Another strange dream, or I guess I should just say dream as they are all strange in their own way. I was frequenting a parlour to smoke with friends while travelling. At one point, my stash fell out of my pocket while on route to a specific safe place to spin and blaze. I walked back looking for it and found a group of younger kids burning near the entrance of the place, which seemed a little bait. I confronted the one I knew had my stuff. He had a guilty look on his face. A girl defended him saying I didn't know he had my stuff. I told her I did now because she wouldn't have known about my stuff from the way I confronted them. I said it was cool as long as he would smoke me one. He said cool and I took his stuff and went to spin, but then narcotics officers came around to my special place and I had to run. I got away, but then they came back and I had to run some more. I stashed the stuff under a couch while they weren't looking and then ran for it. I had to throw these guys over my shoulder to slow them down so I was running and grabbing arms to throw bodies. Which is the end. The plot is not so interesting from my angle of presentation, but the tension I felt during the course of the dream was beautifully real. You can only live your dreams on certain levels of 'real' I feel, and that emotional level is one that keeps pushing through. Is tension an emotion?I went to Ben's final class at Improv. and Playmaking or something, and I watched his class' last day presentations of their four week assignments. An interesting place to put myself in for observation. I really like performance, but I love the raw and amature that I feel gives the boldest and most awkward metaphors of communication.
Always with the green devil under a lung or two and pushing from scene to scene.
PEACE - Tristan
before || after
