Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
A rough night culminated in late slumber that ended with a dream and music.
I’ve posted “Highway Star'” by Deep Purple here before, but it was in my dream, so I thought I’d stay with it. It was the live version from their Made in Japan album, 1972. I had that album and used to listen to it at ear-bleeding levels. It’s a damn intense, unrelenting song, an eruption of unapologetic rock, almost to such levels that it’s parody.
Here it is, the looonnng live version, fresh from ’72.
I was driving. Wife with me, I was following instructions to my new home.
There was a twist. I was keeping my old home, but, per the instructions, I’d been rewarded with more space.
Pleased and excited, I drove along winding roads through green countryside, toward…my old home. But slowing within visual of my old home, I told my wife, “It says to turn left here,” so I did.
There…was my new ‘additional’ home, on the right.
Huge, set back on a sprawling green lawn, it startled me. This was mine…too. Yes, according to the instructions. I parked. My wife and I entered the house, walking around and gawking. Furnished, it was ready for us to move in. I discovered it had a pool in the back, which really excited me. Checking out the area, I discovered the road my new house was on looped around back to my old house, making it easy to go back and forth between the two.
My friend, Kevin arrived. He and his family were moving to the area. He said that they needed a place to stay. Happily, I informed him, “You can stay here. I have a guest house.” After I showed him and he agreed, I said, “And I have a pool, so I’m going to take a swim before I dress for work.
The dream shifted. I’d joined a group. We were about to explore our new little town. It was covered in snowy white, and a large map in the sky showed me the route to take. Twenty of us piled into five cars. I drove the lead car. Though the town was supposed to be new to me, I was familiar with it, so I took on the role of tour guide.
Our first stop was at a coffee shop. The young male barista shared a photo with me of a large red coffee cup. This was, he explained, painted on the landing of a local ski jump. It was where he’d proposed marriage to his girlfriend.
I shared this info with my group. Getting back into the cars, I drove us downtown. We jumped out of the cars and ran through the snow on the sidewalk. In a few moments, I realized, we’re at the sky jump. “Look! There’s the big red cup of coffee.” I pointed it out everyone.
We then chatted about that, which was where the dream ended.
No whips of any kind were in this dream, except the brutal emotional ones most of us employ on ourselves. This was a classic mélange of frustration and anxiety.
It began as a military dream. Whether this is true, I remembering being partially awake and telling myself, “Not another military dream.”
Then I wasn’t in a military dream. I was instead outside, with others. We were all all students and were scheduled to give an all-important final presentation. We’d already done one. Using feedback, we were supposed to go back and improve it.
But here I was, not at all fucking ready. It was time to go and I wasn’t dressed. I hadn’t changed my presentation, either.
I told myself, I can do this! Others began leaving for class. One reminded me that I needed to be there on time. The doors would close and lock at eight. If I wasn’t there, I would be failed.
Sure, I wasn’t worried.
Knowing that I needed to change clothes and my presentation, I went in the opposite direction of everyone else. What was I going to wear? How was I going to change the presentation.
I didn’t have answers. Time was running out. I decided, I’d wear what I had on – a red sweater with black pants – even though I’d worn those yesterday. And, by not changing clothes, I could make changes to the presentation.
Time was running out, and I’d wasted so much of it. I rushed toward class.
A bell was ringing.
I wasn’t going to make it.
I partially awoke. Thinking of the dream, I decided, I can change the outcome. Go back, dream again, and change the outcome.
I’m usually not bad at doing this. Today was a failure.
I went back. Time was running out. I would take a short-cut to get to the room. Rushing down a long flight of stairs, I came to another hallway.
It ended.
It was the wrong hallway. I couldn’t reach my class room from there.
A student and a security guard were sitting there, talking about another, but the details reflected my own situation. The student asked, “What if they’re late?”
The guard replied, “It doesn’t matter. I close the doors and lock them.”
“But what if they’re really trying?”
“Doesn’t matter. The doors are locked, and they fail.”
I started back up the hall to head for my class room. I found myself there.
The door wasn’t locked. I opened it and entered.
Everyone looked at me. The teachers (two) looked at me. A classmate said, “You’re in the same clothes. You didn’t change.”
The dream ended.
Dreams, news, weather, cats, etc.
Disparate elements of thoughts combine.
New elements form.
Fresh streams of thoughts begin.
With it arrives memories and hopes.
Pieces of song.
And what it all boils down to
Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet
Well, I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is playin’ a piano
And what it all comes down to my friends, yeah
Is that everything is just fine, fine, fine
‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is hailin’ a taxi cab
h/t to Genius.com
The song is “Hand in my Pocket”, the year is 1995, and the performer is Alanis Morissette.
Here is today’s theme music.
My dreams remain plentiful and involved. Sometimes, it feels like my brain is switching channels between realities as I sleep.
In this segment, I’d arrived to conduct an inspection. Three gentlemen in sites, all white, but of different ages, met me.
They knew why I was there. The oldest, with receding, thick white hair said, “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Do you have what I want?” I asked.
“Yes, but we must find it.” He nodded to the youngest man. “Go tell the others he’s arrived.” After going up white steps, the young man entered a tall, narrow building.
We followed him. The oldest man said, “It’s in one of the safes. We don’t know which one.”
We were walking down a narrow hall. I asked, “How many are there?”
“Twenty-three.”
I’d not expected so many safes. The oldest man nodded at the other. “Open number six.”
