Tuesday, February 7, 2012

A Dream for the Ages

I have been having some very odd dreams recently, some of which I posted on Facebook to general merriment and puzzlement. But the one last night took the cake, both because of its length and my startling clarity of memory (to be fair, I cheated--I wrote down as much as I could recall as soon as I woke up). I was feeling pretty creative when I got up, and have been working on this little tale all day long. It is a totally accurate rendition of what I remember, as far I can tell, in the chronological order of the dream, too. And no, I have no idea what it means; there were so many damn images and events that it probably, if I lived alone on an island and had witnessed a moral giant being martyred forty years ago, could keep some fourth-millennium Timothy LaHaye busy for years if he ever gets his hands on this.

I can't read what that says, I said, waving the page,
I never could read music; I just liked being on stage
A relic of a more youthful and bygone golden age
All I knew how to do was rhyme words
Sitting on a bar stool, getting silently fried
Staring at some people I thought had already died
That were shouting at some weeping future brides
As others gathered round, forming a herd
Never an unpleasant word was loudly spoke
But it was clear some sacred bond had been broke
One guy was very clearly aiming to provoke 
A fight between two sets of brothers
One guy reached across the bar to the cook
And showed him something on a Kindle or a Nook
And then saluted him, pirouetted, and then shook
The left hands of all of the others
The short one shouted the night of destruction had begun
And that their only enemy was the rising sun
There seemed to be no limits concerning damages to be done
Then I heard Ed's mom calling my cat in
I went outside and saw a silhouette arrive
Carrying a briefcase that contained a small archive
I swore that I had known him in our previous lives
Then he started singing "Nights in White Satin"

Now I don't know how I was supposed to feel
But I was concerned when he asked me to kneel
And I stepped backward when he started to squeal
And starting talking about Aesop's Fables
The crowd spilled outside, and he soon had a welt
On his cheek when he was hit with someone's black belt
He shouted that he was a friend of Teddy Roosevelt
And that he was visiting from Coral Gables
I started to get frightened, and I started to trot
I wanted to sprint home, but my knees suddenly were shot
I started choking on my thick and congealed snot
"What a way to die," I stammered
Then I was sliding down a slide and picking up speed
Trying to slow down my progress by trying to grab onto weeds
I hit the bottom, and a crazy man shouted, "Suffer for your deeds!"
And beat me half to death with a hammer
There was a window opened, and I was looking for a tomb
Inside was a laughing lady, who offered me her womb
"You drink too much," she cried, "but we only consume"
And I spent the night in that humble abode
I couldn't seem to offer up what she wanted the most
And was soon turned out by my ungracious host
I raised my wine bottle, pronouncing a profane toast
And found myself back on the slick road

I saw a billboard flashing brightly some genocidal plans
Then saw two Indians trying to pass with pasty fake tans
I asked them, "Why not run while you still can?"
They muttered, "White man, it is written"
Then a woman I once knew came back from a desert town
And proceeded to turn my life totally upside down
And I seemed to gain back some status and renown
By saying publicly that I was smitten
I gave her a ring while sitting on a bench
She asked for some tools and a yellow monkey wrench
And said something about how I needed to dig some kind of trench
And that she needed it dug by Sunday
I became angry, and spewed forth slurs
I built a snowman, and named it after her
I refused to be placated with frankincense and myrrh
"Sure," I said, "that's what they all say"
I fell through a door and found myself on a beach
Sand in my mouth and holding onto a peach
With some guy pointing at me and saying, "That's the guy that used to teach
Shop Class while drinking Guinness Stout"
I sat down on the sand and started to cry
Wondering when it was that I had gotten high
And given up thirteen years without even remembering why
Then I sat up, and the alarm clock sang out

Yes, I really wasn't sure I hadn't relapsed until about 5:30. I think it was reading P.J. O'Rourke; not only is he incapable of not including a reference to his drinking on every single page of his work, but I was definitely remembering chapters in Parliament of Whores about trying Ecstasy and in Age and Guile about his college partying while I was reading the recent book. I guess I haven't forgotten about those days, after all.

And I have to say that it was nice to be finally dating Dawn Mooney, if only in a dream and only thirty-one years after circling around each other like buzzards around roadkill during a very long and hot summer in which we were, unfortunately, dating other people. I swear I thought about buying a ticket to Phoenix for about five hours today...

No comments: