Sunday, January 06, 2013

Well, That Was Weird ...

I often remember my dreams.

They usually linger for a few moments after I wake up and if I focus on them, review them in my mind, I sort of cement them into place.

As was the case with last night's.

I was dreaming about a man who looked quite a bit like Roger Daltrey but who was known to us as Roger Waters. My subconscious merged musical icons named Roger, it seems.

I was in a large room that had a subterranean feel to it, but we weren't in a basement. It was just a dark room, like music studios often are. Except it wasn't a music studio, per se.

A lot of people were in the room, and a musician friend walked in, too. He shouldn't have been there, really, as he's a professional musician and all the rest of us schlubs were just there in an amateur sense, but hey, who wouldn't want to hang out with Roger Daltrey-Waters, right?

Roger arrived and asked us to sing for him, but not a song. Just notes. Some little piece that was somehow significant to him, like he'd written it for a movie or something. But he didn't want us to sing it perfectly. He wanted us to interpret it, to let it come out however we thought would be best.

I sang it very straightforwardly. Go figure. Even in my subconscious, I won't take a risk.

Roger decided to work with the Musician – quelle surprise! – and while some folks remained in the strange, basement-like space, they ceased to be noticeable in the dream.

Roger sat at an upright piano. Musician sat on the edge of a bed, which was stripped down to its mattress pad, very bare. I was lying across it – fully clothed; move along, nothing to see here – and there were stacks of blankets on it. I have no idea why. Roger and Musician started to work on a piece together, at which point I said something, and Roger said, "Wipe that."

I'd just screwed up a recording.

Whoops.

Then, since dreams don't have tidy transitions in them like movies do, I was at the home of some woman who reminded me of my long-ago voice teacher but who wasn't her. She lived in an amazing home with a very wide, very long foyer/hallway that led to her living space. She wasn't home when I was there, but she knew I was going to be stopping by to pick up spinach, feta, and phyllo pies – in my dream, they weren't spanakopita – and they were wrapped for me in a large piece of parchment paper and still a bit warm.

Before I left, though, she appeared with Roger, and he and I got to chatting. She disappeared somewhere in the house and Roger was standing in a little nook, and as we talked, we got closer and closer until we were kissing, which seemed perfectly expected on both our parts. But then I had to go.

So I left through the long foyer hallway, and turned left when I got outside and walked past the most amazing, huge old trees, and got to high stone wall at the edge of her property where there was a very tall aluminum ladder that I was meant to take home. I couldn't possibly fit it in my car or even safely on the roof, so I hauled it back to her house and rested it against a wall, out of the way, then walked back down the hallway to tell her what I'd done and that I'd be back later to pick it up in my dad's truck.

She and Roger were playing cards.

He seemed glad that I had come back.

But I left again, and now found myself in a shopping mall, but not the expansive kind of mall that most of us think of today, but rather a more compact space with stores off of wending hallways with low-ish ceilings. Roger appeared beside me, there to pick something up from a merchant. For me.

He retrieved the package and handed it to me. They were meant to be earrings. Very large earrings, with post backs, but they were figures molded out of modeling compound or clay, styled and painted to look like ...

him.

To remember him by.

One was quite a rather good likeness of him.

The other one was clearly made by another artist and was larger and looked a bit more deformed. He was upset about that, but he was glad that at least one had come out well.

And then my brain went on to some other dream or I woke up, because that's where it ends in my head.

Ooookay.

And no, I didn't eat anything strange before bed last night.

I'm still waiting for folks to come up with the technology that will allow us to record our dreams. I'd love to be able to watch them.


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