Posthuman Blues

I had another fantastically lucid dream a couple nights ago. I was inside a menacing, labyrinthine mental institution: endless decaying corridors and stuffy reception rooms. Bizarre decor on the walls. Terry Gilliam would have loved this place.

I "went lucid" while looking at macabre knick-knacks in what appeared to be a hospital gift-shop. I'd been frightened and claustrophobic, but the realization that I was dreaming had an instantly invigorating effect, and I strolled purposefully among the decrepit exhibits feeling like a transdimensional tourist. I still had no real idea where I was (the institution was devoid of landmarks or windows), but the building must have been immense -- an amalgam of rambling architecture grafted into a horrific, confining whole.

Last night I dreampt I lived in a lavishly Art Deco apartment with room-sized high-speed elevators. To get to a given floor, a "stewardess" in a glittery black body-suit would escort tenants into large chrome-walled chambers with recessed padded areas in the walls. The operation was carried out with exacting precision, especially since there were at least three or four elevator-rooms shuttling from ground level to the upper floors at any given moment, each full of jaded passengers.