a three-part dream I had involving police and black guys and a girl probably named Jenese

I was on a college campus among scattered groups of mostly black guys, all facing police officers on a street. There was at least one police car, probably two or three, and at least three officers, probably four or more, standing nearby. They were, or one of them was, yelling for us to go away. “Get away from here,” they may have phrased it, “I’m telling you for your own good; go home or you’re all going to jail.” It was probably an empty threat; it seemed unlikely for them to jail all of us for standing in silence; but the possibility of being taken to jail, or shot dead by a trigger-happy cop, did make me want to leave. I stayed though, with all the other protestors, as I assumed the police were waiting for backup officers to arrive.

I was riding on what seemed to be a high-speed Segway. I don’t know what city I was in, possibly Detroit, but it was in a state of anarchy. There were widespread riots happening by mostly young black males with no police anywhere to be found. Not that I was looking for any as I rolled up or down a relatively empty street, a two-way street, that was normally busy with traffic. Suddenly I saw a big black guy, imagine Kimbo Slice, coming on the opposite lane, riding a Segway of his own. He was holding a big black gun, probably some sort of assault rifle, in one hand. I feared he would shoot me, or at least rob me of my Segway, as I rolled by with a stupid smile on my face, but he just looked at me and saluted as we passed.

I was in a building for young football players, probably part of a university. It wasn’t for housing, at least not the floor I was on; it looked more like a place for them to turn in paper work, talk with psychologists and stuff like that. Whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, so I made myself invisible as I had the magical ability to do, by blending in with floors and furniture. At one point, I awoke on a couch to the sound of a girl jokingly telling me that it was “time” to give her a massage, or vice versa. It was a girl I knew; Jenese Harris, it looked like. We laughed as she got onto the couch or bed, where I briefly and inadvertently fondled her bare feet, before engaging in a friendly conversation.

2016 ( December 07 )

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