Which Is Where We Are Now

By the time I’m finished with this dream, I realize that it crafted created by remixing Simpson cartoons (not from Simpsons cartoons I’ve seen, though).

1st Dream

I’m an Indian boy who is in a fortress and am a slave to a sheik. At first, I try to impersonate an aide-de-camp. I can tell this is failing and before an mortal reprimand, I turn into a squirrel, a flying squirrel of sorts, because I grab hold of a delicate, purple scarf and use it like a parachute as I leap out of the tower and land lightly on to the cobbled city street. From here I become an academic ward of the state.

2nd Dream (This is sort of a meta-dream encapsulating the 1st)

A man who resembles Smithers, minus his obsequiousness (so, his alter ego), confidently dictates a story to a young woman through a long night. She becomes exhausted, but at the end it is a very nice story. Smithers tells her “that is the work of a virtuoso, my dear,” with mild romantic overtones.

There is an old-fashioned pocket watch pinned to wall in front of a bed. It’s time is behind. I see its minute hand go by like a second hand for a minute, advancing the hour hand quickly from 11 to 12. Then the watch starts spinning around the pin. After a moment of uncertainty and perplexity… ah, I think, this must be the spirits signaling me. I reach out to the watch to slow it down. My dream dissolves into consciousness.

A cute little girl with burnt orange hair and ponytails sits atop a rocket and breezily careens over the telephone pools and the forest. It’s very cartoony, like a young witch on a broom. She leans back and does a zero-degree loop.

I’m in a college class. It’s in a large and wide classroom.

I’ve brought my groceries. I accidentally drop a half carton of eggs on the floor. They are all smashed. I look under a seat; there is a homeless man living there. I think maybe I can cook the eggs and give them to him, but he his gone next time I check.

There is a washer in the front of the classroom. I go and put my dirty clothes in for a wash. The noise from the water pouring is disturbing the students. I think, maybe I should begin the wash when the teacher isn’t lecturing.

I’m driving late at night behind a utility truck. At the Gallows Road and Hummer intersection, the truck lifts up some low hanging wires. I realize there has been a power outage as I go through the intersection. Then, I realize I have my lights out. I turns my lights on, that doesn’t help much.

I see the road in infinitesimal detail. At this rate, I’ll never get home.

I’m in a small, quiet testing facility: something like a hospital room.

I’m the subject of a psychiatric evaluation. There is a young woman doctor administering the tests.

I press buttons on some radio. I listen to some jazz music. There is a button labeled “Jazz”. When I press it, it accentuates the bass in a pleasing way. Is it the button that does this, or is it just the song? No, it’s the button.

Disco music now plays.

Confidently, I approach her and begin to dance with her. It is alright? Yes, we are laughing at life.

She is so light and soft. I spin her round and round in my arms. She is so happy; we are carefree. We know, at one and the same time, how precious life is and how stifling circumstances make things, and we are putting that aside.

I’m at Pizza Hut, eating alone. Should I just leave? I get up to go to the bathroom. When I get up, I see my meal has been bussed.

I’m about to complain when some other people come in and make it hard for me to get a word in; they urgently need to have their order taken. I’m glad I didn’t say anything.

I see Dora. I’m glad to see her and her way. She is studying to be manager. She has packaged up my dinner; it’s just a couple slices of white pizza. I give her a couple reassuring words before I go.

I slog through another day at the Daily Show. I edit word documents. It’s very tedious work.

Then its evening. I’m in the hotel room of Stuart and Colbert doing some menial tasks. Occasionally, they wisk in and out, busy with the show.

Then, I’m in a large airport mall, very posh. I must be on the fifth floor. I look at a new phone to buy. I pick one out, looking at my own phone to view the opinions. Colbert is in the ads for the phones. He talks of the 4th dimension and I crack up because I get the inside joke: it’s a dig a 3dsi, doing one dimension better.

I swipe my card on my own phone to pay. The authorization screen indicates Claudia Anderson. Something is wrong. I tap on the authorization pad. It takes this as a signature.

I’m dismayed. A new saleslady gets a different model phone, one I really want, and takes my card.

“I work for the Daily Show,” I say.

“Oh, is that so. You know Jon Stewart was just given a commendation by the Pope.”

“Well, I used to work for it… not directly, through an office in Fairfax.”