Last night I went to bed around 2am and woke up today at 10am with some very clear memories of a violent dream that Jen says could be a movie. The problem is, like most dreams – things morphed, changed, and time lines double back somehow.
The first part placed me back in my grammar school in my little catholic girl uniform. There was a new teacher who was kinda creepy and not sure what led up to everything – but I think I was being a little shit in class to the point where he got so irritated he hit me with a hammer. Now I have been hit with a hammer in my real life but not in my face. Anyway, I remember trying to tell the principal and secretary and the office looked right – small, older furniture from the 80s and a super old intercom speaker system from the 50s. When they tried to page the teacher the intercom system wouldn’t work right. For some reason there was a weird panic in the air, but it felt like a day or two had gone by and we were still in the office.
Then there was a long folding table set up in a room which was, from what I could tell, a teacher’s lounge. This teacher, who had no name but had crazy white hair like Dr. Wiley from Mega Man was sitting there perfectly calm grading papers. When he was approached and talked to, he became violent again and picked up another tool. I’m not sure if it was a hammer, wrench, or what but he then terrorized everyone.
Apparently I woke up at some time in the early morning and told Jen about this and then fell back asleep.
Then a second dream started that placed me in high school and building had morphed somewhat to have more hallways, glass-paneled french swinging doors made of old wood, a swimming pool, and what felt more like an old big high school or college building than a grammar school. It actually may have been a bit set up like the old Elizabethan style insane asylums that were master-minded by Thomas Kirkbride. It felt like there were wings and wings to the place. In this dream there was some competition between the boys and girls and we had to swim. That wasn’t the big deal but the girls won and then were reprimanded about the routine. I’m not sure if I was on the swim team. The next scenario had another faculty member who was an art teacher or theater teacher. This guy looked different from the previous hammer-hitting teacher but had the same creepy air about him. He was into moving art, people who do things or wear things and become art. I don’t think I was in his class but he somehow sought me out as someone he’d want in his next exhibit.
It turned out his medium was torture, blood, and shock. He only worked with women and typically they were naked, had slashes on their faces with blood slowly running down. Often times they had small scars, and would be on a stage with spotlights “modeling” their modifications. Similar to the people who do extreme things like Fakir Musafar, and can be described as trying to achieve a level of ecstasy and sensation that isn’t normally possible. This means, piercings, suspension by hooks, tight tight corset-tings, and other things of that nature that alter you, cause pain, but at the same time can transcend you from yourself due to the rush you get.
Anyway this faculty member was into that, and as edgy and controversial as he was, it was also understood that he was brilliant. Now there is where things take a strange turn – and get really surreal: The dean of the arts was Jennifer Beals who for the most part, ignored my pleas for help in the beginning. She tried to brush me off that this guy was crazy and stalking me. At some point something changed and I remember trying to find the locker room off of the swimming pool to change from my uniform into gym clothes and never being able to get there. All that time, I felt someone was following me. Then time passed and we were somehow prisoners in the building by this guy and his gang of mis-shapen gross looking guys, the typical gory assistants who were disfigured, inhuman in some ways, and felt like they came out of an H.P. Lovecraft book.
Finally, Jennifer Beals’s character recognized that this professor was someone she knew and muttered, “He used to not leave scars.” And then we went into a flashback of her being young and in a dingy dark dressing room with heavy velvet curtains, several naked but bloody naked women who were on some sort of drugs, all were cut and slashed and had two slashes on each cheekbone as a “signature” from the artist. She was being prepped for her turn on the stage. This guy was inserting hooks into her chin that had fishing line with pieces of broken glass attached. She also had the slashes on her cheeks and a cut around her throat that was red but not deep.
As she went onto the stage, the spotlights picked up the glass and sent the equivalent of a disco ball’s reflection out into the audience and it was actually quite cool. Then a zoom to her chin and the hooks started slipping and fell out – the glass and hooks hit the floor and her feet. This was the purpose of it all and took something torturous and gave it a moment of awe. As she walked off the stage, he embraced her and she was smiling.
Then we came back to the present and I was standing next to her and she leaned her head back to show me a small scar where a hook had been and a thin line where the cut was on her neck. “He’s gotten worse,” was all she said. Then at some point we had a cop or someone in a room with me who was there to protect me and we were locking the doors but since they were french doors with glass panels, this didn’t help and somehow he was killed. In that room I looked out the window and saw a construction site, but the men weren’t construction workers. They were part of the professor’s gang and were watching and had weapons and other things to drive me out or kill me.
A lot of time was spent running from room to room, getting lost in the building and hiding. It was like some Rob Zombie movie where you’d run or see someone who was not 100% human anymore. I’m not sure what exactly happened next but towards the end I was stuck in the room with him and Jennifer Beals. We were watching as he had cut a man’s throat (not part of his usual pattern of behavior) and was then hitting the man with a bat over and over. The man was kneeling over white paper, naked, and bleeding out of his neck, had cuts on his whole body, and was basically unconscious. Each blow to the head sent blood splattering onto the white paper similar that well-known Jackson Pollock painting. Around us were women, some from the flashback, who were older now and sedated. They watched with no emotions on their face but each had scars, deep ones, on their chins, necks, and one had no eyelids anymore over one eye. They were dressed up with boas, corsets, and something that resembled a Victorian prostitute outfit.
When he was done with the man, he came over to Jennifer and started cutting her skin and talking to her as if he was in love with her. She was there as a way to try and protect me. He didn’t kill her but made her bleed and sent her to sit with the others. Then he came over to me and asked if I was ready. I responded that I didn’t have a choice and saw into another room three naked women, bleeding, and passed out. I also saw a skeleton and rotting body of two other women. It was had gotten to a point where this was a form of murder, serial killing, and then keeping a small group alive that he liked to cut open over and over and had been so mentally drained that they hung around him. They didn’t show him love or anything as you see in vampire movies, nor did they laugh or take part in any of the gore.
Then I woke up and told Jen. What the hell does this mean??? If anything…
