lunes, junio 5

Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams"

They told me that if I sleep with a nicotine patch on, my dreams could possibly be very vivid. Since I've done all this traveling this year, I don't remember my dreams much at all - so no matter how strange and real the dreams are, it is an interesting change.


He has been starring in my dreams at least five times since the nicotine patches have accompanied me to sleep. Last night I dreamt of the Mystery Man again. It was the type of dream that left me to wake up with the same euphoria I would experience if I had developed a new love. Though nothing in the dream itself made any kind of direct connection with romance.

      Walking down the alley in-between my house and Rainbo in Chicago with some male friend whose specific identity I don't recall, getting there and all of a sudden I am located somewhere that is a hybrid of Miami at the Shore Club and Hollywood at The Roosevelt. some kid millionare DJ was there. I was standing next to Mystery Man by the pool, one step down from the stage area, we were watching the DJ together but not conversing. There was no music coming out of the speakers. The DJ's sister greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He stood stoic (that is Mystery Man's thing) harboring contempt for the DJ. I walked away from mystery man to take care of some work. All of a sudden I was running the event. After going in circles from one room to another, I end up above stage level on the second floor of the venue which has now morphed into Hollywood's Roosevelt meets Minneapolis' Quest. I am talking to a female intern with no specific identity. I am directing her as to which tasks are priority, I notice that one of my record label clients is yelling at Mystery Man, confronting him about something he did in the past to annoy them. They are all sitting at a table together. They threaten to harm him. He gets up and walks away. Three people from the table are now standing, still yelling. He pauses, looks around for me. He looks to the right, then to the left and takes a couple of steps in that direction. He looks up. He sees me. I motion with my hands for him to come upstairs. He nods. The venue has once again changed. We are in an opera box with red velvet curtains, but Mystery Man and I can still look down at the record label clients table. They see us point at them. I ask Mystery Man what happened. He shrugs but I know he did something stupid. There is a television in our opera box. Mystery Man cuddles me on the red velvet couch. A commercial comes on, the opera box now becomes a living room. We are no longer in any kind of venue. A hot dog commercial comes on. We order hot dogs.

When I woke up I had Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" looping in my head. But only this verse:
Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions
I keep my visions to myself
Its only me
Who wants to wrap around your dreams and...
Have you any dreams youd like to sell?
Dreams of loneliness...
Like a heartbeat... drives you mad...
In the stillness of remembering what you had...
And what you lost...
And what you had...
And what you lost

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