Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Monday, October 24, 2005
In a meeting with GWB, arguing with him and his staff, angrily.
Outside a cafe gig during a break, reunite SC and AS. AS asks if it's cool she's there. Sure. I pretend to introduce the two to each other, jokingly and ironically.
At my parents' house, they are out, but there is a dead body of a young woman left by the door. Almost like left for the trash pickup, but this is inside the front door. She is on her knees, slightly slumped/propped against door.
Sequence where I'm watching (possibly a video of) KM play the bass. He's playing a 5 string fretless. Sounds really good.
Sequence with MI, leaving her family's house late at night. We must exit through a window that resembles Manitou Cliff Dwelling doors (narrow, mid-height, tunnel-like.)
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Later, Bob is saying his goodbyes and signing the side of a mattress for his hosts. On one side he's already written "SOLO", the other side I can't see but I assume he writes "TOUR." I start wondering what CDs of his I have around that I can get signed and wouldn't that be cool etc.
Next part of the dream takes place in Boston, with my family. It's very cold; we question why we came. My sister is unhappy. Accommodations are limited so I lie down directly between my parents; as not to favor either.
This leads to a late arrival at an airport and I'm running behind everyone else and can't find them. I ask some clerks where my flight (train) is but am told the doors are closing. I find my way to a waiting area that resembles the Superdome, but while it is packed, it is not unclean and chaotic. My friends in the band FC area seated in a front row, waiting. They don't see me at first so I decide to fake a magical, sudden appearance by jumping from above them right in front, like I fell out of the sky. I continue my antics then by pretending that I'm the first humanoid ever, crawling out of the primordial muck, and I add to the dramatization of this imaginary historical event with guttural growls. By the end of this, I think only BA still remains seated watching. A security type is also watching, and he suggests I go straight to a hospital.
The train finally pulls in (plane is forgotten) and the strangely small awkward doors open for me. In case I'm uncertain if this is the right one, the engineer uses the PA to loudly announce, "Stupid, this is it," as if the entire travel center knows I'm late and lost. I board the train/subway car to watch the driver suck tobacco through some type of device that is partly his mouth and partly a dentist's drain. I try to mimic the action as a goof.
Later in the dream, I recount the humorous Dylan anecdote to MI. I also open MV's bass case to find that he has swapped out with a similarly unique 6 string electric guitar.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Outside in a crowded area at night, near some building, lots of high school characters figure. I see someone slightly resembling G, who then suddenly not only greatly resembles but definitely IS G. Do not get to say hi, talking to DJ. Sit up on steps next to PB. I know he's retired but figure he's still active so I ask him what music stuff he's involved in. He nods to acknowledge my deduction and also mentions he's 55 years old, which is younger than he is.
George Harrison and Jeff Lynne appear to be making records in a closet similar to my own, and I make some flattering comments and am eager to be there and learn. GH leaves and I sit in a main room with JL. I tell him that when I was younger, the ELO song "It's a Livin' Thing" scared me because I didn't know what he was referring to in the chorus. He tells me now that he was referring to "love." I feel foolish for not knowing. At one point I badly mimic the opening violin line on a nearby piano.
Next it's time for David Byrne and me to chat. We're talking about songwriting, he asks me if I've written any, I say yes and he hands me an acoustic and tells me to play it. "2 measures," he says but that seems awfully short so I decided on the last "8 bars" of Our Day Will Come, and actually play and sing the last verse and outro. DB grabs another guitar and tries to follow a little. I'm worried that I'll be drowned out by a record JL is putting on nearby, but it turns out to be a quiet, unintrusive instrumental piece. I sound ok and DB seems to appreciate it. Instead of starting another song, I tell him I saw him hanging out at CB's Gallery (in reality it was Seventeen.) He looks different now, younger, dark hair again. He says he had a bicycle injury and pulls up a pants leg to show me a grotesquely swollen, watermelon-size upper thigh. There are some hippie pharmacists behind a counter near him when he backs up and shows me. DB talks about how he has to get it drained now and then, and that he sends the medical results out as gifts as a joke sometimes.
There's a short final sequence where I'm walking down 92nd in Queens Village in daytime near my grandparents' old house, which has now become a recording studio in the dream. A lot of techie types are running about out front, self-importantly making sure they control everything that comes near, and this bothers me. Something about their cleaning and throwing antics reminds me of New Orleans.
