Dream Police and Rêv Conditioning

    “What am I going to do? I’ll be marked for Rêv Conditioning for sure. It’s illicit dreaming. A 0180 infraction with repeat modifiers.”

    “What are you talking about, Jeff?”

    “I’ve been dreaming about Shay – a woman that I work with.”

    “Multiple occasions?”

    “Three times now. The first time I dreamt that she pulled open her blouse to show me her new bra, but I recognized it as one of my ex-wife’s brassieres.”

    “That is strange. And the second?”

    “We – Shay and I – were at a museum together when her husband showed up to accuse me of having an affair with her. In the dream she defended me, saying that it wasn’t true – even though she knew, in the dream, I did in fact want to have an affair with her.”

    “And the third?”

    “The third was just the opposite. She was cold me, refused to speak to me or to look at me. And when I asked if I’d offended her in some way she said ‘Nothing.’”

    “She wouldn’t answer you?”

    “No. I asked if I’d offended her and she answered only with the word ‘Nothing.’”

    “It sounds as if you’re right to be concerned about the Dream Police.”

    Agents of the Imperial Dream Police smear a thin layer of ectoplasm over their naked bodies which acts as both an aphrodisiac gel and as an infiltration serum. This, along with the nictitating membranes that cover their eyes, allows them to slip into the unconscious sights and sounds of your sleep and dreams. And the sodium thiopental they secrete from their pores allows them to see through the absurdities of the dream and to know the truth of your reveries. They are weird figures dressed in white suits and dark-faced transparent helmets, communicating in grunts, clicks, and whistles.

    Dreams are great magicians, conjuring up fully formed and vanishing locomotives on their way to purgatory, poisoned uteruses, and piles of eggs stacked in the corner of the room.

    It all seems rather obvious in the light of the new morning, I suppose. Hardly even worth writing about. But if we accept the interpretive principle that we are each individual within our dreams, these rather commonplace dreams might become somewhat more revelatory. I don’t know what to think about that. I don’t know if I want to think about that. There’s too much bleeding in the Red Zone City to worry about a nightmare of knives and ex-wives.

    There will be no telephone apologies, only bad dreams. And I cannot worry about the Dream Police right now. Politicians may be able to get away with that sort of lack of concern – and not just in dreams, in waking life too. But me? Not so much. The Dream Police don’t care what the dreams mean. Symbols are arbitrary. Signifier and signified are both fluid- there’s no enduring link between the two. Meaning is irrelevant to their procedures. There’s too much else going on.

    And the Dream Police are jealous of their magic.