Dream Journal

John Waters Stage Show

Reflecting on that time I went to jail for 7 months when I was 19 or 20. As I remember it, the District Attorney needlessly chose to prosecute me for fraud because I received three free college credits. Such a waste… just impulsively interrupting a vulnerable young person’s life at such an important age. I’m remembering it now because in the dream I’m now going back to school later in life. It’s different than it used to be: sometimes I pass classes, sometimes I don’t, but I sense that you just have to accrue the credits over time and not sweat it.

Then again… I recall a different occasion when I was very distraught and held up a LensCrafters at gunpoint. Serving jail for this sort of thing makes more sense, but I no longer have the paperwork. Turns out I can’t even remember what I went to jail for!

A John Waters stage show, hosted by the man himself. He takes a break for the sake of the televised audience and cuts to commercial. But as I’m actually present I get to witness all the wild behind-the-scenes action — performers exploding into rants, random blowjobs on/off stage, many different hijinks. Those of us there in the room are treated to Waters twirling around on stage during a costume change. His look is a stylized foil cutout of a multi-faceted paper doll, framed between two panes of glass, made in the likeness of the musician Prince. I’m very excited for the next portion and want to video-record it for myself. It’ll be a big file as I’m betting it’ll be a long segment, but at this point I’m certain I’ll actually want to watch it again. I try to wedge my phone upright against some bulky theater equipment and hope for the best as the countdown to re-air begins.

Dream Journal

Documenting Early Space Ecosystem

I have let several rats stay in our house while we’re away. When we return, we collect as many as we can — a cute disorderly pile of all different ages, since they unexpectedly bred. We now have a huge new assortment of genetic diversity, though not all of it good. Some even have exposed parts of their skulls, jawlines sticking through flesh. I spot one youngster in the center who already appears mummified.

Outside I film a bunch of short clips documenting the early 1960s ecosystem of space — all the different planes and support craft, the flight patterns, surprising new noises, ground facilities. Finally I spot an aircraft that has a steep trajectory, going higher than the others, and you can see it break an unseen barrier in the sky. Gauzy ripples spread out as if on the surface of a plastic greenhouse tent.

I’m standing near a gate in a chainlink fence when I suddenly notice my old boss Chicken John approaching. He’s grumbling to himself and basically ignores me. He starts barking instructions to his assistant (maybe Jimmy). There’s something nefarious in the tone of what I overhear and I start to suspect he’s planning to burn down his bar/grocery store, The Odeon. I begin to record audio on my phone, uncertain what I’d want to do with it if I were right.

Dream Journal

Logs in a Tree, Hip Ground Floor Squat

Tree logs stored high up across two trees. A ladder is up there too, blocking access. I look up and point out to my companion that there’s a hawk sitting on a branch directly above us.

The self-appointed minder of this open plot of land is a creepy psychiatrist, a young man who is clueless enough to stand staring at you from behind a couch to “observe” you. I point this out to Lynae, or whoever is with me. Someone escapes out the front door and into the music store across the other side of the mall (they don’t get far).

Behind the tree with the logs is a water chute leading back to a mill pond with a lovely population of loons (ha!). There are inscriptions in concrete, familiar yet written in some Southeast Asian language,

I sign up for a documentary show with Ricky Gervais, and as part of the contract we have to record banter to be played over the footage for at least 9½ minutes. We record it in the back of a car and then I’m told, jokingly, that the rental lasts another 120 minutes. My old friends Chicken and Kelly are in the front seat, smoking, and making out with the smoke.

Driving with my dad, early morning around 4 am, on the streets of our desert home that looks covered in a sheen of smooth white snow. I have a stapled-together packet of printed papers that’s about fighting others’ belief in mental illness, something I’d planned to read on the drive. Dad gets me to close it with a frustrated “really?”

Weird cheap flat on the first floor of a dirty yet hip ghetto. A side street near the heart of the city, clumped-up forgotten backyards and trash gathered in the dead-ends. My friends are thinking of buying this place — or maybe they already have? But that could just be a cover story for a squat, I think. They’ve converted a windowless room in the middle into an “orgy space”, which I guess means stuffing in a ton of pillows and chairs. Bafflingly, there’s only a heavy sheet separating it from a front patio area packed with couches. Ghetto but very cozy.

Dream Journal

Secret Merkel Protectorate of Freedom

Make a baseball save in a square frame net in my childhood backyard. Didn’t know I was playing before, so it was rather lucky.

Minding my own business for the most part, I accidentally commit an act of high patriotism, but high treason to the enemies of… what I assume is freedom. Angela Merkel escorts me safely behind a set of double doors disguised as a bathroom entrance. I spot George W. Bush walking by and immediately realize this is an even more important meeting than I anticipated. I try to start an audio recording on my phone as Merkel explains the situation to me, but I can’t get the damn thing to start properly.

The details are lost, but the concern her unnamed group found relevant to me involved Captain Janeway of Voyager landing her starship underwater in order to escape the US.


Live! – J.J. Parree

Amazing! Two musicians, one week! Let me rephrase: I have, through good fortune of knowing about Re/search Publications show, seen two of my remembered favorite musicians from the time when I was an avid collector and compiler of excellent music, in the past week (not to say I ain’t anymores but hey, a guy has to diversify). After Sunday’s commanding performance by the accordion virtuoso Dick Contino, how can I be anything but amazed at my good luck hearing yet another…

Jean-Jacques Perrey, already known for being French, was also a pioneer of electronic music back in the 60’s—where he had to actually use a razor blade and magnetic tape to achieve his splendid happy bouncy electro-pop. He, along with the Germano-Yank Gershon Kingsley, mid-wived electronic music into popular existance.

He related a story of how he went to Brazil out in the wilds and recorded bees at different rates, all to make “Flight of the Bumblebee” sung by real bees. He spent the next 72 hours splicing the thing the old-fashioned (painfully pain-staking) way. When he happened to run into Salvador Dali, and played it for him, Dali’s first response to it was “you are CRAZY!” Then, after a second listen a an uncomfortably pregnant silence, exclaimed: “fantastic!

So it goes, in the world of experimental music. If you aren’t crazy you’re probably boring. Full Bittorrent soon to come, until then here’s a fun little selection called “Chicken on the Rocks.”

UPDATE: Bittorrent not soon to come. The complete performance was not recorded as pristine as I’d hoped, and I simply have no time to clean up my bouncy friend Mr. Parree. However, if you desire it, ask and ye shall recieve.