Dream Interpreter AI™

12-14-23 Dream:

I don’t remember too much from this dream, but I recall that it started within me inside an art studio or art residence, and I was sitting in front of a canvas while trying to find my inspiration. My teacher, who appeared as a crotchety desi hag in tatters and a shit-stained apron, started yelling at me when I stopped and paused for a moment to find my inspiration. I remember she had misgendered me multiple times, insulted my work, and worse yet, she told me “IF YOU DON’T PAINT ME SOMETHING MAGICAL, YOU ARE OUTTA HERE!” I then remember that this was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and I was filled with white-hot anger, as I yelled back at her “Right then, cunt.” Before I then started picked up some charcoal and started sketching out the figures of a piece. My art teacher looked satisfied at this, and she walked away, still in a bit of a huff. I then remember that the world transitioned into a speedy Japanese metal montage as I painted my epic piece. I remember nights, and then days passed me by, and then I had finally finished my piece. I looked back at it with a sense of pride, as I saw a relatively dramatic scene upon a background of what looked to be gray frosted glass, center within the scene was Asgore Dreemurr, who knelt down and was petting a Shiba Inu as his trident lay on the floor behind him. I remember thinking that it looked great, but then my art teacher came up to me and started laughing hysterically, and then she shouted “NO MAGIC! You didn’t listen…!” As she threw a knife into my lap. I then ended up grabbing the knife, plunging it deep into my index finger with a singular stab; it was as if I was cutting through a block of SPAM. I ended up grimacing in pain, as I then started pulling the knife upwards towards my shoulder, flashing a wide-eyed broken smile through the pain. I kept pulling and pulling, hearing the tear of the fabric on my skin, and the breaking of my smock. Before long, I reached my sub-clavicular artery, where I then tried to keep going towards my jugular artery, but then a bone had blocked the path of my knife. Slightly disappointed, I yanked out the knife, and then I remembered I felt a massive wave of euphoria, it was like an orgasm but many times potentiated. The feeling had nearly caused me to collapse, and I had to lean on the art stool for support, to avoid falling over in a haze. As I knelt on the art stool, I bled profusely from the area, yet strangely, I had felt no pain anymore. I then looked back at my painting, and then, as if by instinct, I slapped my piece with my intensely bloody hand as hard as I could. After that, I then remembered that I grew woozy and fell straight to the floor. The last thing I saw before passing out was a bottom view of my work, with the center of the piece being covered by a bloody handprint. After this, I remember that I awoke ~10 minutes later, still lying on the floor of the art studio. I then looked at my hand only to see that there was no gash anymore, it was as if it had been repaired by an unknown force; moreover, my painter’s uniform was in perfect shape, as if it had never been damaged to begin with. I slowly got to my feet - once again leaning on the art stool for support - as I went upright to look at my piece again. I looked in shock at my art piece, as it now was imbued with the magic of moving pictures, creating a rather harrowing visual spectacle for the eyes. The piece now depicted Asgore and the dog, the same as before; the difference was, after a few seconds of petting the dog, Asgore would then start beating the poor pooch into a bloody heap, brutally slamming his fists into the dog as it seemed to wince in pain; he kept going at the dog with a vicious fervor, even continuing to beat the dog as it was nothing more than a dead corpse, where he then kept continuing to beat the dog’s corpse until it was nothing but a pile of bloody paste laden with bone fragments; it was only then, that he would collapse to the floor out of exhaustion, where he would lay n3ext to the dog for a protracted length of time, and then the cycle would repeat anew. This piece had horrified me, as the gore was incredibly realistic, the dog looked completely innocent, and the way Asgore switched from contentment & peace into violence & savagery; this confluence of disturbing imagery had made me sweat just by looking at it. Even despite my fear, I still was able to find a strange sense of beauty within this magical moving painting, and I grabbed it to show it to my art teacher. I covered up the piece with my blue digital circus towel, folding it so that Caine’s visage was visible front and center; after this, I walked up to her desk, and handed her the piece. She fixed her glasses, removed the Caine tarp, and then stared at the piece intently. I looked at her face, which was at first impressed, but then her expression seemed to descend into one of abject terror, as she gesticulated by putting her hands over her mouth in shock. She ended up trying to say something to me in a concerned voice, but all I could pick up on was her incoherent stammering, as her message was lost within the sea of her mind’s trauma. I was gonna ask her to clarify; however, before I even got the chance to so, she passed out and fell backwards onto the tile floor with a loud crack. I ran behind her desk, only to see her dead and lying on the floor. I chuckled, as I mockingly spoke “No magic, huh?” As the camera then suddenly switched to a third-person view, following me as I walked out of the classroom door with a confident strut. The dream then ended with a couple of shots of an art gallery; there was one in which a crowd of patrons was watching my moving art piece in awe, as a curator tried their best to piece together the meaning and possible symbolisms thereof; after this, there was another in which the piece was displayed openly during the night, playing its endless cycle of petting and death to nobody, as the camera slowly zoomed away from the piece, later switching to an overhead shot of the art gallery, and then afterward disappearing in a haze of crackling and static noises as if an ancient movie. Once the film had ended fully, I suddenly jolted back to reality and woke up in my bed. #dream #dreams