Psychedelic Pan

04.07.18

My mother, wearing a bright turquoise pants suit, was going to a meeting/interview. It was bright and sunny outside. We got out of the car. I followed her into the building with the intention of waiting in the lobby. The lobby was a waiting room for a therapy clinic. I laid with terrible posture on a cushiony floor chair. An attractive man wearing a shiny red leather jacket sitting across from me smiled. I gave him a half smile and began reading my book. Surrounding me was a lot of chaos—patients waiting, employees running around, and loose domesticated animals who were being used therapeutically to calm down waiting patients and help them relax. There was an abnormally tiny female employee wearing a skin-colored leotard and a fleshy facemask with a hole in the mouth through which she slurped up sugar that was processed to look like cat food to help the sick/traumatized cats eat. The attractive man in the red leather coat began his therapy session in the waiting room (I got the notion that there was not a lot of room and that this was some sort of government subsidized healthcare); he began discussing all the men he’s dated in his life. I knew I was an adult waiting for my mom who was upstairs, though I knew I’d somehow been there before, in this exact situation and this was a memory replaying and rewriting itself, like a copy of a copy of a copy, and that I existed in this copy and that I was being tested on how I was acting/reacting. Suddenly, Scott from work showed up with a friend/customer I recognized. She mentioned that Scott’s boyfriend (though Scott is straight in real life) was eating lunch in the adjacent bar/restaurant at their work luncheon, and I desperately wanted to meet him. They lead me to a secret door that joined to the restaurant and we walked down a long blue/turquoise/gray hallway that lead to a huge bustling dining room (also blue/turquoise/gray/pink) and was Mein Kampf/Drag Queen themed—the androgynous host with slick black hair wore a kilt and sported a Hitler mustache. They lead us to a long table where about 25 employees sat, all androgynous looking with blue and pink and purple hair colors. Scott’s friend lead us to Scott’s vampirey boyfriend, who had translucent white skin and light pink hair and sharp teeth. He was very flamboyant and aggressive. Sitting next to him was a tiny—about two and a half foot tall—bright turquoise goat androgynous creature-man who looked like what I would imagine to be Psychedelic Pan. I started laughing and talking to “him” and complimenting his turquoise fur. I exclaimed, “You look like you belong on the top of a cake!” The tiny god laughed and stood up on his chair and started dancing and spinning around on its hooves.