Dream #1
I may have been in some play where I was playing the part of a fool. The play may have gone into intermission. I walked outside. I stood on a small bridge that was over a deepish slope. At the bottom of the slope (to my right) was something like a plaza with a river. The light was like winter, but the air may have felt warm. The trees may have been barren.
I saw a futuristic craft flying toward me from over the plaza/river. The craft was white -- it looked like a mix between an ambulance and the Back to the Future DeLorean. It flew on some kind of hovering power, and its exhaust was more like clear convection rather than any smoke.
I hoped I could get a clear view of it. But somehow it knocked me off my feet, as if it had managed to wedge under me. I felt rejected, like I had felt a kinship with the vehicle and was now treated poorly by it.
I looked over the bridge. A car that looked like a police vehicle and a hummer, but with a strange, futuristic shape and strange, "swiveling" wheels, pulled up on the plaza.
I was something like an undercover cop. I knew the group of people in this vehicle were big criminals planning some large crime. They hadn't been expected to show up here. They were a dangerous group of people in any encounter, and they had come to think of themselves as invincible. But now that they showed up here, thinking nobody would be looking for them, in fact not having been expected here at all, I knew I could probably catch them by surprise.
The white flying vehicle now came back to me. I couldn't get inside, but I jumped on top of it. The craft took a dive straight down. I wondered if I would just crash or experience a harsh landing. But the craft would, I knew, engage its hovering mechanism as we approached ground, so it would be just like we were landing on a cushion of air.
As we approached ground, I may have gotten a better view of the four-wheeled vehicle, possibly as it opened itself up (like a children's toy). Somewhere on the vehicle was the title "MR. SHAMAN," the name of the covert group.
I stayed seated on the flying vehicle. A small group of men were seated in the various opened compartments of the Mr. Shaman vehicle. The innards of the vehicle may have been shining chrome and dark black, with blue and purple glints. The men wore sunglasses and had the look of cheesy 1980s future-action movie badguys. The men laughed at me like I was an idiot. They didn't know who I was. They thought I was just some passerby.
I said, "Now's the moment!" I made some call to my vehicle. Small areas on the sides of the vehicle opened up to reveal guns. The guns fired rapidly, though they made very little sound. I couldn't tell whether I had killed the group.
I was now walking back into the theater. The play was slowly beginning again. There were very few people in the audience -- the theater was maybe only a tenth full. The stage was enormous. The scene was of something like a barber shop.
I walked to the stage and sat on the steps up to the stage at the right (the audience's right). I was dressed in the costume of a fool.
I watched the play. I couldn't remember my lines for the second half of the play. I thought that was fine, in some sense. I figured I had (hopefully) practiced my lines so much that they had just become natural, spontaneous, for me. I thought that when the moment came, I would just know I was supposed to step on stage. But I also thought it would be embarrassing if the moment finally came where I was supposed to come on stage, and I still sat where I was, not remembering my entering line. Or worse, I thought, I could remember to step on stage but I wouldn't remember my lines.
I imagined myself on a strange stage of green, screen-like planes that were "supposed to" signify forest (?). I saw a group of nuns around me, coaching me on my lines. I might have been embarrassed because the actresses were all pretty girls and I was forgetting everything like a doofus, not the star I wished to be.
The current stage was supposed to represent a barber shop. The stage was still staggered in screen-like planes against which were projected grey and white patterns that may have resembled television static or newspaper print.
A man sat in a barber's chair. All around him were a group of people, probably dressed in mid-twentieth-century business clothes. The man himself was dressed in something like a tan robe, like a stagey version of a monk's robe.
I was waiting to hear the line that would bring my character on stage. But now a character stepped on stage who, I thought, was playing the fool instead of me. The character was somewhat sexless, but more female than male. The character may have been old, with hair that was scraggly and white, but dirtyish, as if the old color were still fading, aging, out of it. The person wore a grey and black, tweed (?) trench coat pulled over almost "her" whole body. The person may also have been holding a whole armful of newspaper, all in disarray, as well as some plastic bags.
I thought, Perhaps I'm not supposed to be in the second half of the play. Maybe that's why I can't "remember" the lines I'm supposed to speak. This person is the fool of the second half.
Now a group of actresses dressed as sexy nurses all crowded onto the stairs I sat on. The nurses' outfits were like novelty outfits -- all short-skirted, some white, some pink. The outfits may even have been made of latex, like fetish clothing.
The nurses were all speaking lines about tending to some man whom everybody loved. The nurses all nudged me out of the cluster they were in, as if to tell me I needed to get out of the scene altogether. I was only in the way in the part they were now acting out.
I thought, Well, maybe I should just sit in the audience until I hear a line that's familiar to me. I looked back into the audience as I sat down, to see if I could spot any other actors who were doing the same thing as I.
Maybe a row or two behind me sat about four or five women. They were all costumed (?) as women from the late Medieval or early Renaissance times. They all had the look of women in Flemish paintings: very pale and oval-faced. The women's dresses were rich, crimson velvet (?) with white bodices. Their hair, blondish-brown (?), was done so the sides of their heads were capped in little, white fabric bundles.
These women looked like actresses to me. I tried to figure if I was supposed to fit into the same part of the play that they were supposed to fit into. But I couldn't think of any context where they would speak lines that would bring a character like mine on stage.
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