Last night I dreamed I was placed in a Russian prison because my friend (who was a shadowy figure in the dream) had been caught with two joints. They didn’t care that I don’t smoke.
I think this is a result of two documentaries I watched the last couple of nights — “You’re Gonna Miss Me” about Roky Erickson, who was imprisoned and institutionalized ultimately on charges of possession of a joint; and “Genius Within: Glenn Gould,” who toured Russia in 1957.
The prison was huge, hundreds of thousands of people were there, and it actually was not that bad. Most of the people were clothed in gray, but I remember finding it funny to see some of the men wearing their gray shorts with black socks. I tried to communicate this to my friend on the outside, Don Chambers. (I emailed him from work yesterday, and perhaps felt as though I was writing from prison?)
The life of the subconscious mind is a wonder, though I’m hesitant to say that all dreams have meaning. I think sometimes they’re just totally weird, surreal regurgitations of your day.
Of note, the two documentaries are quite good — not my favorites of all time, but both are well organized and interesting.