The other turned and opened a door, revealing a silver vault door within with a silver combination dial in the center. Stepping forward, the man put his hand on the dial.
The dream ended.
Weighing dreams on the scales. There was another flying dream, brief but intense. I wore goggles in this one. The wind tore at my face. An insect flew into my mouth.
My sputtering and spitting marked the end to the flying portion. In a dream picosecond, I’m in the military somewhere, temporary duty somewhere, finishing up. A woman, a major is present. She came in for the same conference. I talk to her about sharing a ride to the airport. Plans and agreements are made.
Time skips ahead. It’s later than I thought. I need to rush. I haven’t packed! I need to check out, too. The airport is ninety miles away. No, it’s ninety minutes away.
I need to hurry.
I’m racing, explaining to the front desk, I order a ride and tell them where to meet me. Hurrying to the room, I shower and change clothes. Shoes! Where are they? Oh, I’ve packed them. Where’s my thing, where‘s my toilet kit?
Anxiety ratchets up.
I see a car, a silvery blue sedan, like a Buick. A woman is driving. My ride, I think. I wave at her. She parks and leaves her car. I shout over, “I need more time, I’m almost ready.”
She walks over and starts following me. I’m talking to her, babbling. We’re at once outside and in the room. I finally find my toilet kit — I’ve already packed it. Damn it, where’s my head?
And the woman says, “I’m not your ride. I’m your replacement. How was your visit?”
In morning’s warm light, it all makes sense. The military was a comfortable space. Not very challenging, and straightforward. Structured, with few surprises, and a lot of positive feedback.
Now I’m out on my own, flying on my writing words but so damned dismayed. Is it smart enough, original enough, good enough?
Where is my toilet kit?
I know. Standard writer qualms. Standard human qualms.
Standard life qualms.
See ya.
Found myself wealthy with dreams last night. This was my favorite.
I’d left the military and I’d change clothes, twice. We were in a busy olace, an amalgam of city, countryside, stores, restaurants, and airport. It changed with where I ooked. That seemed right.
Now I was running late. Friends (K and W) and wife (B) accompanied me, and waited. I told them, “I need to take care of some of my change. There’s so much, I want to deal with some now.”
They mildly complained but I laughed them off and went to my car. Hard-edged and shiny, it was bright lime green wedge, exotic, expensive, and new. Yet my things were in it.
Young, energized, feeling liberated, I opened a panel up, revealing a long, light gray tray. Normally hidden from view, it went half the car’s length. Phones, electronic gear, clothing, paper money, and silver coins were in this tray. I couldn’t reach them because it’d all slid to the back, facts pointed out (with a laugh) by K, W, and B.
I replied, “Watch.” Jiggling the car caused the stuff to shift forward, letting me grab it. “There’s so much change,” I said, laughing. The others asked me what was funny but I didn’t explain. I put handfuls of change in my pocket to use, and then took some clothes to put on, and took a blender and a phone and put them into other parts of the car.
Traffic was heavy. We needed to go. After putting sunglasses on, we took off. The trip was short and fast. I swear that lime green car was flying.
After parking it and exiting, a dream about shopping began
The night was lively with energetic, positive dreams. When dreams like these take place, I hope and wish that they’re prophetic. Although I’m an optimist, I believe they’re overflow from my attitude, not the future.
My attitude does fluctuate. I can swing from hopeful to despairing faster than a hummingbird’s heartbeat.
At least one dream featured background music as U2’s “Red Hill Mining Town” was played. A few stanzas were prominent:
We’re wounded by fear
Injured in doubt.
I can lose myself
You I can’t live without.
Yeah, you keep me holdin’ on
In Red Hill Town.
See the lights go down onÖ
Hangin’ on
You’re all that’s left to hold on to.
I’m still waiting
I’m hangin’ on
You’re all that’s left to hold on to
On to.
h/t to Metrolyrics.com
BTW, did anyone else’s WP give you a change — an improvement, they’ll probably tell you — changing your block editor? Gotta fix it again, not difficult, but annoying. Don’t need another cause for teeth gnashing, thanks.
Here’s the music, from 1991. Not fond of this video. Hadn’t seen it before today, but it leaves me cringing with its sense of studied drama.
It was Friday, just after noon. Dressed in casual work clothes, I was walking through bright and airy offices. It could’ve easily been one of the new buildings from one of my employers in Redwood City and Mountain View, CA, or Atlanta, GA.
Two parties were planned. One was to fete a team project, and the other was a birthday party. Although the parties started here, it was understood that the parties would continue elsewhere. Visiting with friendly co-workers, I decided to change clothes. Producing a box, I put on my workout clothes.
I now looked just like I did in high school. Tables were set up and food was arriving. I walked along eyeing it. A vast assortment of fruit and veggie trays were arrayed, along with cookies. One set of cookies were shaped like hearts and outlined in pink, red, or white glitter. The cookies were on sticks and arranged as a bouquet in a red glass vase.
I declined to eat anything for the moment. Then, abruptly, I worried, where’s my box of clothes? I asked several people if they’d seen it: no. I thought I’d left it in the hall. Then I recalled where I placed it.
Rushing down a flight of stairs, I went to a corner. There was my box. I picked it up and opened it, confirming that everything was in it.
Music began. I realized the song was “All Night Long (All Night)” by Lionel Richie. Someone said that he was there. Some people began dancing.
The dream ended.
Michael Seidel, writer 