Good morning, everybody.
I was apparently one of a duo who had created a new version of fashion doll, possibly a new version of Barbie. The other guy and I were taking a tour through different cities, being interviewed about the new doll. Whatever we had done was really special, and it had made us kind of famous.
We were probably wrapping up for the day by heading to be interviewed by two young women. The women themselves were very famous. We walked through a busy section of town and into a big building. We were worried at first that we wouldn't get past security for the building. People didn't really know us by face, even though they knew us by our achievement. But we got past security.
We walked a circuitous route, through hallways like a shopping plaza, until we found ourselves in a narrow hallway, very dim, completely dark in places, with dark green and dark blue walls. The hallway snaked around narrowly and was constantly moving downward, like a ramp.
One of the two interviewers, an Asian woman in her early twenties, very cute, wearing a white t-shirt and blue mini-skirt, walked up to me. The girl grabbed my hand -- her hands were so tiny! -- and led me down the ramp. I suddenly understood that this girl wasn't just interested in interviewing me: she was sexually attracted to me because of whatever I'd done in making the new doll.
We walked down to the bottom of the ramp, where the other interviewer was sitting. The other interviewer was white, maybe in her mid-twenties, a little taller, not as "cute" as the Asian girl, and dressed in more businesslike attire. This woman was sitting on a stool, with an empty stool right next to her. It was like the two interviewers conducted their interviews right here, at the bottom of the ramp.
Leading up the ramp from the woman was a long, long line of people, like normal people who were all here either to meet the interviewers, meet the fashion doll creators (me and the other guy), or be on the interview themselves, like being on this interview show was one way people could get a shot at fame. The hallway the people in line stood in was completely dark.
But the Asian woman led me and the other guy around to some side area. The girl told me that the other interviewer was wrapping things up for the day. She had to spend a little time making the line of people understand that the day was over and there were going to be no more interviews for the day. As soon as the line of people were gone, the other interviewer would come meet me, the other guy, and the Asian girl.
I first thought that the plan was that the interviewer was going to get all the other people out of the way, so that when we were brought out to do our interview, the other people, seeing that we were ahead of them, wouldn't become jealous of us, maybe even trying to attack us.
But then I realized that the other guy and I weren't going to be doing an interview with these two girls. The girls were so impressed by this new fashion doll we'd created that they'd become sexually attracted to us. The girls were trying to get rid of all their fans so they could leave for the day and take me and the other guy out on a date. I believe the Asian woman liked me and the white woman liked the other guy.
Time now flashed forward. I was watching television. The two men who had created the fashion doll (I was no longer one of them) now had a television program of their own. The program was some kind of pop culture or fashion program.
The two men were supposed to be geniuses regarding fashion and pop culture, and their opinion was really valued. But they were really irreverent about everything. One easily got the impression that the men either hated everything or at least thought nothing had any real intellectual or serious value. It was a little jading.
The men were in some big room that looked like either a huge living room or a huge loft apartment mixed with an art studio. But the image was like three Polaroid snapshots of the men in the room. The three snapshots were scattered across the screen. Each of these "snapshots" were actually active, live frames of video, capturing the men in basically the same position, doing basically the same things, but with the time set off a bit from the other "snapshots."
The men were talking about what segment was coming up next. But as they spoke, they were actually laying with each other on the floor. The man who had been the "other guy" was laying on his back on the floor. The man who had been me lay on top of the other guy. The man who had been me was really skinny. But he also had long hair -- and breasts!
This man was talking about the next discussion segment, which would apparently be coming up after the commercial break. But the man now said, "And when we come back, I get to rub my boobies against the man!" The man now began rubbing his breasts against the other guy. I was pretty sure the guys were going to start having sex then and there.
This was a little disappointing to me. I'd thought the guys were going to be with the two girls who were planning to interview them. Now it turned out that the guys were gay. I didn't want the guys to be gay, because I identified with one of the guys: the guy now rubbing his breasts against the other guy!
The guy with breasts now said something like, "I can't wait to do this guy really hard. I'm getting the chance to put myself really far up into him!"
The guy with breasts, maybe now wearing a green silk camisole, with the straps down so that the guy's breasts hung out, now took his fist and began shoving it up up some part of the other guy's body, either his anus or vagina, as if the other guy had a vagina instead of a penis. As the guy thrust his fist up the other guy's body, the other guy's body would actually hop up from the floor a bit, as if the guy were thrusting really hard.
