Dream 20050323, 7:00 AM:
This was a very busy, strange dream; I didn’t have time upon waking up to record it, so this is what I remember two and a half hours later. The entire dream had a very sexy atmosphere, which probably has to do with the video bits I watched after I woke up at four.
I don’t remember how I got involved with the hunky hairdressers. There are four or five of them; the numbers seem to shift through the course of the dream. We are in a house, or it may be a salon; it’s got a lot of strange small rooms that appear to be carved out of solid stone, with black granite surfaces on floors and counters, tables and chairs alike. I have a pair of haircutting scissors, and it’s almost like an apprenticeship – I’m trying to get one of them to take me on, teach me how they cut hair. All of the guys have their shirts off, and look like dancers or models. The conversations have an undertone, as if there’s quite a bit more going on than what’s being said. One of the guys is clearly the leader; he reminds me of Brian Kinney from Queer as Folk. There’s another guy who’s more Latino looking and rugged, and he seems to be the one most likely to take me on.
I remember looking at my scissors, which are a nice but unremarkable pair of stainless barber scissors, and looking at the scissors that one of the other guys is holding, and he’s got these amazing square-handled ones that fold up. I ask him to explain the differences, and he starts telling me about their technical specifications, and why they make them the way they do. He asks if I know about scissors, and about steel; I explain that I know about how stainless is made, and that it’s usually 18/8 or better for blades. He shows me a part of his scissors, and I get this amazingly magnified view, like I’m looking through a loupe – they have probably a dozen or so different hallmarks, and he explains that they each mean something different about the scissors. His explanation has the unselfconscious snobbery of someone who is used to being paid very well and using expensive tools; I feel like I’m kind of the poor kid trying to fit in, although they’re not being hostile or unfriendly.
We are sitting in a small room that seems to be open to the outdoors, almost like a deck or patio, but made of the same gleaming black stone. The Latino guy leans over, and with his scissors starts snipping at my beard, apparently at random. It’s very langorous, he looks very relaxed, almost drowsy, and I can barely see the scissors move. The motion of his hands is almost like he’s flicking bits of lint off my face. He cautions me to hold still, and I hold my head very upright so that he won’t miss and cut me. After several apparently small snips, I notice that the beard is trimmed almost into nonexistence. I tell him that I could shave if they’d like me to; he explains that he wanted to do it this way.
There’s some kind of event going on, like a party, but also like a performance. I remember a couple of odd spots from it:
A bunch of shirtless men are up on power poles. There are two pairs of wires on the poles, one pair high and one pair low. Each pair has one solid wire, and one heavy spongy rope, like insulation. A man hanging on the wires explains (demonstrating while he does so) that it’s OK to touch the top wire and the bottom insulation, the bottom wire and the top insulation, or both insulation ropes, but never to touch both wires – the voltage is deadly. Then, six or so guys climb out from the poles on to the ropes, and begin an intricate dance. At some points, they pull up or push down the insulation ropes to form patterns, diamonds and X’s, with the ropes. It’s very striking. The ropes make a twanging noise when they pull them, and the sound accompanies their gymnastics.
Some woman gets killed; I don’t remember if it’s by the electric wires, or by some other means. I don’t remember if she’s actually a drag queen instead of a real woman, but I think she might be. Someone takes her head off, and somehow puts it onto someone else’s head – it slips over, like the mask in Total Recall, and she’s bitching about how her clothes won’t fit now, or something. She runs into the building. There are people who resemble her (like family members) who come asking about her, but she’s hiding; I remember going into a room with sliding glass doors and drawing the blinds.