I'm in some sort of prison or concentration camp with both men and women and we are wearing uniforms. We are snaking our way forward through corridors made out of clear plastic, and the plastic is sectioned off into individual stations. I'm carrying a shaving razor and at each station I "draw" something onto the plastic in front of me. Everyone else seems to be doing the same thing: draw something, erase it with your sleeve, then move forward to the next available station. The pace is generally quick but it isn't forced, so the order in which people are situated to each to each changes. The close I get to the front of the room where these plastic corridors are set up, the less abstract the art around me becomes and the more time is spent on it. At first I would just draw a circle or curved line or something, but then I draw a dollar sign with an x through it. Then I see Ryan Gregston next to me paint a self portrait and so I try to paint a portrait too. I make just a couple strokes and the painting seems to be finished; someone compliments me but I don't think it is very good. I say that I forgot to add the mouth, which I thought I did, but then I look and sure enough there is a mouth on the painting. The wall that I'm painting on is the last of the corridors, and this one isn't clear. I look around the corner to the opposite side of the wall and there are some very big paintings hung up that are pretty good. There is yet another portrait, as well as a painting of a bluish couch in a dark room with textures that look like burnt or over exposed film. I ask if it is a type of lacquer that gives that affect, and Mark tells me that the coating is called "Sherwood."
All the prisoners then are seated at the end of the corridors into an open space in the room, where we hear from the prison warden. He explains that we will be able to paint more often, but unfortunately there isn't enough capacity for everyone to be able to paint every week. Then he talks about providing education for the prisoners who are Mexican, but that they aren't allowed to paint because they can't speak English. The prisoners he is talking about were apparently illegal immigrants. Then Chris Dunham and Mark look at me like they are about to leave, so I am getting ready to follow them when Mark tells me to grab a hold of a paper banner that is sitting next to me. Without thinking I do so and stand up, and he and Mark on the other side of the banner start running around the room and shouting over the warden, "No resolution without revolution!" There is no backing out now so I join them even though I have no idea what I'm shouting about, and so we circle around a few times until the meeting is broken up. I'm afraid that I'm going to be beaten up or killed by either the guards or fellow prisoners. Someone dressed like secret service then grabs me sternly and gives me a trash bag to start cleaning up. I smile and comply, and Mark is doing the same.
I'm in a field or park near some houses and I see this guy playing with some sort of kite that is connected by two strings to a pole. (Missing details). Now everyone is gone and the sky looks like it's on fire, when someone points to a tornado in the distance. It is huge and massively destructive, but we aren't worried because it seems that this tornado is the climax to some sort of holiday and was expected. Then things get crazy and the houses near by start bursting into flames while I try figure out how to get away. I somehow "wake up" and it is the next day and I'm driving in my car. I call Matt and see if he is ok, and then I call his dad to make sure that I can get a hold of him in case of an apocalyptic emergency like the one that happened the night before.
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