Tag: musician

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Dream Journal

An Instrument Case Full of Instruments

I carry around a huge case shaped like an upright base, but it’s filled with all manner of instruments in different compartments. For whatever reason right now, the only one I want to play is banjo.

I merge onto a pandemic-stricken 24th Street, the commercial corridor near my home here in the Mission District. Empty businesses line the far side. Posters advertising kratom have taken place of the storefronts.

Gazing at the face of an old acquaintance, Katie Petro, and remembering we dated once. Her identity was later lost and rediscovered.

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Dream Journal

Fragment of Music Show/Airliner

A buried airliner under snow, caught in a pipe.

The Pepper’s ghost illusion on stage for half a show, but it’s no illusion. A folk singer starts into a spare song and I idly hope ends it with huge brass band.

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Dream Journal

Three Guys Troll the Bus Driver

Three guys are sitting on a bus, just behind the driver. They start reading from a binder with a script, half-pretending to be practicing for an upcoming production. But the real goal is to act out a believable conversation three people could actually have on a bus that’s so absurd, so disturbing, so weird, that the bus driver can’t ignore it. That didn’t take long, and the driver stops the bus and thoroughly chew them out, saying it doesn’t even matter whether it’s real or whatever, where would someone even get this weird-ass shit? The whole thing is hilarious to the utmost.

A school band is demoing some of their unique instruments. The one I remember has trumpet valves and horn bottom half, with a clarinet’s mouthpiece top. It ends up sounding a bit like a saxophone, actually.

Categories
Dream Journal

Short Stairs Make Quick Work

I see my friend from middle and high school, Alexx Sanchez. I never did finish that drawing of her as an elf that she requested in 7th grade — I didn’t know how to draw, and I still don’t think I could make a passable go of it. Demonstrating some of the knowledge of the weird sandstone building we’re in, since I’ve been working there so long, I slide down set of stairs with an extremely low ceiling (perhaps a 2 foot space). I then call to her from the subterranean work area. She looks mildly horrified that we’re expected to get in and out through a space so small.

My younger friend Lily Z. is in a band. I round the corner of my high school, playing a drum, telling her about three other Lilys I met with her exact name, and how strangely different and the same they are.