Crust Punk Dream

I’m look­ing for my dog on the “cam­pus” of a “col­lege” but every build­ing should basi­cal­ly be con­demned. The only peo­ple who use any of them are crust punks, anar­chists, and real­ly grumpy old peo­ple. They live in them too.

I go to a DIY art gallery/house show and one half of the house is sole­ly com­prised of func­tion­al but real­ly gross toi­lets. There are no walls, real­ly, just sup­ports where walls used to be. Peo­ple keep chal­leng­ing me with disin­gen­u­ous ques­tions about my thoughts on very spe­cif­ic issues of social jus­tice like: “Why do you sup­port the declaw­ing of baby seals!?” And I’m all “Where’s the art and/or bands and have you seen my dog?” And some lady comes by fling­ing some sort of liq­uid on peo­ple and say­ing some­thing about holis­tic earth bless­ing, except it burns me and turns my flesh pur­ple. Every­one looks at me and the lady says it’s arsenic water and that I’m a trai­tor. I pre­tend like I’m aller­gic and wig out so I can get the hell out of there and con­tin­ue look­ing for my dog. Every­body calls me a liar.

I head to anoth­er house where I had left my pants, because I fig­ure that’s where my dog will be. I’m try­ing to find a bath­room, but there aren’t any. I know my dog is here some­where, but I keep run­ning into ex-girl­friends who tell me what a bad per­son I am. I’m all “What the hell, I’m just try­ing to find my dog!?” I go back out­side and there’s my dog, so I go give her a good scratch.

Then I woke up and went to the bath­room.

I think this dream is about how I am annoyed by my per­cep­tion that I’m required to take a stand and act upon every injus­tice when I’ve got my own prob­lems that I’m try­ing to take care of, along with a dis-ease that I’m the white mod­er­ate that Mar­tin Luther King, Jr. talks about in Let­ter from a Birm­ing­ham Jail.