I’m at a huge outdoor concert at night. And I mean, gigantic. The main
stage is about 100 yards away, with thousands of people everywhere.
I’m
at a bar to the side of the crowd, getting a drink, chatting with a few people.
Someone convinces me to get on stage; it is ‘open mic’ time. I defer, but only
in a token way. Finish my drink and go backstage....
When I come on stage
lots of people yell although they have no idea who I am. Lots of boos too. The
noise of that many voices stuns me. I raise the mic and say, ‘awww, shut the
hell up' and there is laughter.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Tuesday, February 8, 2005
Dream: Tour
I am with P., in a large city. Warm, sunny. We are wandering around,
looking at the sights. Dark comes and we still are playing yokels. We talk a lot with our eyes and mouths, not with
words.
We walk into a large parking garage whose levels descend far below street level. The car we came in is four or five levels down. I vaguely remember pulling in to park some hours (or days?) before. There is a man in the ticket booth as we enter at street level; he is white, in his 50s, balding, dark hair, glasses, thick bodied. [I describe because he looks familiar somehow.]
For some reason P. and I have different parking tickets. Strange since I previously thought we rode here together. She hands the ticket man her ticket and they exchange a few words, smiling at each other. Just as she is about to step away so I can pay, she leans back and pushes two more dollars into the booth.
I scrounge in my pockets to pay, realizing that I don’t have enough money to pay the ticket as I, too, joke with the ticket man. P. is already walking downstairs, and the ticket man says something like, ‘you’re already paid for; all I need from you is [???] cents,’ which I hand to him. I catch up to P. as she reaches the fourth level...
We walk into a large parking garage whose levels descend far below street level. The car we came in is four or five levels down. I vaguely remember pulling in to park some hours (or days?) before. There is a man in the ticket booth as we enter at street level; he is white, in his 50s, balding, dark hair, glasses, thick bodied. [I describe because he looks familiar somehow.]
For some reason P. and I have different parking tickets. Strange since I previously thought we rode here together. She hands the ticket man her ticket and they exchange a few words, smiling at each other. Just as she is about to step away so I can pay, she leans back and pushes two more dollars into the booth.
I scrounge in my pockets to pay, realizing that I don’t have enough money to pay the ticket as I, too, joke with the ticket man. P. is already walking downstairs, and the ticket man says something like, ‘you’re already paid for; all I need from you is [???] cents,’ which I hand to him. I catch up to P. as she reaches the fourth level...
Thursday, September 5, 1996
Saturday, January 13, 1996
Thursday, November 16, 1995
Thursday, October 5, 1995
Wednesday, October 4, 1995
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