Blue_Opossum

Morning of July 12, 1975. Saturday.



This dream is somewhat of a continuation of events I have been involved in in real life, in having a long line of clean jars (which originally contained peanut butter or mustard) sitting across the top of my desk in my Cubitis bedroom. Each jar has a certain amount of water to make a particular pitch and I find it pleasing to play music in this manner. I use a spoon to lightly tap each one to make a particular note and play simple melodies.

In my dream, I become famous for playing glass jars, but seem like someone else at one point. A parade is held in my honor relating to the supposed “revival” of this sort of music. In the most vivid part of my dream, as my perspective is changing, I hear a girl’s chorus sing loudly and clearly (and very cheerfully, almost as if for the final part of a movie), something much like the following:

He likes all kinds of girls

Tall kinds of girls

Short kinds of girls

Dark kinds of girls

Light kinds of girls

Thin kinds of girls

Any girls at all…

The fictional song keeps repeating with various similar lyrics in this same form. The tune is very simple:



As this song is being sung, I see a giant (unknown) hand (as big as a house) in overhead view (while seemingly in my “orb” form) start to “play” a group of roofs on several grass huts (or wooden bark huts) apparently with an equally giant spoon or other utensil - in a row in a small village somewhere on an island in the same manner that glass jars are played and I can even hear the wind-chime like tones. It is a very unusual, yet somehow nostalgic scene. There is also a vague perception that the roofs may be crushed or at least possibly damaged but this only happens during my waking stage (where the grass hut seems to “crack” but not in a seemingly threatening way).