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[personal profile] evile
I had a dream that my friend [livejournal.com profile] feetwilltravel was going back to college for another degree. She was living in a dorm that was for adults going back to school; my friend Keith was there too except he was blind. There was a six legged spider dog that was hanging out in their common room. It freaked me out and I didn't want to pet it. It was growling at me a bit because it could tell I was afraid of it, but then it went right over to Keith, wagging its tail and wanting to be petted.

Then I was at a fraternity/sorority mixer party at the fashion designer Tom Ford's house. He had a new face powder that he was inviting everyone to try on. It gave me glitter freckles, and I said something about how I already had freckles so I didn't really want makeup to make me look like I had more. People were laughing like I'd said something clever, but I felt out of place. I was the only fat person there. I went out to the solarium/sort of a screened in porch thing, there was a young man who had just started as Tom Ford's assistant or apprentice. I asked him how he was enjoying the job. He was trying to be positive, but eventually admitted it was hard and dirty and gross work, because Tom's new collection that he was making for the inauguration was made of uncured animal skins and raw meat. So he had been skinning a lot of snakes and big lizards, which they were then lacing still bloody on to the models to show them, and then having to refrigerate them for shipping.

After that, I was out in the front yard and Tom Ford was showing something to the crowd, something involving two glass bowls on a wooden tray that was made with little indentations to hold the bowls. He handed me the tray and his cigarette to hold, and I dropped the cigarette and it landed in the grass. I picked it up quickly again but he gave me this sort of irritated/disgusted look and I knew he wouldn't be taking the cigarette back. He asked the crowd what they thought of his new collection and people were being flattering and stuff. I told him that he was an artist and that his collection was art more than clothing and furthermore, it was art that was being used to criticize and condemn the people who would be wearing it, that he was making a statement of contempt against the rich people who would be buying his stuff. (I said, as I was taking puffs off his half finished smoke and blowing smoke around) And that the rich people were too conceited and stupid to understand that they were being degraded and mocked by their designer. He got really mad at me for embarassing him in front of all the smiling and applauding and admiring rich people and kicked me out of his party.

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December 2016

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