Dream of: 22 September 2004 "John Wayne"
I had arrived in Germany where I planned to stay for 30 days. Almost immediately, since I was on the eastern border of Germany (which bordered Russia), I decided to visit Russia, and I walked into a bleak tenebrous building to get permission to enter Russia. I handed my passport to a uniformed man standing behind a counter and told him what I wanted. After he had written something in my passport, I noticed he had only given me permission to stay in Russia for one day. I asked him if he could change that to 30 days. I explained that I only planned to stay for one day right now, but I might want to return again within the next 30 days. He said he could make the change. He wrote more in my passport and handed it back to me. I took the passport, continued walking through the building, and exited in Russia.
It was daytime, but the sky was dark. My mood, however, was extremely up-beat. I needed to be in Russia. I hadn't been in Europe in such a long time and even 30 days would be sufficient to recharge me. This was exactly what I needed.
I walked along the bleak streets until I entered a building. Other people were milling about a lobby-like area and I finally sat down. When an black attractive woman (about 30 years old) sat down next to me, I had the feeling she was interested in me and I scrutinized her. I was rarely attracted to black women. Now, however, I thought I would like to link up with someone here. Being with someone would be more enjoyable than being with myself. I turned to her and asked her if she were alone. She seemed flattered that I would ask, but she said she was with someone. I excused myself, stood, and walked away. Only after I had left her did I think I should have asked her more specifically if she were with a man -- maybe she had only been with her daughter.
I continued through the building, reached a stairwell and began ascending. I couldn't seem to find an exit and I climbed floor after floor. On one floor I finally noticed a small window with the words "John Wayne" written by it. As I looked through the window, I realized the room on the other side contained an exhibition about John Wayne. I concluded the Russians had set up the exhibit to attract Westerners, something like an amusement park. I wanted to go in, but there was no door and the window was too small.
I was lying on the floor of the John Wayne room. I was injured, bleeding, bloody. Apparently I had taken part in an exhibition and had been attacked by Indians. A couple people were kneeling over me, examining my wounds. Images of paintings by Marc Chagall flashed in my mind.
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