Another night recently I had a small fragment in which I'm hearing someone playing Pee Wee Ellis' tune "The Chicken" so I follow the sound, pick up a nearby upright bass and start playing the Jaco bassline along with this piano player. I'm listening to him to hear if he is indeed playing the tune I thought it was, and when he goes to D7, I'm certain. At some point in this dream, I look up from the street and there, about 6 stories up, peering down from the roof, a stylized sort of Grim Reaper/Angel of Death type appears to be looking down at me, just letting me know he's there. The way I'm situated, he's upside-down, since my back is to the building he's peering down from.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Show turns into a solo Jack Bruce concert, much to my joy. I go upstairs and around to find a closer seat nearer to the stage, and end up in a small balcony briefly. There are some other JB-related remarks heard as I try to find seating; someone (MI?) likes the composition of the cover (and/or his sweater on it) on a certain JB record, possibly Harmony Row. As I come out, JB is playing a note-perfect version of "Jet Set Jewel." No seats; cushions. I'm down on the floor again off to stage right. My family is still in the back, dead center. JB is waiting to play the bagpipes at the end of the current song. Should be interesting.
At some point MI goes over close to JB where there is a merchandise table and buys a CD. I want to tell her I probably have all the records, but I'm too far away and too late. Later, at that table, I see a sheet that makes it appear she bought the new U2 record which appears to have the word "metal" in the title.
Next, somewhat faintly over the PA, come the strains of an apparent early demo version of Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again." Some of the crowd recognizes it giddily and sings along, but JB makes a gesture to suggest he's not actually going to play that song. And another song starts playing on top of it; the audience is shocked at such unprofessional sound mixing. But all is explained...
At some point JB is replaced by Adrian Vandenburg, and David Coverdale and the rest of Whitesnake enter the stage, clean-cut in tuxedos. The gist is that when they reformed they had to change their band name due to loss of trademark (now it's something like Masters of Reality), but oddly, to make sure everyone knows who they are, they play a tape of "Here I Go Again" before coming on stage. Even worse, the first song they play live that overlapped the tape, is a shallow rocker with the repeated shouted chorus proudly insisting: "We're Whitesnake! We're Whitesnake!"
Somehow the song ends quickly because an entire parade of 80's metal stars are about to traverse the stage, just a walk-across presumably to show they are here to support their idol Jack Bruce. I see Ronnie James Dio close by and flash him the devil hand-sign. He does it back, and I consider reminding him of the real life time I met him and took his picture doing that, but there's no time - the parade cross-stage has begun. Ozzy is there with his current guitarist, a Twiggy type who gives him a lascivious kiss on the cheek mid-stroll. Marilyn Manson follows, solo, to much crowd adulation; he takes a bow in his fishnet stockings.
The last character is some "new" metal star that I've never heard of before. He is, or is dressed as, a satyr type i.e. legs of a fawn, bare chest, horns - he's basically a devil. Instead of traversing the stage he sits on a throne to watch the rest of the show. He points over to a monitor so I can see the name of his hip band: Healing With Lifeguards. He also makes some joke to the crowd about being late because he had to empty out his leg of something, implying heroin.
Monday, August 29, 2005
My car is parked out across the street due to relatives. I go there to retrieve my Les Paul guitar and bring it into the house. All the relatives have cleared the lawn as I walk straight up it to the front door; they (mostly kids) are being corraled to the right of the front stoop so they don't see what's going on in the driveway. I look in that direction as I walk up, and see possibly my father waving me on, like "don't look." As I reach the door, I try to console one of the kids by talking of fun things we are going to do.
I go upstairs to see how my mother is faring. She's cooking at the stove with her back to me. I try to get a read but cannot see her face and she doesn't turn around.
A week ago: Hiding in Paul McCartney's basement, looking for something. His house is on a upper middle class suburban street - big basement, nighttime. He and entourage/family are arriving - I have to get out or hide.
Also: The worst gig ever: technical problems, noisy crowd. I leave the microphone for a second and someone else gets up with a guitar and starts singing. I patiently wait.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
My parents' house is under some type of armed siege. I'm looking out the back door, regretting I didn't spend more of my recent free time in target practice. There are some guns downstairs I'm perusing; one of them more or less goes off in my face. But it's not a regular gun, it's some type of sound gun, and I'm momentarily dazed and discombobulated by this brassy deafening sound that hits my ears very closely.
Also, indoors, one cat is tormenting one or more other cats. The cat is very dangerous and evil... I need to stop it from hurting the defenseless, so I attack it with a knife successfully. I wake up with a very disturbed feeling for having done this.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Walking around my town (amalgam of many towns), slightly lost at times. Leaving an apartment after hanging out with Ringo Starr. Walking, thinking, why haven't I been doing more hanging out with Ringo while I've lived here? Other things I'm missing? Shouldn't move? Call MI to vent. Realize Ringo living nearby isn't very realistic; rationalize that he must just have a little secret getaway place here.
Another dream where I'm in some apartment/dorm, a large old building. Hanging out in elevator/room with Elliott Smith. I don't want to seem too much of a fan to him and freak him out. He talks about last record, says "record company changed it" not to his liking. Says he's been "drinking a lot", with a vaguely desperate smirk.
At a strange cross between the corner of M Drive and P Road, and a sort of beach inlet, daytime. Waves start to crash hard against rocks. I remember I left some equipment and things on short on other side of bay; prepare to swim quickly across (roughly 60 ft) to salvage. Am stopped by friends: "too dangerous." Waters are rough indeed.
