Dream: Guns

I’m in a strange town I’ve never seen before. It’s vaguely like downtown Minneapolis, but not. I’m in a kind of bar/club, and discover there are all sorts of doorways and stairwells leading to various [hidden] sections of it — so I explore. At some point I feel like I’ve been going down, down, down on one particular stair well for a very long time — it twists and turns now and then, but I don’t feel like I’m approaching anything… The building seems to become more decrepit, damp and cold the further down I go — but now I start seeing some posters nailed to the concrete walls, a few objects strewn about — old clothes, a chair on its side, a bunsen burner, a shoe, an electric heater… It seems that homeless people have squatted here, but it’s now abandoned.

Now I can hear distant voices below — clearly it’s not abandoned at all. I feel I should not really be here — someone lives down there. I don’t feel like I’m in danger, just that I’m imposing. But I do not turn back. There is an assault rifle propped up against the wall. Now more guns, of various sizes and calibers, all along the walls of the staircase… Finally I reach the bottom of the stairwell, and it’s very dark but I can hear a couple voices, and see a few figures in the distance (the basement is vast, and broken up into a variety of “rooms,” though there are no doors, just concrete walls acting as dividers). I am getting some very dirty looks. More guns, and lots of drugs, and young men in tattered filthy clothing, all staring at me, wondering who I am and what the fuck I’m doing here… Now more and more people — thugs and drug dealers, it seems — start coming out of the woodwork…

I don’t know what happens here, exactly, but somehow I am (or feel) threatened — like they’re going to kill me. Do they actually attack me? — I’m not even sure. But I run out and back up the stairs, grabbing each and every gun along the walls as I go, until my hands are full, the weight is immense and almost more than I can carry and remain standing, let alone run. But I keep running, up and out and down the street — people everywhere, and here I am with perhaps 15 guns, including a shotgun and two automatic assault rifles slung over my shoulder…

I don’t know if I see anyone chasing me — or if I even look back — but I seem certain that they are after me, that they will catch me, and will certainly kill me.

I duck into a large building — a restaurant, as it turns out. Fancy, upper class type. Run through it, trying not to run into people or draw attention to myself, but without slowing down either. It’s connected to a huge mall, many levels and countless stores… I keep running — up stairs, through shops, etc. I’m completely lost now — but at least that means I might be hard to find, too…

Now I find myself in yet another stairwell — down into a seedy bar. Graffiti on every wall. A foul smell. Inside, it’s pretty subdued — but there are maybe 5 or 6 shady looking fellows, massive biker types, all with beards, drinking. TV is on, muted, and no music is playing — it’s quiet and a bit eerie. Once again, guns everywhere. For whatever reason, I grab one of the assault rifles, cock it and point it at them. I steal as many of their guns as I can carry (how I can carry any more is mysterious), and leave again. No one tries to stop me.

I’m trying now to find my way out — to just leave and get the hell out of there, to go home (wherever that is). But I keep going in circles. I’m climbing down drain pipes, scaling fences, going up escalators, everywhere, end up outside but in a kind of enclosed foyer — a dead end — and have to go back and search again for a fucking exit… I’m starting to feel very trapped, very conspicuous, and am starting to lose my mind with frustration and anxiety…

I go through a series of glass doors, back into the mall — everyone is looking at me, including a couple of security guards up ahead.

Suddenly the drug dealers are right there behind me, entering through the glass doors, guns drawn and pointed at me. I run — towards the security guards, who now also have their guns drawn, pointed first at me and then at the group of thugs behind me and then back at me, no idea what the fuck is going on.

I dash into the midst of a crowd to hide, throw all my guns down (so I can blend in and not look like a criminal, and in order to move faster), keeping only one small one in a leather case. I duck down behind something, prepared to take a stand if necessary. (The cops are in a gun fight with the thugs at this point — maybe I’m safe.) I open the leather case, and it turns out not to be a gun at all — not even a little pistol; it’s a camera.

At this point bullets are flying everywhere, and people are screaming, staring, running, hiding… Many people, though, are taking photographs — many of them seem to be reporters, others just shoppers who want pictures… I take off my ski mask (at some point I started having this on) and put on a hat (fedora type — not sure where it came from) — take off my white coat, and throw it aside. I stand up, start taking pictures, acting as natural as I can — like a reporter. I even move in closer — trying to get a better shot (or pretending that is my intention). The security guards see me, look suspicious, but they buy it and ignore me. I keep taking pictures, and try to move toward an exit to escape……

Don’t know what happens next. Think that might have been the end of it.

(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn’t I.)