So I’m thinking of this new portion of my blog like my little regular acoustic set. it’s just stuff i’ve been working on– no big deal. No accolades needed.
In fact, you gotta imagine me like in this cafe or bar that’s kinda hard to get to and maybe just the regular locals come out to. It’s just the bartender or barista and maybe like two other people. Someone’s playing on their phone — no, reading, let’s make this classy. And I’m like on this stage with all these dust bunnies. The sound system is on way too loud and there’s feedback in the mic when I say, “Ahem…” No one’s paying attention. I look around like should I keep playing or…? Okay, well, guess so I say, “So this is a new one… it’s about this guy who has a vision.”
Guess I’ll more or less leave it at that. This is something I wrote to kick off a play influenced by the Greek god , Thanatos, god of (benevolent) death. His brothers were Morpheus and Hypnos. So my writing partner, Julie Jigour (hey Julie!!), and I proposed writing a play that’s kind of a mystery or detective story. We came up with an interesting way to write the thing, which I’ll say more about another time. But for now…
A room. Two people.
T: The vision begins the same.
I’m falling into darkness – swirling light and I don’t know where I am. In fact, it feels like I’m the guy in the Bond credits, you know? Like if the credits were a reality that was real – I’m the dude falling into this swirl of nothingness.
And I would br scared – I can’t remember whether I was at first, it’s been so long since I’ve had this dream, you see…
Well, or vision…
I don’t know…
You say it’s important, but…
So there I am in this swirling vortex and then poof – I’m on a train. Clear as day. Real. Warm and soft diffuse light and I know then exactly what’s happening. You see, he only talks to me in dreams and it’s never in the same place.
He’s well dressed. So am I. He’s reading the paper and I notice his tie. Red. Well, burgandy. Deep red like blood.
“Can’t be good,” I think. Never is, you see.
He’s got this –what is that fabric? Herringbone? The checked kind It’s not exactly plaid, you know what I’m talking about? But grey.
I have sunglasses on. Not dark ones. They’re tinted brown. Gold rims. This seems important, the clothing, for some reason.
In any case, my hair is parted and slicked back. Freshly showered. Like almost too perfect. And by the time I notice where I am, he’s turned the page of his paper.
I look out the window and a crow flies by. But right alongside the train and it’s… looking into the train. At me.
Before I turn to see it, I feel the guy gently set his paper down.
“Trying to get in,” he says.
“I just mean the crow… looks like he’s trying to board the train. See, even he knows this is a much faster way to travel,” the old guy chuckles.
And when I finally do turn to look him in the face, I have this profound moment of remembering. I know exactly who he is and who he is to me.
But what am I doing here? And why am I a man?
No, look, yeah, I know I’m a man, but in the vision I remembered something else. It’s… useless to understand unless you’ve ever experienced this. You won’t know what I’m talking about.
The guy. It finally hit me why I keep seeing him. You gotta realize just how long it took him to find me. Just to give me this message.
He… we were deeply connected in another lifetime. I forget how exactly, but in the dream, as I looked at his face, I remembered who he was and who he was to me.
H: Then what happens?
T: I wake up, of course. I only remember a couple minutes at a time at best.
But I think I know where to find him. I think that’s why we’re here.
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