Blade Runner Medic Dream

A few nights ago I had a vivid dream which has stayed with me. These are the details:

I am walking downtown in a vast, labyrinthine, busy city. The buildings are half finished frames. The architectural style is modern, drab, and gray, like a preplanned Soviet city still being assembled. There is a bay in the background that is cold, dark, and vaguely foreboding. It could be a place where mobsters dump the bodies of their victims, and the cloud cover adds to the pervading sense of dark mystery. As I walk alongside this bay, I am clutching a large loaf of salted, warm bread. I am on my way to a film editing class and am concerned that I am running late. Still, I take the time to stare out at the bay, because I shall be directing a shot there later, and I want to see how the afternoon sun reflects off of the water surface. I enter into one of the half finished buildings, just before the sun sets beneath a haze of clouds.

I am inside the editing classroom, which is an amphitheater style room with computers set several feet apart from one another. There is a white board and a film screen at the bottom of the classroom. Students are seated at their computer stations already cutting and compositing digital shots, before the professor steps in to start his lecture. We each have our own loaf of bread. The professor warns us not to eat the bread, until shown the right way to do so. His comments are directed at me, since I am the new student, and so the only one not yet aware of what to do. It turns out the right way to eat the bread is to tear out a chunk and to bite into it like one would a watermelon. I do so after awhile, and the professor proceeds with his lecture.

Later, it is dark outside, and I am wandering through the city. I step into another building which from the outside looks more like an industrial construction site. I take an open air freight elevator to a nondescript floor, and I step through one of the unlocked apartment doors. Inside, the cramped, modern apartment serves as a living space, a medical clinic, and a physical fitness training facility. There is living room furniture alongside elaborate pulleys, free weights, medicine balls, hospital cots, and diagnostic machines. The faded window blinds are partially open, and neon flashes into the space from a video billboard across the way. Because there is so much furniture in the living room, I have to wander into the kitchen to find enough floor space for my exercises. I remove my shirt, and very reluctantly lower myself to a dirty, cold, hard, marble slab floor. There is a doctor/trainer in a white medic coat who steps inside a moment. He observes me on the floor, but he says nothing to me. He steps out of the apartment, and allows his assistant to work with me instead. The assistant is an attractive, young, fit, Asian woman in a white medic coat and leggings. She is tall, bespectacled, and very foreign. Her English is limited, and her manners are submissive and mousey. She is all business, but she warms to me over the course of our session together. As I observe how the neon flashes off of her profile, I am wondering just how human she is. It is like she is too demure, too poised, too perfect in her role. She moves with the smooth, almost ritualized, manner of a Geisha, though her appearance is not traditional Japanese but urban and futuristic. She touches me in the therapeutic manner of a doctor/trainer, as I proceed with the floor exercises, and yet I sense an interest in her touch that is not altogether professional.

When those floor exercises are done, I stand up, and put on my shirt. The doctor/trainer indicates that it would be okay if I asked her to go out with me. I take the hint, and do so. I suggest going out for pizza around the block. She hesitates. She does not like pizza, or she does not know what it is. She relents, and we make plans to go out later that night.

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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