The Filth

The wish dreams have been pretty low-key lately (participating in a weird poetry/improv gathering hosted by the late John Lewis, underwater making-out) so I thought I would revist one of the best dreams ever, which happened to take place a week ago today. Hows that for an anniversary?

The Dream: This one begins, as so many promising make-out dreams do, in a parked car late at night. Fritha and I are sitting in the car doing approximately nothing (perhaps preparing to make-out) when I decide its time to check the missed calls on my cell-phone. Which fits with my personal credo, as Ive always felt its best to take care of ones business before engaging in foreplay. It turns out I have a missed call, and instead of listing the number, my dream phone displays the name of the caller card-catalog style: Morrison, Gr. Who else could it be but Grant Morrison, Scottish comic scribe, crazy magic advocate, whose made his mark in the comics field with memorable runs on Doom Patrol, Animal Man, JLA, New X-men, the graphic novel Arkham Asylum, and much more. Its not really worth asking how Grant Morrison had my phone number (obviously magic), but I believe its perfectly acceptable to question why he would bother calling me, when he could use that same magic to acquire the phone numbers of much more interesting/attractive people (the remaining Bee Gees, for instance.) I noticed there was a voice mail from Mr. Morrison, so I checked to perhaps answer my own question. In his trademark thick Scottish brogue, Grant welcomed me to the staff of DC Comics, and somehow managed to have a smiley face emoticon appear on the message screen of my phone. How nice! Its a rare company that welcomes its new employees with personal calls from current sta....new employees? As in, me? Writing for DC Comics? This didnt jive with the dreams logic (why would a new writer spend idle time sitting in a parked car?) which prompted to me to contact Grant for an explanation....ok, first to be a big nerd and gush over how much I love his writing, THEN ask him to explain my sudden, inexplicable promotion. The call doesnt go through, however, and I get an error message explaining that some piece of equiment that amplifies the signal so that it...can...uhh...go other places (?) is busted, prompting me to seek redress at the cell phone company's headquarters, which is exactly what I do. The headquarters resembles some combination of the Crystal Palace and a shopping mall, with the office I need somewhere on the top floor. Fritha (yes shes still here, but her role in this dream is more or less like a deaf, mute Myrna Loy to my William Powell) and I head up an elevator to a large, dark theatre with three plexiglass screens set up in a kind of semi-circle array. I explain my situation to the operator who tells me if I watch the screen it will tell me how to contact Scotland. Several more people file in, all staring at the screens, which are blank except for red, blue, and green laster-show screensaver doodling. When the lights finally go down, red screens descend from the ceiling right in front of the other screens, kind of like a plastic decoder thing. So the lasers, when viewed through the red screen, display several phone numbers, one of which is for Scotland. I tell the operator Ive found what I want and he presses another button, which activates a parking-metere shaped device that I use to make my call. The number goes through and I wait anxiously for the connection to Scotland (and thus Grant Morrison, I guess), but I get the same busted equipment error message, and give up.

Wish Fulfilled: This dream makes a few wishes into para-reality. Most prominent is the writing job at DC comics, but almost as exciting is having Grant Morrison call my phone, initiating some kind of friendship or at the very least acquaintanceship. The call from Grant and job are also kind of combined in the last wish, which is to have done something or achieved something prominent enough to garner attention from respected contemporaries (assuming Im a Scottish writer in my 30s).

Origins/Interpretations: Well, Grant is currently one of the four writers in DC's "52", which Im enjoying on a weekly basis, and "All-Star Superman" which Im enjoying on a more or less monthly basis. Along with those titles Im reading much more from DC, and a long-time love of the company and its characters explains the desire to write for them. The interesting thing about this dream, I think, is the fact that even though the wishes are fulfilled, theyre denied at the same time. I get the call from Grant, and the smiley face, but thanks to the sound-amplifimicajig I couldnt make the connection. I guess you could reasonably assume that if I had the job I would eventually get to follow up on that opening salvo of friendship, but the dream ends before that can happen, which is actually the second denial. A dream job is suddenly fulfilled without my knowledge, without notification from anyone in the company aside from the pre-determined official professional greeter. So, was I really employed, or was it a tease? Or was it all.....magic?!?!

