a nightmare.

I am at a concert in a big arena-type room, although it is simultaneously really grungy, like some sort of punk basement venue. Midtown is slated to be on the bill, though I think some other band opens for them; Swahili is also on the bill, but towards the end of the show. One band takes the stage and people begin to emerge out of nowhere, and I am shocked at the number of people that have appeared so suddenly. I think I comment about it to Swahili, but then realize that those people are not there to see them, as they’re not taking the stage yet. Everyone is there to see a band I don’t know; I think they are some sort of pop-punk or punk band (the one that is opening for Midtown). Soon, Duchess Says takes the stage, or at least their lead singer does. Swahili provides the instrumentals (primarily synths?) for her, though they’re not on stage with her and as far as I can tell, no one is actually playing any of the instruments. The sound is fucked; there seems to be some sort of problem, and a couple of people from Swahili are working on trying to figure it out, but they don’t seem to know what the problem is. The rest of the Duchess Says band is nowhere to be seen. I am sitting, watching, close near the stage, and a girl is on my left, talking to me. She is asking about marriage, or something similar, though I don’t know what the context is (it feels bizarrely appropriate, though). I eventually tell her that I have a boyfriend, and that he is in Swahili, and point to Troy.

Fast-forward, and I am in a giant white-walled maze complex that is a very strange apartment building complex. I don’t actually see apartments – just a lot of hallways and stairs and such. Troy and I get in some sort of fight, and he says I am saying shitty things. As I am walking up a set of stairs with him behind me, I see a doll hanging from a noose. It is wearing a white business collared shirt and a tie. I think it’s a real man, but as I get closer to it, I realize that it’s a tiny doll. Once I get up the stairs, I see a whole arrangement of tons of miniature dolls. It is here that Troy breaks up with me though not explicitly; it is a series of events that implies that he is breaking up with me, and they are evil. Evidently, Troy had wished for some sort of magic companion, and a miniature pink and rather lumpy or curvy doll magnetizes to his hand; it just appears out of nowhere. It doesn’t look like a person or anything; it looks like some sort of fictional monster-esque or symbolic mythological character. These hanging dolls give off the feeling of being like voodoo dolls, though again, they look more cartoonish than that. The one that magnetizes to Troy’s hand comes with a rune thing that’s like a grey leather sack or something, and there are tons of glyphs on it. One of the glyphs is an outline of Troy’s magic doll companion, situated towards the lower left of the sack (that is divided into two vertical columns). It is the largest glyph on the sack, and for some reason, seeing it scares me immensely; it makes me think that the doll is very, very authentic. I get the sense that the doll’s whole purpose is to put a curse on me, or to kill me, and I am terrified… because evidently, I’d been similarly cursed before – perhaps in the current dream life, perhaps in a previous dream life.

I run away crying. Troy does not follow. I run through the white mazed halls again, and go downstairs via I think an elevator in half-open part of the building, and exit. It is a pretty stereotypical apartment building complex by the time I reach the outside, maybe similar to Lewis’ or Lenny’s, but there are these adjoined garages, in which I have a room. I get to my room, and it is small and fairly messy (of course). There are things all over the place, but what I am trying to get to, it seems, is my magic bed. I believe it flies. But once I get there, a girl comes in extremely bummed out about an experience she had just had, involving a sad kid on a plane – I don’t remember details now, but it was rather tragic. I am unfazed and uninterested, and tell her, “I just got my heart ripped out of my chest,” as an indicator that I’m having my own problems and don’t really want to hear more sad stories.

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