I was David Lynch, see? and it was the premiere of my new movie, which was all about gender alteration done under hallucinogens-- lots of characters swapping sexuality back and forth, very misasmic, and I was also starring in the film as a hermaphrodite who preferred male sex companions. The premiere was in this very small theater, only about 80-100 people there I would guess. And when it was over, the audience was really upset-- they did not like it. So they expressed their displeasure in the usual socially accepted ways-- in total vocal silence, the women threw rocks at me while the men attempted to urinate on me. So I fled the theater, sprays of urine and swarms of rocks following me.
Then, out in the street, I realize I left my hat, shoes, and flight jacket in the theater. Shit! So after the crowd has dispersed angrily, I go back in and see two guys running down a hall with my jacket, shoes, and hat. They try to evade me by ducking into a large auditorium but I catch up with them, and by this time I've realized it's a dream, so I will myself to knock out the guy with my jacket in one punch, and he goes down. The other guy runs away but I could care less about my hat and shoes. Once I have my jacket back, I decide to try out something I've always heard about dreams, which is that text never stays the same in them.
So in the theater lobby, I grab a newspaper thing-- I think it was their list of upcoming shows-- and sure enough, the sentences are squirming around and words are changing whenever I am not looking at them directly, and sometimes even right before my eyes. "Whoa," I think, "now I know how to tell whether I'm dreaming or not in the future."
Then I go to a strip club, except that during their normal operating hours they were more like a fashion show-- women in expensive clothing, fully dressed, were parading up and down the runway, which didn't seem to stop the audience from getting highly aroused anyway. Then they "closed down" which was when all the random public was made to leave and those with special memberships were allowed to stay after for wild sex. So I wander from room to room, watching people engage in bondage and threesomes and bloodletting and really weird morphing stuff which reminded me of the film I'd premiered earlier. And this guy came up and said "Hey, aren't you David Lynch? I just saw your new movie. Would you like to go fool around?"
But I had to tell him that, actually, I wasn't an hermaphrodite with a taste for males, and he seemed sad. I think I was a bit mean about it, too, since I was still smarting from the poor audience reception.
Then this threesome-- a man and two women-- gesture for me to join them on this wobbling, oddly-balanced platform, and as I'm lying down next to one of the women, it occurs to me again that I'm dreaming, and that in fact I'm in bed with J. So I decide to wake up and cuddle.
When I told J about the dream, she was highly amused that I wouldn't cheat on her, even in my dreams.