Lots of dreaming but since I have awakened much has faded. What I first remember is having my car full of stuff from the feed store, pine shavings and chicken feed. I can only park near my home, up at the corner of Howard and West Michigan, because I have to carry stuff the rest of the way. I am in a big store with glass windows in front edged with silver-metal casing. I am talking to the owner, a Muslim, who is very nice, about leaving the chicken feed on a counter while I carry the pine shavings home, assuring him that I will be back to get the bags of chicken feed. No, wait, the dream shifts, now I have a bag of chicken feed up on my shoulder just as I had yesterday when I fed the chickens. Now the dream shifts again, I am back in that store and David Bowie is sitting at a large drawing table like the kind my father had that I then had in the basement family room for years and used to do my school work. David Bowie is alive, so I can talk to him, but I am also aware that he is dead and talking to me from beyond the grave. In the quantum mechanics of dream space, it's both at the same time, and so, also, neither.
David is smoking, or rather vaping from some metal black tube connected to a larger hookah, and he asks me to forgive him for the smoke. I comment that maybe he shouldn't be smoking as it will give him cancer. We both laugh because we know he will die and did die of cancer (though not lung cancer, actually). I tell him that it is a shame that he is going to die/ that he did die because I always wondered what the great celebrities of rock would create in their 80s or even 90s, him among them, of course. Would he and Jagger and Pete Townsend and Gabriel and others get together for interesting and special projects as octogenarians or even as men in their 90s? I am thinking of Bowie's aged character in The Hunger a bit here. I can't remember what Bowie said about this, but I did call him "David," and we had some laughs and smiles. He was very warm and inviting to me, not standoffish at all, and seemed to really enjoy talking to me. I woke up right after asking about the elder and senior years of the great rock musicians and had not yet heard David's answer for what he thought of my comment and what those projects might have been like.
So, I am in an idealized New York Chinatown with stylings from the 1920s with John Scalzi. We're dressing up as Batman and Robin. He's Batman. It's unclear whether we ARE Batman and Robin or are posing as Batman and Robin. There's interaction with a Chinese Dragon Lady, who smokes with a cigarette holder and wears long gloves. There's sexy banter. The room fills with smoke. The details have faded like the smoke. We climb out the window. Later, we're in an old hotel with lots of famous people, like Joan Rivers and others. Many classic movie stars. Elizabeth Taylor. Robert Mitchum. More. The dream shifts again. A woman with short hair who looks like Selina Kyle, who looks like Moreena Baccarin from V, leans close to whisper a secret in my ear.
When I woke, among the many details of this dream, one thing stood out. It was a moment when you, Mom, told me to give you a hug. I did, and a kiss, too. This was set at a time before you regularly asked for or wanted hugs from my college years through to before your meningitis. As for the dream, there were many things that were lost when I woke up, but the dream was set at the West Gull Lake Drive house. There was a big party. You were in hostess mode, Mom. There were tons of people at the party, but not the kind of people you liked. Different people, new people, mixed with family and friends. People from a different type of community, circles we did not usually travel in.
At one point, I am trying to make my way through the crowd in the dining room to reach the kitchen. I am trying to pass between the big dining room counter and the table, a narrow space, which, jammed with people is very difficult to traverse. I am grumbling as I weave through, nearly on stepping people. I don't know these people. In the kitchen, I am trying to help you, but the party is ending. I want to have a shower as I have not yet had one. People are tossing paper plates and cups into open trash containers. Bruno Sims is there and I say to him that "I don't like a lot of the people at this party." He says, "people can really suck sometimes, man." Lori and Dad have comandeered the showers so I know I have to wait. You are in your red and white checked apron as in the picture below. You say to me: "give your Mom a hug," which is in front of Bruno. This seems like it's to make up for the party, as you admit that you didn't really like a lot of those people either. You know, the fake people who go to artsy things to be seen being artsy but who themselves are not artsy?
I give you the hug and a kiss besides.
Later, the dream has shifted. I still want to have a shower. I suspect the shower thing comes from the heat and humidity of the day and night because when I wake up, I am drenched in sweat. I am driving Liesel's car. I am not wearing any closed but am wrapped in towels, as I often was when changing clothes. I am looking for a place to shower. I see group of shops, one of which is called "DatBastard.com." I decide to return to check it out after my shower. I decide that going home, even though I know this is somewhat of a drive, is the best option to get my shower. So, I turn onto a boulevard. There's a car in the other lane to my left, and we're racing, both trying to get ahead of the other. Finally, I let the other car win, and she goes by. But soon, I overtake her and she falls far behind. Then I notice that I am in a one way going the wrong way. Cars are coming at me. Some go by as there are multiple lanes, but I see every mane filled up ahead with cars on a collision course. I whip into a parking lot. There's an ABC warehouse that's like three or four stories high at the other end of the lot, visible over another one story building. I realize that I am farther from home than I thought. Is this Grand Rapids? Detroit? Philadelphia? I don't know. I wake up hot and sweaty.
Reflect and connect.
Have someone give you a kiss, and tell you that I love you.
Talk to you tomorrow, Mom.
- Days ago = 412 days ago
- Bloggery committed by chris tower - 1608.20 - 10:10
NOTE on time: When I post late, I had been posting at 7:10 a.m. because Google is on Pacific Time, and so this is really 10:10 EDT. However, it still shows up on the blog in Pacific time. So, I am going to start posting at 10:10 a.m. Pacific time, intending this to be 10:10 Eastern time. I know this only matters to me, and to you, Mom. But I am not going back and changing all the 7:10 a.m. times. But I will run this note for a while. Mom, you know that I am posting at 10:10 a.m. often because this is the time of your death.