Strange dreams. I haven’t remembered any of my dreams for a while, but they came back the night before last. I’m not going to talk about LAST last night’s dream. It involved an ex. There were elbows. We were at her parents’ house. A gentleman can’t speak further. It’s not who you think.
But last night was strange and disjointed. Lots of dream logic. Going to Bethlehem PA to play at California University (which isn’t in Bethlehem) at the Zulu Room (which never existed) at the Tower of Art (which is in Pittsburgh)… we rolled up to the school and it was a beautiful walk through the campus (not carrying gear? What IS this madness) up to the many small metal doors of the Tower of Art (yeah, etc, dream logic) many of which were locked, most of which were marked “out”, and all of which were numbered. There were multiple lines and people were being called into the building one by one by one. We took a labyrinthine path into the building since we weren’t students / subjects and found a likely looking clump of students in some sort of lounge. Dim lighting, beanbag chairs. It reminded me of the Physical Cottage from the Magicians in spirit… classy but Lived-in.
Bean bag chairs. Classy. Dream logic.
They smirked at us when we asked about the Zulu Room, and they said “nope, never heard of it” and we talked to some of the other students and they way they replied implied “keep asking” – I said “ah, but we don’t CALL it the ‘Zulu Room’ anymore cause we’re more enlightened now?” and the student smiled and pointed and said “exactly”. Now that we had passed that test we were escorted out through the back into green, overgrown fields and taken via hayride-esque cart to where we were going to be playing. We were all feeling very out-of-place, like everyone knew more than us and was half our age, but when we rolled up to the EXTREMELY picturesque circle of cottages where we were going to be performing, a large rabbit was sitting there watching us get off the cart.
“See, we’re in the right place” I remark to Heather and Kristen as we’re loading off the cart. There’s a chain link fence along the walk where we’re unloading, separating the old, broken concrete and brick from more overgrown fields, and there are three orange cats lounging in the shadows against it. They appear to be completely asleep and I urge the rabbit to keep moving. I tell the cats to stay still and leave him alone and then I hear a scuffle from over the fence. While I was paying attention to the three cats lounging in front of me and fourth cat, low-slung and scrawny, an exact match for the silhouette of a Nittany Lion, has brawled with and killed the rabbit. At first its visually confusing as the rabbit’s fully 3 times the size of the cat, but the cat’s clearly dragging the dead rabbit through the grass by its neck.
“Damn”.
I wake up.
It’s raining in Baltimore. My photography teacher died at 3 this morning. It’s May 4th but it seems sacrilegious to celebrate. We were supposed to play Little Market Café today, but it’s raining and I should probably go ahead and call it off.
It’s been a hard weekend.