city––a concealed passageway i would have missed entirely had i not been studying, appraising him so closely..
the corridor is nauseatingly narrow, pressing in on both sides kinda like that one dream sequence in inception as it descends via a steep, dim stairwell––an infrastructural incursion beneath the visible world. i press onward as the city above me recedes both spatially and ontologically..
arriving, i find myself in a vast, dark, cement–reinforced hangar––cathedral–scale, subterranean––alongside high school and college friends. i drift through its advanced facilities, eventually opting to shower via extremely filtered water in a high–end spa, then lingering in adjoining recreation spaces—adorned with seemingly curated twenty–something women (as though vetted for aesthetic coherence), and other strangers familiar..
at some point after, my friends and i find ourselves stationed beside a doorway leading into a long, sterile corridor, an elevator waiting at its terminal—and we’re being interrogated about a crime. something in me—irrational, almost devotional—impels me to surrender, to submit to arraignment on charges i know to be fraudulent..
a security guard derides me hyperbolically––almost theatrically––mocking my fading six pack (LIES lolzz) as he cuffs me. he escorts me down the corridor and into an elevator, and in that quiet descent one cuff slips cleanly from my wrist—effortless. it dawns on me all at once that he’s acting––and i am overcome with relief..
descending to one of the hangar’s restricted floors, we are greeted by a select cadre of operators––composed and surgical—who begin to panoramically delineate the ‘broader operation’ behind the alleged crime. i’m spiritually awestruck, yet unsurprised, to discover that ‘black hats’ were long ago apprehended, convicted for their crimes against humanity—their cells scattered around us like constellations of consequence..
their leader—calm, almost benevolent—affirms what i already intuitively know: that all public figures ‘out there’—leaders, CEOs, celebrities, et al.—are actors in masx, and that ‘white hats’ are sustaining a prolonged, deliberate spectacle designed to gradually coax the public awake. everything the public sees is nothing but theatre––all of it..
before departing, he leaves me with a final assignment: one last, preeminent bad actor remains at large––and that i am to find, apprehend him..
he wishes me luck with a warm, knowing smile—his kind eyes dissolving into a bleary backstory of my awareness as i descend on hypnopompia..