The Fox's Secret

The Joker returns.  This marks the fifth dream where this archetypal figure has visited me while I sleep.  My recollections of this dream, and a later dream the same night that seemed to be a continuation, are below.  I apologize if it’s hard to follow.  I will try and fill in some detail with my interpretation which will come later:

Pulling a car out of a parking garage. Coming down the street to find a wrecked purple car blocking the way down a side street. Joker is sitting there. It’s a trap and I can’t get around the purple car and I have to stop my car. I get out of my car, though, and don’t run or do anything like that. He seems taken aback by my directness. “What do you want?” I ask him. He wants the truth. I say “Okay, you can have it. Ask me anything you want. I’ll give you the straight honest truth.” He asks, “Who is Batman?” For some reason I wonder if I’m Batman, that I’ll be giving up “my” secret if I tell him. But then I just shrug and say “Bruce Wayne is Batman.” He looks disappointed again. I tell him all the obvious signs. How else can he afford those gadgets? And then I even tell him, don’t worry, maybe you’re right and Batman’s “real” identity is still that of an evil asshole. After all, I’m sure Wayne Enterprises makes most of its money off the backs of near slave labor in Asia. You can still get the last laugh, I tell him. Then I get in the car and drive away.

The second dream:

Well, I come to the same road/alley/etc. and now there are all kinds of things left behind there–evidence that the Joker was there and laid more of a trap than I thought. There’s like a puzzle to go through to get across this section of road which is now a room. Boards in the floor, some hollow. Climbing up a jungle gym kind of thing made of metal, zip-lining over to a top of a book case. There are all kinds of records of things. Stuff from my grade school days, from my high school and college days. He’s dug them up from somewhere and has them laying in different places around the room. A Commissioner Gordon like figure asks me “What’s he up to?” I shrug and say I don’t know, most of the stuff is just pointless like journals I had to keep for a class or something. I wake up before I can investigate more.