Last night I had a dream I was sharing an underground bunker with Quentin Crisp and a war was raging above us by two female armies.
One faction was a Nazi-like army of women and the other was an Amazonian type. We were in the underground bunker which was actually an underground stage floor of a dance club.
We decided there was nothing else better to do than sit around and watch the armies above. “The art of being,” Quentin chided.
I realized that I should take selfies with Quentin Crisp because in this dream I knew he was already dead. Since he was here with me and currently alive we took advantage of the situation. I took photos with my old digital camera from the nineties, a very small silver Nikon.
Eventually Michael Musto from The Village Voice showed up and then he took our picture too!
Later as the war waged on above us the shots began to fire through the windows. The bunker slowly morphed into more like a basement type of building, so there were suddenly windows up high near the ceiling. Sometimes bullets came flying through the walls at us.
Sooner than later I had to go up above ground to get some supplies. I remember climbing this long gritty stairway to a rusty basement door that swung open onto the surface. Amanda Lepore was there to greet me. She was dressed glamorously as she always is. I got the supplies and then took Amanda down into the club so we could all could take selfies with Mr. Crisp.
Quentin, Amanda, and I all understood this was a unique situation due to the dream space that suddenly had been provided. We knew we had to take advantage of this unique opportunity together.
The female armies were quickly closing in and the bullets were starting to nick our shoulders, arms, and legs. There was beginning to be nowhere to hide. Everyone in the bunker was now injured and bleeding. We knew that before long the underground would be dead.
All at the same time we looked at each other and realized the metaphor right before I woke up.