dreamager

i/ve seen a lot of hoo haw about covid era dream of late, that I feel that I should throw my hat in the ring. I mean, who doesn’t love a good dream? Anxious, sexy, mundane/work related, dreams are free. If I truly regret one thing in life, it is not keeping a dream journal. I can still remember a dream from my early twenties of having sex on the deck of a sampan cruising up the mekong river with an alabaster skinned/Albany bred beauty- the sky was electric and we were high. Listening to first time/long timers on brian Lehrer discussing their pandemic filled and fueled dreams got me to thinking about mine in 2020. Most of my anxiety dreams over the years have been work related. Do I have my passport, did I turn the cooker off, why did we buy those flights? Reality regularly invading the sleep. No wonder I have high blood pressure. But in 2020, there has been no work, per se. I don’t zoom , so there’s no toobin fears, and ddreaming about forgetting the balsamic in the vinaigrette is hardly Xanax inducing or up for Freudian interpretation. Sadly, bourdain is not coming to dinner anytime soon, though one can dream right? There have been work realted dreams, though. Work is live music and live music is sorely missed. My work related dreams have been centered on force feeding audio consoles to precious front of house engineers in various settings around the world. Most of those blow hards can choke down and LS9 with the ease of their requisite 20 IPA’s, but you should seem em try to work their way through an H3000. I know that I have certainly encouraged them to keester the midas if they can find parking next to their swollen heads and their hermetically sealed wallets. But its not all fun and games, I sometimes dream of throwing the utility guy his amp when he is drowning or filling the business manager’s tesla incontinent Pomeranians. It’s not all fun and games, sometimes I dream of eating noodles in Taipei or ripping up a gangster bar in hong kong with lemos, iseler ,and the dirty projectors I/ve also dreamt of peel sessions with primal scream and bailing various other noobs out of jail. The lines are often blurred. The sexy dreams are legion, beacause what are we for 10 months now, but alone. There have been so many nocturnal transgressions of sexy time with formal lovers or part time fling a lings that you cannot wake quickly enough or want to sleep forever. Are these night dreams or day dreams or blackout recollections? Shit, in 2020, dreaming about spooning is tantamount to an unhinged weekend at the hellfire club in days of yore. There is no rhyme or reason. Tonsil hockey in the front seat of the the providence production runner’s rental car at the end of a long day carries as much significance as the full monty with an old friend in an empty Dresden Sofitel. In 2020, beggars can/t be choosers. The channeling of the day to day tedium into the nighttime morass makes for forgettable fantasies. Do we dream of faster wifi, backdated enhanced unemployment benefits, and the most slaptastic lemon curd recipe? I dream of donuts. I dream of brunettes and gingers and dark hair gone grey. I dream of being in the crowd in a too packed club in 1988. I dream of being at the airport with too many bags and too many people. I dream of past transgressions and future forgiveness. Sometimes I dream of the seven deadly sins or the 10 commandments or the 2nd and 25th amendment, or the 3 stooges. I dream of what happens next and what happened along the way and why I can still remember the dream of sampans and a southeast Asian sunsets and alabaster skin and electric blue eyes but I can/t remember what I dreamt of last night.