I had the dream again where, in the dream, I lose either my guitar or my backpack, or both.
It is a very detailed dream where I am in the society of what I would have to call "dream skeezers."
Last night's version, which took place around 3 PM, after I had gone back to sle
ep for about the 3rd time, after wakening, realizing that I had brought home about 25 bucks after Saturday night, had coffee and cigarettes and a half a bone of the "purp" and then gone back to sleep, lulled by a feeling of security.
It was also Sunday morning, and a football day, with Howards apartment only 100 feet away, and equipped to display CBS' broadcast.
The dream, this time was of losing both my backpack and guitar.
I was somewhere where there were other musicians skulking around. It was a dark place, the whole dream taking place at night and characters and places emerging out of the dark, so that they could be geographically miles apart, yet only separated in the dream by spaces of total darkness.
Every other musician in the dream was of the traveling kid type and a lot of them had guitars, but they were all of the cheapest brands.
I asked one what kind of guitar he had and went to look at the name on the headstock, as if to answer my own question, and, just as I was seeing that the "name" on the headstock was like some crudely carved hieroglyphic, which in dream-speak said" Cheap ass starter guitar from Sears from the 1950's or something" he started to say: "It's just a cheap knock off of a....."
Well, in the dream, I first freak out because I realize that I had placed my guitar down, rested on my backpack and then had drifted, maybe 15 feet in the dream, away for whatever reason and the guitar and pack had become enshrouded in darkness.
As I step closer to try to discern them, I am in a different place, but I remember where I had placed them, and I rush there, becoming relieved at first to make out a guitar resting on a pack as I approach, but then having this feeling morph into dread as I realize that it is not my Takamine and it is not even in my gig bag (it is in a gig bag with the same symbol on it, the logo of the makers of the cheapest ass musical gear on the planet) and I frantically begin to look around for either my guitar, or some skeezer making off with it.
The whole dream kind of goes like that, existing in an environment where one cannot literally turn his head on his stuff.
And finally, realizing that both were gone, I start to lament the fact that the Takamine would be about 300 bucks to replace, and I make a mental inventory of the stuff in my pack.
I even thought of getting a job as a dishwasher for a couple months, maybe, to save up to replace the guitar; thinking that I could get an even better one; but knowing full well what kind of hell it would be to go through the whole process of filling out an application at the labor pool down the street; etc.
Why I didn't just put the stuff on my back in the dream to safeguard it is probably the conflict which I need to resolve in the conscious waking state.
It is Sunday night, and when the computer room closes in 15 minutes, I will go to watch football with Howard.
I have drank the past 8 nights now.
I don't really feel like drinking now; just watching football and sipping coffee and running out for a half a cigarette every commercial break.
It is a very detailed dream where I am in the society of what I would have to call "dream skeezers."
Last night's version, which took place around 3 PM, after I had gone back to sle
It was also Sunday morning, and a football day, with Howards apartment only 100 feet away, and equipped to display CBS' broadcast.
The dream, this time was of losing both my backpack and guitar.
I was somewhere where there were other musicians skulking around. It was a dark place, the whole dream taking place at night and characters and places emerging out of the dark, so that they could be geographically miles apart, yet only separated in the dream by spaces of total darkness.
Every other musician in the dream was of the traveling kid type and a lot of them had guitars, but they were all of the cheapest brands.
I asked one what kind of guitar he had and went to look at the name on the headstock, as if to answer my own question, and, just as I was seeing that the "name" on the headstock was like some crudely carved hieroglyphic, which in dream-speak said" Cheap ass starter guitar from Sears from the 1950's or something" he started to say: "It's just a cheap knock off of a....."
Well, in the dream, I first freak out because I realize that I had placed my guitar down, rested on my backpack and then had drifted, maybe 15 feet in the dream, away for whatever reason and the guitar and pack had become enshrouded in darkness.
As I step closer to try to discern them, I am in a different place, but I remember where I had placed them, and I rush there, becoming relieved at first to make out a guitar resting on a pack as I approach, but then having this feeling morph into dread as I realize that it is not my Takamine and it is not even in my gig bag (it is in a gig bag with the same symbol on it, the logo of the makers of the cheapest ass musical gear on the planet) and I frantically begin to look around for either my guitar, or some skeezer making off with it.
The whole dream kind of goes like that, existing in an environment where one cannot literally turn his head on his stuff.
And finally, realizing that both were gone, I start to lament the fact that the Takamine would be about 300 bucks to replace, and I make a mental inventory of the stuff in my pack.
I even thought of getting a job as a dishwasher for a couple months, maybe, to save up to replace the guitar; thinking that I could get an even better one; but knowing full well what kind of hell it would be to go through the whole process of filling out an application at the labor pool down the street; etc.
Why I didn't just put the stuff on my back in the dream to safeguard it is probably the conflict which I need to resolve in the conscious waking state.
It is Sunday night, and when the computer room closes in 15 minutes, I will go to watch football with Howard.
I have drank the past 8 nights now.
I don't really feel like drinking now; just watching football and sipping coffee and running out for a half a cigarette every commercial break.
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