My view was now outside the building where this loft or studio was. The building was a big, old brick warehouse. The warehouse may still, in some way, have been functioning as a warehouse. The day was clear, but cold. The building shaded the sun from the alleyway.
Two women pulled a pickup truck or a small truck back toward a kind of high loading dock. The two women got out of the car. The women may have been in their late thirties or early forties. They both looked a bit worn out by life. They were both kind of overweight. They both wore kind of dumpy looking clothes.
One of the women was blonde, with pale skin and a square face. She wore big, clunky eyeglasses, a puffy, blue jacket, and blue jeans. She used to be friends with the two guys. They may all have worked together on some art project a few years back. The blonde woman was trying to strike her friendship with the men back up. She was hoping that the men would be able to help her find some work. She was in a lot of financial trouble.
A skinny, well-dressed man, something like a butler, walked out onto a portion of loading dock some distance away from the women. He asked who the women were. After the women identified themselves, the butler-like man waved approval at them and walked back inside. Apparently the guys and the butler had been expecting the women.
The blonde woman was now getting a little scared. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to meet the guys again. It seemed to her, now, like they had become so high-class, while she was just some poor loser. The woman told the other woman that she just needed to take a few more minutes before she headed in. She got back into the truck and lit a cigarette.
The other woman, a brunette who looked a little bit older than the blonde, but who was a little bit thinner, more attractive, and better dressed, got back in the truck, too. But when she saw the blonde woman smoking a cigarette in the truck, she kind of tensed up.
The blonde woman decided to get out of the truck while she was smoking. But before she did she said to the brunette, "You really think I'm weird, don't you? You just never say it. But I can tell!"
I was in a bedroom, laying on some blankets on the floor. The lights were all on. An old colleague of mine, TD, walked into the room. TD was a senior colleague, kind of a role model of mine, and well-respected for the quality of his work. He's also been a person I've looked to for advice over the past couple months.
I was happy to see TD in person, having only spoken to him by phone and email recently. I thought that now that he was here, we could probably be more active in working to get some things in order regarding my life.
But TD knelt down to me and told me something like he understood how tough things were on me right now, but how he didn't really have any power or say to change them. He told me that there probably was a chance that things would be okay for me, so I shouldn't give up, and that I should keep trying, even right now, to make things better.
We both stood up. TD was unbelievably tall, maybe a whole meter taller than I. I shook hands with TD. We both walked out of the bedroom. I understood TD was going somewhere completely different from wherever I was going. I wasn't disappointed at how things had turned out between TD and me. But, even as we parted, I hoped that he would change his mind and decide there was some way he could help me.
I was now in a room like a room in a clothing store or a Victoria's Secret. The walls and floor were some kind of white stone or tile, well-polished. The light in the room was dim, like it was coming from electric lights made to look like dim candle chandeliers. Tables displayed folded piles of clothing. The room had a hexagonal or octagonal shape, and on each wall or alternating walls was a window, curtained over with white fabric.
There were two other men in the room. They were talking about something like hanging up new drapes along the walls. They had made a few suggestions. But I, sitting at some distance from them, staring at the floor, and caught up in some other thoughts, hadn't really heard any of the suggestions.
Suddenly one of the men asked me about the suggestions. I fumbled out some answer, not really knowing what I was talking about. The man said that what I just said only proved that I hadn't been listening at all, that I never listen, and that that was why I'd never get anywhere in this business.
I was now standing up (seeing myself from a distance, as if my view were outside my body) and stretching fabric along all the walls of the room. The fabric was huge, reaching all the way to the tops of the walls, even though the walls were way higher than I could reach, and I had no way of supporting or fastening the fabric at that height. The fabric was some kind of hideous pink-orange fabric with designs like old flower or fruit illustrations on it. It was thick and thickly pleated, like the fabric for old curtains.
I stretched the fabric haphazardly over all the walls, even the walls that didn't have windows. The situation had somehow changed as I had done this. It was now possibly like the men hadn't just accused me of being inattentive, and I was now back to having to prove my attentiveness -- choosing to do so by actually stringing out the drapery instead of talking about it. It may also have been like the men had accused me, but that I, in hopes of disproving their accusation, went ahead and installed the drapery myself.
