by Scoliwings 

“dream log 122”


Written on May 1, 2021 by Drake. This is mostly about being in a place that's a mixture of an mansion and prison, and it is always raining outside.


dream log 122

(human form, again) i'm walking in a mall and there's a staircase somewhere and something happened and suddenly i'm part of a big pile of bodies for the second time because this is a dangerous staircase why is it still here


we all get back up, go through the mall, there's now rumors about us after the staircase incident, none of which are true


i think more happened in the mall, but it shifted to a different dream. i'm going to what appears to be shown initially as a perfect paradise, but in reality is a prison. i'm always one second away from crying, it's all just really upsetting. it looks like a normal... house? mansion? whatever you could call a big building. but everything -- and i mean everything -- is bleached white, the furniture, the walls, the weird shutters that show nothing from outside except small holes to let light through.


i'm here, around other young people, all being directed by strangers who put on an act of caring about us. i think we'll never see outside, but somehow i get away from being monitored, and am able to peek through one window. outside is a gray, gloomy day, and it's already raining. i can see a big, olympic-sized pool, albeit it looks like a regular backyard pool. it feels even more painful being here.


then the keepers -- i'll call them keepers -- they say we'll have a field trip, and i take a nice, thick blue raincoat for the rain. it's just a mess of possessions and objects being lost amongst the storm of people in the mess hall. nobody is ready, but i am called first, to follow the keepers downstairs.


we go down past an unconscionable number of stairs, to the point that i have to run and run to avoid the crowd behind myself, and i wonder how i got so good at running down stairs. until finally we arrive downstairs, in what seems an entirely different world -- it's still indoors, but nothing is white. everything is dreary, dark and i see a tattoo parlor next to the entrance. the keepers say, a friend of theirs.


we're guided further indoors, but to at least a place with visible windows, and... it's a big log cabin, with many tables everywhere. somewhere was a gas-station styled concession stand. everyone rushed there, taking a vast assortment of confectionary, candies, and i was supposed to get a pretzel for 75 cents, but the vendor handed me four. four raw pretzels


they tasted good. they didn't have a raw texture, but they were soft and salty