From: "Gregory R. Block" 
Subject: Re: Dream Catchers
Date: Tue, 28 Oct 1997 13:41:04 +0100

Mark Moore wrote:

> I installed a Dream Catcher over my bed on Sunday night and I thought you
> all may be interested in what I found in it this morning.

I'll interpret.  I love this.  :)

> I'm in a suit in a dark place with lots of pumping music.

You're a pimp.  You wear the clothes of the outward society, but belong to the
society of dark places and pumping music.  You peddle yourself to corporate
society as a salesman of talent, providing only that which the outside world
needs to see in order to gain acceptance, while existing in another world when
you so choose.

> I soon realise I
> am in fact in the foyer of the Fridge at an EFS event.

You're a pimp with good taste.

> I queue patiently for
> the cloakroom to dump my bag at a cost of two pounds fifty,

You're a pimp with taste, but without bodyguards who will act as gophers.  You
secretly long for any chance to remove the suit and truly join that secret
society to which you feel you belong.

> then dutifully
> hand over my life insurance and mortgage certificates to gain entry to the
> club proper.

You're actually Mike, and detest the financial demands placed by decent clubs
like Samsara.  :)

> I spot a couple of fellow clubbers and give them a five high, but they
> ignore me!

You fear that the life you live during the day sets you apart from the crowd of
fellow clubbers with which you long to associate yourself.  Alternately, you're
wearing a black suit in a dark club setting, and you look like a narc.

> Obviously I'm too underground for this place in my YSL suit.

You fear that the majority of the underground is unwilling to accept a YSL suit
as appropriate garb, trapped in an analysis of surface appearances and behaviors
instead of looking at the person within each person and finding a kinship
through shared identity.

> Hmmmmm...

You're saying "Hmmmmm...".

> At the alter at the front of the shrine I notice some fat old toilet
> pretending to play records.

The association of the club with religion leads one to believe that you have a
strong connection of community in a way that you were taught (or, perhaps,
experienced in previous religious experiences or encounters).  Your opinions on
such a controlled hierarchy of leaders and followers affects your perception
bleeds through to your analysis of a club scene; and yet you find yourself
longing to belong to it.

> This strange sight combined with the worming
> pills I took earlier is a heady brew and I'm soon dancing the night away.

You mistakenly took the pills your vet prescribed for your cat or dog instead of
the ecstasy.  At this point in time, one is left to believe that at the end of
the evening, you were free of worm-infestation, and your cat or dog was the
happiest they'd been in fucking years.

> After dancing away for a few hours I decide I need a drink,

You sense weakness within yourself, an inability to stand up to the pressures of
the people around you whom you have idolised within this underground society.

> unfortunately
> I've no money left after paying four hundred pounds for a digerido made out
> of a comb and some pussy willow so as I could gain entry at the
> concessionary rate;

You feel burdened by the costs of belonging to a culture that you percieve has
become too wrapped up in the surface appearances of those who wish to take part
in that culture.  In seeking to become a member, you have donned the garb and
assumed the appearance of one of them, in the same way you have done when
entering the corporate culture, in the hopes of finding true acceptance from
that culture.  The strain caused by this appearance is unweildy.

> so, I have to drink from the taps in the toilet. Imagine
> my
> horror as I turn them on only to find tons of sand and filthy desert worms
> pouring out!

You long only for satisfaction and fulfillment; but the atmosphere at the club
doesn't seem to allow you the freedom to drink from a tap, requiring instead
that you maintain the appearances that the atmosphere demands; you feel trapped,
unable to satiate yourself after expending a great deal of energy to be
accepted.

> Disgusted, I leave the club early, only to have an argument with the
> cloakroom attendant because she wants a further five pounds to return my
> bag.

You feel that you gave everything you have to be a part of that society for the
evening, and it demanded more, irrationally, unreasonably, until it left you
empty.  The money could easily be a parallel for the inner strength which the
idealism of the club culture provides you; and the conflict with the reality of
that culture with your ideal drained you beyond the strength which you recieved
from kinship with the ideal.

> There was also a fifteen year old girl in there somewhere with spots, but I
> didn't want to give you all a clingfilm moment.

You're repressed, and feel that nobody would appreciate hearing about a
clingfilm moment.  :)

> Mark Moore

Love always, and lots of PLUR,
Greg, who's finished taking the piss now.  :)

--
Everyone becomes what they pretend to be,
so you'd better make sure to pretend to be something you can live with.