But I was now finished with this project. I was either finished with work for the day or I was set up on some other project. I walked out of this room and into the main area of the store.
The main area of the store had a wider variety of merchandise. There were a lot of sections for men's clothes and even men's accessories. This was a little disappointing to me. I had been interested in the women's clothes, and I'd wanted to spend all my time around them. Even seeing men's clothes was a big turn-off for me -- even though all the clothes and accessories were actually really nice.
There also seemed to be one or more guys following me. They may have been trailing me to see how well I was doing my job. I wasn't doing my job very well. I was supposed to be interacting with customers, trying to sell them our product. But I felt really ugly, and I was doing everything I could to avoid customers.
I would keep my head down and stare at all the merchandise really closely. I had the feeling people would start to think I was a customer. I feared that people would even start to think I was a little suspicious, like I was staring so intensely at everything that I was probably going to try to steal something.
But the guys also seemed to be following me because they were sexually attracted to me. It seemed like every guy who worked at this store except for me was gay. They all seemed to be attracted to me, too. This was a little annoying. I rather wished that girls would follow me around like this. But no girls worked at the store. I was selling men's clothing and being followed around by men. It was a total turn-off.
I walked back into the room I'd come from, but through a different doorway. I then headed right back out of the room, through the first doorway I'd walked through. As I walked out of the room, a Southeast Asian American man was walking in front of me. He looked friendly.
The man kept looking back over his left shoulder at me, tossing something like cards onto the floor on his left side. I looked down to the cards. They were like square drink coasters, but with two corners -- diagonal corners -- rounded off. The cards had a kind of zigzagging pattern of brown and cream, with brown, eye-like shape in the center.
I knew these cards were something mystical, something like Tarot cards. But I couldn't discern their meaning. And there were one or two other guys following behind me. So I couldn't really stop to inspect the cards. I knew if I did stop, the men behind me would think I was acting suspicious and try to do something bad to me.
I was now sitting outside the store, on the asphalt of the parking lot, amid a bunch of boxes. Some of the boxes were opened. I was going through the merchandise in the boxes. Most of the merchandise was ceramic or porcelain ware. A lot of it was really huge: like trays that were the size of an entire coffee table. Some of it was beautifully done. Other stuff looked like it had been made by little kids as part of a school project. All of it was beautifully colored, either finely or crudely.
On one of the crude pieces there were ornaments running along the side. The ornaments were elliptical or rectangular, plate-like, with spaces for writing. Some of the spaces had writing on them. The writing was supposed to advertise the product, sell the product by saying what was so great and artistically valuable about it.
I read one of these advertisements. It was mostly in Japanese (which I can't read in waking life). It discussed how well this item sold when, during some kind of massive power outage, the global stock markets were all shut down except for the "Pink Market," which was basically a market that only sold stocks related to sexual and erotic merchandise. But the Pink Market had done so well that even non-sexual stocks found a way to sell on the exchange.
Something about this was hilarious to me. I couldn't believe that something could have happened in the world to shut down every market except the market for sexual merchandise. And I couldn't believe that something being such a big hit on the sex market was such a strong prestige point for a product.
I had put this huge piece of ceramic away, but apparently I was still laughing at it. A Japanese man came up to me and asked me what I was laughing at. I tried to show the man the piece of ceramic with the strange inscription on it. But I couldn't find it. I found a similar piece of ceramic and showed it to the man.
The man read an inscription on the piece and began laughing. The man showed me the inscription. The inscription said something about how this piece of merchandise sold extremely well, even though it was widely known that the procedures for making it had declined rapidly in quality, and that the product was unsafe to use and unsafe to make. The public knew all about this, but they still valued the product highly.
I thought this inscription was also funny. But it only made me desire even more to show the man the first inscription I'd seen. I felt like this second inscription was more like a follow-on to the first inscription. I felt like if the man saw the first inscription, he'd understand the second inscription even better.
So I started looking for the first piece of ceramic. But I wasn't finding it. I pulled out a huge, finely done piece of ceramic. As I was doing so, I believe some scraggly-looking man, apparently my manager or the manager of the store who owned all this ceramic, came up to me and asked what I was doing here. I suddenly felt like I was probably doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing, by looking through all this merchandise. So I decided to stop.