Dream Journal #7

Had a strange dream last night involving husband-and-wife evangelists/cult leaders who may have been based on a similar husband-and-wife team from Season 2 of True Blood, a show I haven't watched for several months. They were really into fishing ("fishers of men"?) for some reason, and at some point I think I swallowed a small, live fish whole. They were also control freaks, in true cult leader fashion, at one point inserting a small metal button or peg in the floor so that I couldn't close the door to my bedroom. I was living in some sort of communal house with them and some other people who'd fallen under their spell. I seemed to be the only person who knew that the situation was bad news, but no one would believe me. My favorite detail of the dream was that the cult leaders had some sort of Christian rock band who played in the style of the early Sir Douglas Quintet, and they'd had great success recruiting wannabe Sir Dougs from Sweden, where there was apparently a large group of young SDQ fans ripe for cult indoctrination.

I'm Assuming There Are No Wooden Puppets In Inception

All this talk about Inception and the way dreams are portrayed or used as plot devices in movies reminds me of the most dream-like movie I've ever seen, Jan Svankmajer's Faust.  It's not about dreams, and there are no "dream sequences", but it feels the way a dream feels.  The logic, the rhythm, the repetitions of certain actions, all seem more akin to a dream than to a mainstream movie, as if Svankmajer replaced conventional film grammar with dream grammar.  There's something about the way stairs are used in Faust that is key to its convincing dream-ness, but I don't think I could explain that without seeing it again, if even then.  Thinking about how images, scenes and, most of all, the feeling of the thing have persisted in my mind, coming to the surface with surprising frequency, it's hard for me to believe that I've seen it only once, in or around 1998.  I like the form it has, the place it inhabits, in my memory, and I'm a little afraid of the way a second viewing might alter that.

As a side note, another thing I remember about that screening (here comes some name-dropping) is that Jeff Mangum and a bunch of the Elephant 6/Orange Twin gang were there.  They all showed up together in a van.  Which, now that I'm typing it, kind of sounds like a dream I would've had.  But that, kids (here comes some nostalgia), was Athens, Georgia in the late '90s.

Dream Journal - Special Link Edition

I was pretty proud of my recent jazz-related dream, but I think Alex Balk's unconscious mind has outdone mine with this nocturnal concoction featuring Thelonious Monk, Fred Hersch, and the Curbed guy.

Dream Journal #6 - Lost In A Dream, or Eliot Spitzer Live At The Village Vanguard

I dreamed that I was going to see the Paul Motian-Jason Moran-Greg Osby trio at the Village Vanguard (which I hope to actually do in waking life later this week).  I was going to the late set, but got there as the early set was close to wrapping up.  Motian was playing a cardboard drum kit with parallelogram-shaped drums, and Moran was on cello (even though there was a piano on stage).  Then more cellists came up out of the audience and joined in as Motian quickly showed them the tune.  Not sure what Osby was doing during all this.

Then, as I was waiting around between sets, the Vanguard had been transformed into some kind of big hall, and former NY Governor Eliot Spitzer was leading everybody outside, telling us we had to clear the hall because a woman had just given birth to twins.  I was waiting for an old friend to arrive for the late set, but it took me a long time to find him and I'd forgotten my cell phone.  Then I ran into one of my cousins who was attending a class reunion at a nearby school.  I don't remember much more, except that at some point I helped carry a piece of the cardboard drum kit to the stage from some kind of truck or trailer.

Dream Journal #5 - The Public Intellectual Who Stole Christmas

In my dream, I was at Christopher Hitchens' house. The place was full of Christmas decorations because he'd been out stealing them from people's front yards. Presumably because he's an atheist. Some people I knew showed up, and I hoped they wouldn't think I was involved with or approved of the theft. Shortly thereafter, the police arrived.

Dream Journal #4 - Another Celebrity Dream Cameo

Had a dream that I was sliding on ice through a very cold Winnipeg. I slid from outside right into a big fancy shopping mall-type place with slick polished floors, so I was able to just keep sliding. Then I went up some stairs and met Ringo Starr working in a small machine shop. He'd apparently given up the celebrity life to become a blue-collar Canadian working man.

That was before I'd seen the trailer for the new Guy Maddin short film, Night Mayor of Winnipeg, but it wouldn't have been my first Maddin-influenced dream. Actually, this dream was almost disappointingly easy to deconstruct. I'd say the formula was something like this: all the recent talk of Beatles reissues + a mention of Lake Winnipeg in Nabokov's Bend Sinister (which I was reading right before bed) + a cool breeze coming in the window.

Dream Journal #3

This one was clearly inspired by reading the George Plimpton "oral biography" George, Being George (which, by the way, is marvelous, as George himself might have put it):

Last night, I dreamed that I was watching a U.S. Open tennis match, on TV, in a shopping mall-like environment, with Norman Mailer. I think the match involved either Roger Federer, Andy Roddick, or maybe both. I was a little intimidated by Mailer's presence. I don't remember him saying much, but he definitely seemed to be following the match closely.

Update:
Coincidentally, the Village Voice reprinted this odd Norman Mailer-related story from their archives today. I never knew he was interested in architecture and city planning.

Dream Journal #2 - (Old &) New Dream(s)

I listened to two albums on my brand name portable digital music delivery device yesterday, both featuring Charlie Haden on bass. Unfortunately, the combination of street and subway noise and my not-quite-enough-noise-cancelling, less-than-audiophile quality earbuds meant that Haden was all but inaudible. Perhaps trying to compensate for his absence in my headphones, Haden showed up last night in a dream.

In the dream, I was supposed to be playing guitar with him and Paul Bley. Haden had the tunes picked out and showed me the charts he had put together. They were very basic outlines, some I understood and some I didn't. I think one was just a list of 6 or 7 chords. Strangest of all, some of the tunes seemed to be inspired by Dr. Seuss.

We never actually got around to playing. Charlie was ready to go, but Bley was taking a long time doing some kind of meticulous preparation, and I was having a hard time hooking up a ridiculously long chain of effects pedals. I realized I was way out of my league and was afraid that they thought I was some kind of Bill Frisell-level player. I was hoping I could fake my way through it, but the dream ended before I got the chance.

After having that dream, I probably should go see this. I'll be sure to leave the guitar at home.

Dream Journal #1 - A Dark Premonition???

Posting this makes me a little uneasy. I guess I'm afraid that I might be opening a window into a corner of my psyche best left hidden. But here goes:

Last night, I had a dream about tonight's David Byrne concert in Prospect Park. Except it wasn't in Prospect Park. The tall, two-level stage was set up in an empty lot. The Dave Matthews Band was also on the bill. Among other items for sale, you could buy a George Jones Greatest Hits album at the merch table.

And here's the weirdest part: playing in David Byrne's band were MSNBC host Joe Scarborough, on standup bass, and his father, also on standup bass. For the record, I know nothing about Joe Scarborough's father or even if he's still living.

David Byrne was on the upper level of the stage playing acoustic guitar. Scarborough and Scarborough were on the lower level, side by side, plucking away at their basses. I have no idea what song it was.

I'm planning to attend the real David Byrne show tonight, and I have two wishes: that the forecast for rain turns out to be wrong, and that my dream doesn't turn out to be a premonition.