The Commander of Construction and Sleep in One Dream

I dreamt that I was participating in the #Suni_Deyiller dance challenge, dancing with a group of stylish and handsome young people to a beautiful Azerbaijani song when I was suddenly frozen in place by a scene. A hundred meters away, in the middle of a barren desert, Hashemi Rafsanjani was wielding a pickaxe with his entourage to inaugurate a project. I remembered that he was dead; so I ran towards him. When he saw me running towards him, he raised the pickaxe in defense, probably to hit me on the head, but by God's permission, he froze in place and I escaped unharmed. I said, 'Haj Agha, I have a question. I don't mean any harm.' In that state, he said, 'No, I just wanted you to see my pose. Is it good? Does it suit me?' I replied, 'Mashallah, you still don't back down. Are you still the Commander of Construction in this world?' He said, 'Construction is in my blood. I can't not build at all.' I said, 'If you could lower your pickaxe, I could ask my question and get back to my dance.' He lowered the pickaxe. He said, 'Do you want to swing the pickaxe while I ask questions?' I replied, 'I'm at most the Commander of Sleeping, not Construction.' He laughed and said, 'Answering questions is generally hard for us. Go ahead, but promise me your question won't be difficult.' I asked, 'They say during the review of the constitution, it was supposed to set the leadership term to 10 years, but you prevented it. Is that true?' He raised the pickaxe again to hit me, but again, by God's permission, it got stuck above his head. I burst out laughing. He said, 'I see you enjoy my poses.' I said, 'I mean, I like how you keep getting embarrassed but don't back down.' He asked, 'Can you take a picture of me in this pose?' I said, 'If you answer my question, yes.' He said, 'My back is starting to hurt. Take a picture!' I asked, 'What were you swinging the pickaxe at?' He replied, 'Islamic Azad University, Barzakh Kobraei branch.' At that moment, I heard a voice. A rider on a horse was coming from afar, shouting and twirling something around. Hashemi said, 'Oh, this guy is back again.' The rider got closer. It was Dr. Velayati, galloping on a horse and twirling a stethoscope around his head. When he reached us, his horse reared up and neighed. Velayati fell off the back of the horse but, by God's permission, he bounced and landed on his feet. Velayati shouted, 'You brought up the name of Azad University again?' Hashemi had now returned to his normal state. He said, 'You ungrateful one. You were my foreign minister for a hundred years. I sent you abroad to roam, and now you've become so bold?' Velayati laughed loudly and said, 'Those days are gone. Your fifty-year-old friend has given Azad University to me. Get ready to face the consequences of your actions!' and he swung his stethoscope like a mace around him. Hashemi said, 'Shame on you! I'm dead. You can't even take my ankle.' I was glad that I was respecting the red lines in my dream. Velayati let out another loud roar and, pulling a syringe from his pocket, said, 'I'll make sure your dead self doesn't come into my dreams!' and charged at Hashemi. Hashemi also raised the pickaxe to strike him. I quickly distanced myself from their battle scene to return to the group of young people who were dancing, but I saw that the cyber police had identified and arrested them, and the police chief was giving an interview to state TV praising the speed of his forces in dealing with criminals. In this context, there was a dimly lit, high-volume meeting with Sapour and Motahari and two Ahmadis with the leadership, with Rich Kids at the party of the father of the Iranian extension, Tomorrow Station with Farshid Manafi, Paradox with Kambez Hosseini, and Justification of Issues with Jalal Saidi.