Blue_Opossum

Night of January 2, 2016. Saturday.



In my dream, I am in a field on a sunny afternoon, just outside of the more utilized land of a farm. An unknown male walks along carrying an acoustic guitar, from my left to my right, getting slightly closer but not regarding me in any way.

Inside the guitar is Fox Mulder (David Duchovny from “The X-Files”) looking out through the sound hole and with his fingers (both hands) out and gripping the bottom edge of the sound hole. He looks slightly worried or perhaps is thinking of a way to get out without being noticed. I cannot be certain if he trusts the person carrying the guitar or not. There is no sound; just a sense of curious movement. There do not appear to be strings on the guitar, at least normally arranged, only because I have a clear view of Mulder’s face and his fingers.

This of course is beyond ridiculous; a real oddity. A human being could in no way fit inside a guitar, let alone be so effortlessly carried one-handed by another person (as the guitar moves in a way as it is being carried that would indicate no other weight inside it). However, it seems fairly likely that the guitar represents a casket in this particular case, especially as my father’s headstone has an engraving of a guitar on it, so this is probably a surreal rendering of my thoughts or concerns about mortality. Fox Mulder, highly skilled and having experienced the unexplained, is always “looking for answers” in a world of skeptics (who are often either wrong or instigating a coverup), much like myself on some levels. Since the guitar does not seem to have strings, that is another clue concerning mortality and the inability to “make music” (or to live).

Morning of January 2, 2016. Saturday.



I am sitting in a very small waiting room it seems, featureless other than benches built into the wall on each of two opposite sides (for the length of the wall) though I am not sure what the waiting room is for - possibly a school of some kind. The walls, floor, and ceiling (and even the benches) are white. Curiously, I do not recall seeing a door on either my left or right even though a young version of my wife Zsuzsanna somehow walks into the little room from my right. (I am seemingly not concerned about there being no doors in the room.) She is wearing black slacks and a black top with white polka dots. She sits across the room facing me.

I reach over and lift her top a few inches with my left hand (and to her right) and ask her “what sort of belt is that?” not being sure I would actually see a belt prior to lifting her blouse. I am thinking either real leather or synthetic but she only smiles and does not say anything. The belt is also black.

After a short time, a 1950s song (probably what you would call a novelty song since singers do not usually blow raspberries while they are singing) plays loudly and suddenly (from an unseen source though mostly from above and behind my right shoulder), one I have not heard since possibly 1978. It goes “black slacks (vocal raspberry-like effect) black slacks…” by Joe Bennett And The Sparkletones. The last time I heard it was when I was doing a break-in cassette (of the type Dickie Goodman produced) of about a whole hour - and possibly he used it as well (a good “answer” to “what was he wearing?”) The main video on Google is amusing, as they are wearing white slacks while performing it.

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It was rather strange to have an old song I have not heard in years “break in” to my dream like that from an unseen source; some sort of totally unexpected nostalgia, perhaps (not for the song, which I consider absurd albeit vaguely amusing), but from when I used to make break-in recordings for my classmates and a couple relatives. The room represents the real-time liminal space between sleeping and waking. Zsuzsanna’s presence in this case might be a factor of shared dreaming.

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