A man can dream, can’t he?

The other night I had a dream that was short enough for me to recall the whole thing. I was in Boulder, Colorado visiting a friend who in real life hosts a couple of shows on a pirate radio station. I was with her while she was spinning her discs (or loading up YouTube videos, more likely). She decided to play “The Monster Mash” by Boris Pickett and the Crypt-Kickers. As soon as the song started, with nothing said, we each picked up a handy microphone and started singing along with he song. Our performance was broadcasted in concert with the recording. We were predictably awful. Our singing was for shit and we kept fucking up the lyrics. We didn’t care, though, we were laughing and jumping around and were really into it.

Maybe you had to be there to appreciate the enormity of this thrilling experience.

One thought on “A man can dream, can’t he?”

  1. Nice dream, what with all the laughing and hilarity. Here’s one I still chuckle about, though not at the time I dreamed it.

    By the age of eleven or twelve I was no stranger to waking up from a nightmare, sweat soaked and tangled in the sheets. One night was different.

    In my dream, short like the one you relate, I had the misfortune of crossing paths with an ogre. Yup, the real deal. Large, misshapen, ugly. Of course he began to chase me. I ran into a large house hoping someone would be there to help me.

    I ran through several rooms with thundering footfalls shaking my ears and seeming closer with each ragged breath I took. Then up a staircase, a quick left down a long hallway lined with doors. I picked one, and turned to open it, glancing back down the hall. The ogre had not yet turned the corner. He couldn’t see me. Inside, quick as a fox. Close door gently.

    The room was empty save for a large sofa along the wall immediately to the left of the door. I wiggled into the darkened space between the sofa and the wall and tried to hold my breath.

    The door clicked and swung open. Peeking out through the narrow slot I saw the ogre lean into the room, sniffing and tilting his head. Dreadful was the next moment as that great, loathsome head turned towards the sofa and his baleful, yellow eyes swiveled down to lock my own gaze. I felt a tremendous surge of adrenalin as his hand, the size of a wheelbarrow, gripped the end of the couch and flung it into the opposite wall. He took a step towards me.

    Maybe it was a real shot of flight or fight juice that I felt in my dream or maybe it was just my imagination that brought about the final scene. Either way, I’ll never forget what happened next.

    From my helpless position I saw the ogre nearing, arms spread in preparation for an all consuming embrace. I felt the heat in my face and the stone in my belly. Then I saw my right hand reach out and grasp some invisible something in the rapidly closing space between us. I felt a solid, round object in my fingers. It felt like a knob, a dial. I twisted it . . .

    . . . and changed the channel!! Just like on TeeVee! The ogre, the sofa and the house and the whole scenario were gone with an audible “click”.

    I was so startled (or relieved or juiced on adrenalin) that I awoke rapidly, astounded that such a thing was possible, let alone had actually happened to me. I lay there catching my breath while it gradually dawned on me that maybe I didn’t have to suffer though nightmares. Maybe I could interrupt somehow. Maybe even actually switch from a bad dream to a nice one without waking up.

    By this time there was a blush of dawn at the window, and I, fully awake and with a new sense of myself and my mind, went to my desk and resumed work on a scale model airplane, taking care to not use too much glue.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: