on flying in dreams

I originally wrote this sometime in mid October, 2010. It's now Jan. 3rd, 2011 and almost 4:00am. I have work tomorrow and haven't slept...


Today, I thought about how amazing I feel when I'm in a dream flying. The deepest sleep, completely incapacitated to the point of euphoria. When I wake up, a deep feeling of disappointment and resentment sets in, for I'd rather be flying through the Alps instead of running a dull razor blade against my face. Scrape, scratch, cut - shit. Oh well. After a few snooze buttons, I begin to forget about the specific details of the dream, the who/what/where, and ultimately it fades altogether. Sometimes the soundtrack can stick around for a few minutes, but that fades out into the sound of water moving through the shower head and over my ears.

Dreams are fleeting. It's like opening the back of a camera, exposing the film to the sunlight. 24 exposures, from various places and times, with different people immediately erased. Or, it's like taking a powerful magnet and placing it up against a computer's hard drive. Except, the dream does have a tendency to leave little traces. Have you ever done that thing where you thought you had called someone the night before, and when you ask the other person they have no recollection of it ever happening? "Oh yeah, I guess it was a dream..." And generally, it is the mundane that can be difficult to differentiate, because you're never like, "Hey dad, remember that one time where we were floating in a hot air balloon over Albuquerque and we jumped out and started flying around?" Yeah, or like when you had that dream when your car or dog had a conversation with you in a human dialect. Mine was wearing a floral shirt. "Greetings from Hawaii!" he said as we Skyped.

Oh yeah, I didn't iron any of my shirts. Do you think anyone will notice? Eh, I'll just wear it. Hmm, I haven't dry cleaned my pants in 4 months, are they starting to stink? *sniff* *sniff* Hmm, yeah they do smell a little bit. I wonder if anyone has noticed. Oh crap, I left food and drink on my desk over the weekend. Eh, it's ok, I'll just get in extra early so that no one will notice. And they'll say, "See, that guy is ready to get his week started, see how eager he is to get back to work?"

"Hey, how was your weekend?"
"Relaxing. And yours?"
"Yeah, Great. Watched the Bears."
"Oh cool, did they win?"
"No."
"Oh.."
"Well.."
"Well, see ya later"
"Yeah, you too. Have a good one"

"Hey, how's it going? Have a nice weekend?"
"Yeah, got to fly in a hot air balloon"
"Really?! Wow! That is so cool!"
"Yeah, it was great."
"Where did you fly it?"
"It was over the moon. Passed a couple deep canyons and saw the lunar lander. It was fantastic. Then we flew over Rio and saw Christ the Redeemer, and then over towards Berlin and watched all the people tear down the wall. And then we landed and a man handed me a sledge hammer and I made a huge hole in the wall. People started crawling through the hole and brought beer with them. We celebrated all night and sang songs. After saying goodbye, we climbed back into the balloon and flew home. I tied it down to a tree in my backyard, but when I was leaving the house this morning for work, it was gone!I think someone stole it..."
"Uhmm.. ok.. see you later"
"You too,. bye."

A social commentary on narcissism would be like the worst dream ever. Because it would be about how much people hate having to act a certain way at work but just do it anyway. "Once I get inside the system then I can actually change it."

Bah, in your dreams. You won't be anything more than a car salesman.
What's wrong with that?
Nothing,. nothing at all,. Did I say there was anything wrong with being a car salesman?
No, but you seemed to imply it.
Hm, yeah, no, I'm sorry, you may just be making that up.
Oh, ok, sure thing Narcissus.

What do you think Socrates dreamt about? Probably pretty trippy shit. Or how about Marcus Aurelius? Virtue 24/7? How about Glenn Beck? Christmas? Santa? American Spirit? Lucky Strikes and gin? (or whiskey?)

My next door neighbor, whom I am not obliged to describe in detail for fear of jeopardizing his livelihood, works at the Pentagon. He has a security clearance, a motorcycle, and a bag of weed in his garage. I'll go over and get high with him and talk about youth and young manhood. I'd say it's a pretty "real" American experience. Sometimes, I'll come back and listen to cumbia. There's never enough beer in this house. There's plenty of expensive organic vegetables rotting in the refrigerator though. Off to the worms they go.