I was somehow chosen for a special assignment where I would dress in some sort of navy blue/black outfit for some sort of assembly.
I got ready, went to meet with everyone, and I was briefed on what was going on, and then we went and did the performance. It was some sort of strange thing where there is a big canvas or blanket which I and another person were responsible for rolling up while another person was to sit inside of the rolling fold of the blanket to somehow control how it folded (by shifting their body) and to do something special after the large blanket was folded all the way under the curtail of the auditorium.
The auditorium was more like a movie theater, with the exception of no projector and the front was a stage, and there were manny doors to the side which went off into the backstage areas for preparation.
I had performed not so well as the presentation of this folding on my part had not gone well, but the performance was over and as I walked out of the finished presentation I looked up at Scott and he gave me a “not so well, but not a big deal” type of look. Like a look not of disapproval, but not lying to me to say that wasn’t noticed that I or the others messed up in the presentation.
I walked out and proceeded to find out where my clothes were. Walking down various hallways which are not in my memory of the dream, I ended up in a room of some sort and I was looking for my clothes.
For some reason I wasn’t sure if I would find them, maybe I didn’t put them in the right place or didn’t turn them in properly to claim them when I got back. I had no recollection of what I did with them.
I found my shirt, searched through a pair of shorts to see if they were mine (they were similar to mine, I could only find out by checking the contents of the shorts). The teacher in the room which was somehow part of the dramatic presentations, which was there to chaperone the return of the clothes seemed like a Ms Sweeney type, my 6th grade English teacher.
I check my own pockets and find that I have change, and the pockets of the shorts I checked also have change. I was afraid that someone might think that I just stole change from the pockets because of the sound it makes. I then inspect further to find a name and email address writen on the tag in the shorts. I recognize the name as asian and look around and see the asian kid near the doorway. I call his name and provide him with his shorts.
I look further, and my shorts are in another pile.
I leave the room to go change from the clothes I was given for the performance. I end up in some elaborate locker room with many hallways that are narrower than a highschools hallways, but not too narrow.
there are some sports memorabilia that I don’t really notice but sense in the locker room (don’t recall any displays with trophies or anything). There are probably flat pictures or other announcements on the walls. The place has bright white painted walls made of concrete cinder block. Different rooms are available in the wings of this elaborate locker room wing of the school. People are everywhere celebrating some sort of sports victory that I wasn’t available to be part of, nor did I care.
Even though I am in the mens locker room wing with hallways and adjacent rooms for different mysterious purposes that I do not know and do not question, there are hot girls everywhere acting like they are getting ready to have sex with the few football player types. It seems like more football player types are to come since the population of these hot cheerleader type of girls (not all cheerleader types, none spefically in costume) are more than the football player types.
A big unofficial orgy which the school is unaware of is about to happen. I lust for every woman I see there, but I do not think or attempt to become part of this celebration because I am worthless, unattractive, not confident. The thought of not being popular is there as an undertone now, unlike how it was when I was high school, but the other feelings of not being worthy because of my being overweight, and my lack of the socially accepted personality type are there, so I feel out of my league with these girls which I want to accept me and make love to me, and I do not attempt to become part of the celebration.
Since this dream involves my current feelings of inadequacy, instead of my feelings in 1998/1999, my often occuring thoughts of how I also no longer have the drive to show off my lust for music as my admirable attractive trait. Since I’ve accepted that other people don’t have the lust for computers that I do, that it bores them, I don’t think of using that as an advertisement of how smart and passionate about my interests that I am, since it would only turn people off. Lately I’ve become disillusioned with myself musically, and I’ve decided to devote myself professionally in working with computers only to the task of building more value for myself with the web hosting company I work for. I am not trying new things, new technologies, but instead trying to fight to find the best solutions with the resources I already have. New technologies do not look like they will improve the simple tasks of resolving the problems we face. These problems will only be resolved through lots of time and hard work.
Anyway, so I leave this locker room area because I cannot find a private place to change, for fear of being seen naked and receiving looks of disgust from these people.
I find some place and I change. I then end up in a situation where I’m with Marshall and some girl that resembles a girl I knew in high school named Amanda Bell. They were looking at some sort of unofficial high school news/gossip website that I was aware of but didn’t have any interest in keeping up with.
They discuss with intense interest some sort of scandal that was reported and occuring, and I inquire about what they are talking about only to be asked with 80% shock, 20% reproach that I didn’t know about the ongoing scandal they were talking about.
Marshall doesn’t seem to come into my defense, and this reminds me of how Marshall was able to co-exist between these people that I loathed for their conformist philosophies and people such as myself and my friends who didn’t latch on to such a philosophy (the arcadians). Marshall later showed me that these people also had independent tendencies, and thats why he hung out with them. A big percentage of people in high school didn’t care about the social classes which were established, but in some ways they played along.
Just like in The Breakfast Club, where someone would make fun or reject another person in front of their friends for fear of being rejected from the clique, but if both parties were in private the same person would be accepting of the nerd.
I try to defend myself with my stance that knowledge has to be aquired, and if a person has not aquired it yet there is no reason to act like there is something is wrong with them. I try to search in my head for the term which Marshall and Grant used during my Objectivist phase, intrincicist, but this word does not come to mind. Just the same, its not like she was expecting me to just magically become knowledgable about this scandal, but was shocked and slightly disgusted that I was not part of the social status quo. I did not do what everyone else did, and thus there was something wrong with me.
This further made me feel worthless as I subconsciously accepted this social agreement between everyone that there was something wrong with me. If everyone thinks this, perhaps there is something I am not seeing that does make me not worthy.
At the same time in the back of my mind I knew an injustice had occured. I knew that I wasn’t being respected for being an individual who makes his own decisions regarding what he does and takes interest in. Because of this sense I again as I always had bottled up my feelings of intense hatred for all my classmates. I again kept my secret plan to show them all up, to rise above them as a god in some sort of way. Whether it be the last straw where I decide to kill myself, and either scare them all with a major act of terror with the worst individuals killed to show my power (while performing my own brand of justice), or just becoming a rock star which by their standards must rise above their social constructs whether they like it or not, and to know that if I ever saw them that I would selectively decide to accept them or reject them just as they had done to me.
This wasn’t just a thought of being a rock star just to shun them. It was my passion. I wanted to make good music and share it with the world, but day dreaming of such situations while I was in high school did provide me with some sort of drive.
Instead of performing the same acts that the Columbine kids did, which I sort of understood, I by my nature as a non-violent person would instead write a fictional story which would be part of the concept of my albums, which showed this injustice to the world, and also taught of the resolution for many teenagers such as myself.
This was basically the end of the dream. After thoughts now regarding this dream which is so relevant to the concepts and thoughts that I wanted to recapture so I could continue with via the Arcadia story, I thought I had lost through time.
I wonder now if this story will be irrelevant to the newer generations, but that thought subsides because this issue is universal. The same thing must go on still, as it is the nature of children to try to establish some sort of pecking order, through this non-harmonious system of rank or caste, based on the material wealth of your parents or what genetics you were given.
I myself only wanted social harmony. Surely people will not like each other because of political beliefs, religious beliefs (another issue which runs deep within my heart), and petty things like tastes in fashion and pop culture. Aside of this however, I wanted a high school experience where people didn’t latch on to such differences. I wanted to work amongst people who would treat each other in a civil manner, instead of causing so much low self esteem because of social class.
This is still my ever ringing assignment in life. I will one day through some sort of art or media, provide a story which displays this, and provides a resolve for teenagers in the same plight.
Perhaps the only reason why this means so much to me is because I’m crazy and broken because of other circumstances. Perhaps I had low self-esteem because of my upbringing, and that others who understand my plight weren’t affected as much. Regardless, even if I reach 3 people with the same issues I had, my story and theme is still worth it.