THE NIGHT BEFORE
I was being chased by someone, maybe an ally or maybe enemies, but being chased nonetheless. I met a friend at an auditorium, a giant, opera house sized auditorium with industrial pipes and staircases and the hallways curved around the back where the seats were. For some reason, I had apparently been taking dance lessons from a girl friend of mine who taught me a dance in a specific time signature, so as a hint to my allies who might have also been chasing me, I told her that this time, I was dancing at a new time signature and that, I told her, was specifically what she needed to know. I wake.
THIS NIGHT
Is a continuance of the chase. There are gunshots and disease. I meet a group of allies, with one of the females injured and have some sort of fatal disease. We are at the bottom level of a museum, or school, in the dining room, where we lay her on a table so she can be examined. It’s too late to run further away, so we take her and carry her to the second floor, where we somehow find safety for a little while, but the woman dies regardless. I wake.
I return. Suddenly I am back at my old home, resting on the living room floor as we talk about something. The house is somber, however, because that woman who had died is now a child in this new chapter. That child, which is also my parent’s child, making her my little sister. After some sort of quarrel my father leaves for the funeral, as I sit here. I suddenly feel the urge to go see her again, before she is buried or cremated, but my dad has already left and I feel very sad inside.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE NIGHT BEFORE
I had picked up a guitar, which the strap was too tight around my neck, but I somehow managed to play. I had climbed up onto a stage where Taylor Swift was getting ready for a concert. There were hundreds of audience members. She said to me, “Hugh, you don’t play the guitar!” And all I did was start playing, as suddenly where my hand was on the guitar was unimportant, and the guitar began playing itself. I woke.
BACK TO THIS NIGHT, AFTER THE FUNERAL
I picked up a guitar, a very special guitar that uses a synthesizer to play the notes, (specifically, the DG-10 by Casio). I began to play as again, the guitar played itself, but I could see my hands playing the notes, without being limited by any physical speed limits but my own mental rationality. My dad comes home in a slightly wet grey shirt (suggested tears) and I ask him how it was. ‘It was okay’ he says as he looks at me and we all appreciate life a little more. I wake.