Dream Journal: March 3, 2016

There is an online questionnaire, filling out incomplete or lying will result in something calamitous. It is a timed questionnaire, which seems odd as the spokesperson resembles a sloth cartoon character named Timely Tim.

I am an artist and freelancer, currently hanging my hat at a larger company. I have been charged to figure out some side project related to a graphic campaign that has absolutely nothing to do with the timed quizzes or Timely Tim the sloth. However, in doing research for my project, I run into some dangling e-mail threads, a couple folks were not taking the timed test seriously or not answering truthfully (“OMG, I lied half the time, LOL”) which is counter to the terms of service that they signed before submitting for the questionnaire.

There is a dream subplot about amateur killers with disappearing weapons, a subdivision of the company I work for. The weapons resemble steel spatulas that shoot out green energy blasts, eliminating the target and shooter and weapon all at the same time. No murder weapon, no suspect, and no victim – all that exists is this virtual paper train that all goes back to this online questionnaire.


Tracing the e-mail stream up to its source I find this goes up to the highest levels of not only my company but also into the top levels of the government.

On top of all this, if the test programming works out that you lied in your submission materials, it plumbs your e-mail contact list, and then sends online quiz submission requests to your contacts. Thus looking for further fodder; more targets and more assassins.

You can opt out of the default sign up for the kill or be killed program, but the process to legally do so is very complicated, and is buried deep within the terms and conditions you need to accept in order to take the questionnaire in the first place.

The implication in the dream is that I had been sent these questionnaires. Twice. Which means I have two Corporate sponsored amateur kill teams after me, with the steel spatulas of doom. I run down to the company lobby, which has a pedestrian walking highway running through it.

The pedestrian walking highway is pretty much what it sounds like – an asphalt path that cuts through the middle of everything, a path that is expressly for pedestrian foot traffic. It runs through the lobby of the office building, and then directly into the next building, then through someone’s dining room, then through someone’s home office, bedroom, kitchen, someone else’s garage, breakfast nook, elementary school classroom. There is no running aloud, so the corporate killers and I are stuck with a brisk walk.

It would all be very funny if I was not so afraid for my life.

Slow motion of men and woman in everyday casual wear, brandishing steel spatula’s that emit an eerie green glow.  All of us walking quickly through a strangers dining room as they sit down to dinner, keeping to the path that subdivides the dining room table…


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