The Season Of The Shark

Nothing in the wish-fulfillment dream genre last night, but howd you like to hear about a bit of awesomeness from Tuesday night?

Tuesday's Dream: The park looked nothing like Boston Common, but thats where I was supposed to be. It was long, with a single paved path running down the middle and lots of very symmetric, authoritarian plots of trees. Also, unless my fact-checking is innacurate, Ira Kaplan and George Hubley of Yo La Tengo dont make their home in a gazebo in Boston Common. Regardless, I was there to meet them and take home a gift they had made for me. It seems I was friends with Ira and Georgia; good enough friends that they spent what mustve been considerable time and effort building a large wooden teepee that folded down, kind of like one of those collapsing metal cups for camping. I thanked them for the very useful gift and quick unfolded it to see how big it was, and whether I would fit inside. Thats when they informed me that it was missing the large, bowl-like bottom and that I should get in the bowl first, then set up the teepee around me, securing it from the inside. Ok, why not? Well, imagine what it would be like living inside a Weeble. That = the teepee made for me by 2/3rds of Yo La Tengo. With the teepee folded in my pocket (the bottom apparently discarded) I went home to show my parents, who were thrilled with the teepee but wanted to know who Ira and Georgia were. Instead of pulling out my copy of I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One and playing "Sugarcube" as my example, I just reiterated that they were very old, very dear friends. And build innovative wooden teepees is what old, dear friends do for one another.

Wish Fulfilled: Not just to know Ira Kaplan and Georgia Hubley of Yo La Tengo, but to actually be friends with them. And the conspicuous absence of James from the dream YLT line-up suggests that I also want to replace him as bassist/keyboardist.

Origins/Interpretation: What, you wouldnt want to be in Yo La Tengo? Or at least be friends with cats as hip and talented as Ira and Georgia? Interestingly enough, the next day I bought a used copy of Summer Sun, but by the time I was flipping through CDs in the store Id put the dream out of my mind, and nabbed the disc because it was $5. The kind of thrift displayed by a man living in a wooden teepee, I think.

True Lies 2: Super-Patriot Edition

Last Night's Dream: So there I am, a passenger on a commercial flight headed to New York City. There are several men in business suits and very strange paper-mache masks with large eyeholes covered with cellophane taking control of the plane, brandishing very large, Rob Liefeld-style guns (if you ever played the mind-numbingly awesome game Gunblade in your local arcade, you know what I mean.) I should also mention that the interior of the plane resembled the interior of an Astro van, and that the hijakers have informed us that as soon as the plane reaches New York, not only will it crash, but it will set off a bomb thats been planted in a hospital. Random, but you must admit, sinister. The plane lurches forward and Im launched out of my seat to the floor, where I discover a discarded giant sci-fi action gun. Joining me on the floor is a woman who looks kind of like Diane Lane if she were playing a middle school principal. She suggests that I use the gun to murder the hijakers. I agree, but cant seem to properly cock, or load, or...whatever the hell you do to futuristic murder guns to put them in "ready to murder" mode. After some thrashing about I finally figure it out, stand up, and notice that the plane is flying low over an inlet with tall red and white New England style houses and docks on either side. I open fire on the hijakers with gusto, ripping into them with hundreds of rounds of...lasers? Do lasers have rounds? Anyway, theyre approximately dead, so I rush to the controls and pilot the plane away from the ground, meanwhile throwing the mecha-death ray to Principal Diane Lane, asking her to make sure the hijakers are really dead. And they are. Thanks to my derring-do the passengers are safe, the hospital remains non-blown up, and all Iranians breathe a sigh of relief.

Wish Fulfilled: To be a frighteningly efficient composite of Bruce Willis, Wesley Snipes, and Karen Black. Or, to be Cable.

Origins/Interpretations: With the 5th anniversary of 9/11 coming up and the President beating the terrorist threat war drum like a octopod Keith Moon, the hijacking makes sense, but since when am I an action hero? This one has me stumped.