Yesterday I had the pleasure of seeing Bridget Riversmith's art show -- "Out There" -- at the Norshor. It was terrific. Her art really grabs you in a visceral way when you see it. Of particular note was a series of paintings depicting women outdoors in hospital gowns, with vacant expressions on their faces. I overheard lots of people commenting on one of these, in which the woman's tears were turning into birds.

Anyway, this art influenced my dreams last night, and I dreamed that Bridget and her husband Edgewood brought me home. Ca-chee, Starfire, and Nick were outside my house, and we all stood around talking. I mentioned that it would be cool to take pictures of this gigantic, run-down mansion in the woods a block from my house. (There is no such mansion in real life, nor are there woods.) They were reluctant, but I forced them.

The mansion was huge, about five stories tall. There was white paint peeling off the clapboards, and all the windows were gone. Suddenly, these incredibly beautiful young men and women came out of the house -- maybe six or seven of them. Somehow, something was very, very wrong with them.

Instantly I knew what was going on. These people were brothers and sisters, and would do anything their father told them to. They belonged to a bizarre religion where if anyone who wasn't a member of that religion got close to them, they'd kill that person. At that moment, they saw us and came after us. The old man, who was upstairs in the house, saw us too and started shooting out the window.

The scene changed at that time to a dark room where people were eating unhealthy food. The only thing I could think of was how I badly needed a haircut. Someone said they knew of a way I could get a haircut for free. I said sure.

The way I could get a haircut for free was to be part of this bizarre re-enactment of a murder, where a guy was killed with an axe while getting his hair cut. The axe was a big, brutal thing unlike any axe I've ever seen. I had to sit in this dark room, a woman cutting my hair, and the axe man would come in and do his thing. The worst part, I was told, was that there would be only one person watching -- a southern man sitting at a table in the room. His voice, I was told, was "real." I asked what that meant, but no one would say. They did tell me that other people who had done this re-enactment were scarred for life by his voice.

I also found out that this was the exact room where it happened and that was the real axe. After the re-enactment, the axe would be sold to the highest bidder.

Somehow I escaped from there, and ran outside to the ocean. There was ice on the ocean for a few hundred yards. It looked like it was about 1/4 inch thick, but I didn't care. I ran out across the ice to a small, rocky island. When I got there, I just looked out at the sea and realized there was no way I could go any further.

Then I woke up.
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