Old Dreams

Dreams. Everyone’s got ’em.

There are two links in that opening sentence, to kStyle’s and Blue Girl’s recent, colorful dreams. I recommend you follow and read (also, don’t miss Ann’s truly wacky dream in her comment on kStyle’s post.)

I’ve related dreams on this blog before, here and here, but the ones I’m about to tell were in an email that I sent in November of 2000, before George II’s inauguration and almost a year before terrorists used airliners to attack New York and Washington. I thought I had blogged them, and I spent quite a while searching revision99 for them before I tried my old emails. Then I thought “Since they’ve never been blogged, here’s a cheap post!” One weird note: In my current guitar setup, I actually now use a Category 5 cable with RJ-45 connectors, something I knew nothing about when I dreamed these dreams.

And now without further delay, I give you My Old Dreams.


Last night I had two dreams. In one I was a terrorist. I don’t know what my Cause was, but my terrorist cell had purchased a used jetliner. I had outfitted it with a huge bomb and remote controls. Our plan was to fly by remote control, intercept a real jetliner, collide and destroy both planes in a gigantic, attention-getting midair explosion. Instead, our plane went out and over Catalina Island and crashed harmlessly in the ocean, without even exploding. Still the FBI came to my school, looking for the perpetrators. I was a student at this boarding school, and the authorities had zeroed in on a person or persons there. They had to interview everyone, but their interviews were unconventional: They looked deeply into our eyes searching for signs of a deceptive spirit; they hugged us tightly to see if we trembled; they smelled our breath for traces of plastique. Gradually they sent most of the students home, all but me and a few others. They weren’t sure if they were on the right track, and they were just doing their jobs, so they weren’t mean or anything. They just kept probing in various ways to see if one of us had done it. Even though they hadn’t fingered me, I was terrified that they would find me out. Me, the terrorist, terrified.

In my other dream I was in a rock band. We didn’t know very many songs, but somehow we had gotten booked at some event, I don’t know what, and I was stalling for time, not wanting to start playing, because then we would be found out. It was unreal, because the lights were on. In real life rock bands have to set up in the dark. I was moving my amplifier around, acting like I was trying to get it in just the proper location for good sound, knowing that once we started playing we would soon run out of material and our performance would necessarily end long before the scheduled time. When I finally got my amp set up I couldn’t find a cable I needed, because it was a Category 5 cable with RJ-45 connectors on it, just like the one you’d use to connect a DSL modem to the network card in a computer. Of course this kind of cable is not necessary for rock guitar players to hook up their amps, so I was being devious in my dream.

I might have been caught for rigging the jet, or embarrassed for being inadequate on stage. I don’t know, because, of course, I woke up.


PS: While I’m talking about dreams, Commie Girl Rebecca Schoenkopf had a doozy a few weeks ago. But she never reads here, so she gets to be in the postscrpt. Take that, Commie Girl!

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