A little while later, seeing high school people on M Drive. One woman I seem to recognize from HS (not really), insanely tall African-American. By end of conversation, she is at least 15 ft. tall. Very difficult to communicate distance. Ask her what she's been doing: soda pop model overseas. "Of course, what else could she possibly do."
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Yeah, the posts here have been few and far between. The dreams have not. Particularly dreams in which I'm "waking up" from a dream and writing it down in some form, only to wake up for real and then, not actually log it.
Had one dream of some sort of large Jedi Knight training room where activities are ongoing. Paper posted on column, instead of announcing training test results, says I have a terminal illness and not long to go. Thought I was prepared for this, but it hits me very very hard.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Some details are forgotten, but the surprising thing that happens is that, long after I think I've woken up from the invasion dream and "forgotten" its content, I step outside the building into the street to find armed enemy soldiers walking the streets rounding certain people up. I'm told to get back inside and I do so.
Later, I'm looking out a side upstairs window seeing massive flooding. A bus (later a smaller utility pickup truck) is being thrashed around, floating in the driveway. At one point I look out the window again and do not see the high water, but then it returns at a later glance.
Then I'm outside in a car (Mercury?) also trapped in the flood, although it is less of a flood eventually, and more just some sort of forces toying with the car. The truck from earlier is finally washed toward houses and it does some damage. My father is in the front seat, I tell him to get into the back and somehow save his life by doing so. The current (water or invisible) is now pulling the car out the driveway and down the block. I try the emergency break to no avail. I try shifting into Park only to find there is no Park option (I notice 1st gear and Neutral, however.) We are moving down the road, pulled by unseen forces.
There is another sequence that involves a strangely truncated physical symbol of the distance from here to California. It's like a (relatively) short tunnel i.e. 30 feet, extremely narrow and misshapen that I need to go through to find myself on the other coast.
Monday, February 28, 2005
In this dark factory location, there are metal doors that open intermittently to this cremation/CAT-scan type of narrow passage that leads to parts unknown. The entrance is also blocked by a piece of glass with an oval opening in the middle. Flames shoot out around entry, white hot. I need to go through so I do. On the other side, my body resembles Darth Vader lying prone, but my visible spirit rises up from the body and can move freely. I'm uncertain, I ask friends back on other side if this is what happened last time too, i.e. did I rise up as a spirit and continue? Answer: yeah. I move on to parts unknown beyond the passage.
Earlier: Some type of festival gig, crowded room. RH wants to show a little line-cliche/guitar lick to all, so a blues jam starts up. People trading solos, but end before RH gets to show the line. Apologies. Shows me. Sort of I7 - IV7 - iv6 i.e. key of A: C# A G C# A G - C A F# C A F# - B A F B A F - A etc.
Even earlier: I'm in apartment, accidentally call Dad at work; I use fake voice to hide identity. Later there is a book called "This is the Dream" that I'm told about. I think I wake up and am writing down the dream, noting the strange coincidental book title, but I'm actually still dreaming. Mom comes over and starts relating a dream of hers, so I start jotting that one down instead.
Also: In a half-dreaming state while staying near the Mojave Desert last week, I had some strange, dream-like images come to mind spontaneously, forcefully. A weird, gelatinous amoeba-like creature about ten inches wide moving in the night from plant to plant in the brush. Other imagery is forgotten, generally involving strange spirit like creatures in the desert night and iconic imagery.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
I notice that the parking lot is right near a small beach, so then I feel foolish that I was impatient, since I can just walk over to the beach; wait and enjoy. I do so. I watch the waves rush in; thoughts too, of California, MI, tsunamis. When I had walked out the door, two female employees were seated outside. Now, they are younger and no longer employees (casual dress.) They are calling me back from the shore, and they use some flute-like instruments to do so. The musical result is the perfectly exact opening to "Watermelon Man" from Herbie Hancock's 1973 record Headhunters (as if I was hearing the record while half-asleep, which I was not.) Eventually the band kicks in (just as on record) so I see a large band playing under/on a patio - Beach Bar vibe. People are complimenting the drummer; I watch him, he's very solid and relaxed - makes it look easy. Someone mentions the drummer is self-taught but is going back to school for music soon. Gig/party is ending, awkward goodbye hugs for all. LIMC people figure.
Later, at parents' house, nighttime after some school function i.e. graduation. MI has also forgotten something in her car out front and goes out to get it. I'm in the driveway and my father is being strangely overly helpful. MI comes back from the car with deep, dried-blood scratches on her face; it seems someone kissed her and scratched/scarred the cheeks badly in the process. We go back up the walkway and this HS teacher whose name I don't recall passes, saying something to me; i'm friendly, feeling popular. MI and I walk up to the front door but it is blocked by a table and some other things placed in some delicate ritual arrangement.