And It's A Dream Journal, Too

I love dream journals. Dreams may be convoluted and bizarre, but they posses an unmistakable character that leaves little doubt about their origin. Since this seems to be David Byrne Week around here, it stands to reason that today's topic of interest would have something to do with him, and of course his Web journal. One of the journal categories happens to be dreams, and although there isn't as much going on in this category as there is in some of the others, the material is highly entertaining. I especially like the first entry in the series, dated 29 March 2005.

Paul Simon and I are walking outdoors. In a city — New York, maybe. He has a weird bandage around his head, covering one side of his jaw, like those old cartoons of people with a toothache. When we near groups of people approaching he pulls up his shirt and covers his entire head — only one eye peeking out.

It just gets better—and in true dream-fashion, more bizarre—from there; weird visuals ensue. And then there's the Gumby dream, with its inexplicable yet familiar anxiety component. The dry water sequence is considerably more involved, as is Jerusalem Mobile, although the latter seems more universally familiar with its love lost, desperation results theme. It's the epitome of symbolism.

I reach for my mobile to call this woman, only to find it has been crushed, and as I try to hold its pieces together to find her number it slowly crumbles and nasty chemicals leak onto my hands, Chinese characters appear briefly on the screen…all I want is the last number I dialed, which was hers, but the phone is disintegrating in my hands. I imagine I will lose the love of my life. A feeling of desperation.

The brief appearance of those Chinese characters as the phone turns to goo is magnificent, and of course the whole thing playing out in Jerusalem doesn't hurt.

It's a good thing I discovered Mr. B's Web journal when I did, because the lingering effects of nearly two weeks of Sudafed—it's been the cold from hell—have discombobulated my jimjam. Me am writing not good, but reading we are possible.