The funny thing about this dream is that I initially assumed I’d woken up from another whilst in it…
For some inexplicable reason, I was an army commander, and news of Obama’s assassination had just broken at the institute where I was stationed. I remember the news screens playing clips of Obama, garmed in a bomber jacket, roughhousing with some pals; I also remember some Kirsten Stewartesque female soldier sobbing on my chest over the news.
At the same time, the dream flitted between the army complex and my civilian life, in which I was going out with a woman about a decade older than me. We were initially both at my best friend’s house (sans the friend) and fixing to go out; I remember double-checking the gas to prevent the two of us meeting an unforeseen end like George W. Obama. After leaving, we walked through the neighbourhood and I remember feeling an immersive sense of contentment in her presence, despite the assortment of idiot rude bwoy types dotted around the landscape.
The dream shifted back to the military institute, where I found myself in some kind of briefing, sitting next to Rick Santorum of all people. I remember him trying to force my hand up when the whole room voted on some notion or other; I also remember grabbing him by the neck, jabbing a finger in his face, and threatening his life for daring to do so. Later on, he hid behind a projector in the room and I made a point of goading him out, shouting, “Here, pussy, pussy!”
After said meeting, the Kirsten Stewart soldier girl accosted me with more tears; as I took hold of her and guided her down the corridor, I said this to her, almost word-for-word:
People will get past this. By that, I don’t mean that Obama will be forgotten; simply that everyone will get back on their feet, rebuild, elect a new leader…and then, the dance will continue…