.Retro. . .

Last night I dreamt about a girl who had barricaded herself inside a room. Tiled ceilings, tiled walls, very much like a dorm shower. She hung near the door, a limbless torso covered in bandages and the tattered remnants of her clothing. Blocking entrance to this room were mirrors, razors, shards of debris, and various other tools for one to incise with. Posted above these utensils of discomfort was a sign that said clearly, "You must look like me to enter", which I took to mean I had to be disfigured in some manner similar to the girl. This, of course, really only works in the dreamworld because without having taken the "necessary steps" to enter the room, I knew what the girl looked like, and what I would have to do in order to gain access. Being one to always try something once, I picked up a razor and began raking it across my back. I do remember making a few slices on my face, one that split my cheek in two because I cut too deeply. What an interesting sensation, to dreamily open and close your mouth while the neatly cut flesh opens and closes like a second pair of lips on your face. After my back looked sufficiently flawed, I was allowed into the cold, dark room. The only source of illumination seemed to be coming from moonlight, but then again, it was a dream. I'm kind of thin on the details like that. I stared at the girl for some time, feeling a very strong sense of pity. She approved of my back as if it were a new tattoo or piercing. I don't remember our interaction particularly well. I know she was sad. And angry. But shortly after I made my way into her cell-like abode, the urge to urinate awoke me around 7 am, and though I closed my eyes with visions of this dream still lingering, once I succumbed to sleep again I dreamt of less memorable things. Least that's how I remember it.