Dream
Dream Sat 070309
It begins as a "story so far" from a previous dream. There's been an attack on a wedding party at a temple complex. I fly (as in superhero fly, not aeroplane fly) over the roof of the complex and see bodies lying everywhere.
There's a team of us. We discover a highy radioactive source and have to keep watch over it in our own home. To stop it escaping. Only catch is we are all trapped inside the bunker with it and expect to die slow and painful deaths.
bitterly, determinedly resigned to this, we wait. the alien war goes on outside.
eventually one or two of us decides to leave. Then so do I. I say my goodbyes to those who are staying.
there's much lonely wandering through the devastated world. i have a companion. we are passing through a small village when we meet a girl. she is wearing a bright yellow pointy hat, fake fur with black spots, which flops down her back to below her knees. i am astounded, i stop her and ask her about the hat, explaining that the last time i saw it was on my bedroom floor inside the base, and we never thought to see or hear anything or anyone from that time.
she says she was given it by a bald, hyperintelligent five year old boy in a police uniform who gave her a lift in a bright red messerschmidt motorcycle and side car. my companion and i both say "ah, the Master, it has to be him." we remember him from our old complex, where we thought everyone was going to die.
she tells us all about her journey with our old friend, and all the amazing tales and facts he told her.
we are amazed and overjoyed that at least one survived - maybe that means others have too.
we wander on. time passes. then we are on a beach, at night and there are other people around. some of them are our old dear lost friends and lovers from the "team". there are fires, and wooden shacks on the beach. in a beach cave we meet a group of travellers. one is old and recognises us by our voices. he seems blind, wears sunglasses and moves his head from side to side when we speak. it's me, it's jack, he says. we are amazed, he is much older than we thought he would be. there's a sense that more time has passed for him than for us. the woman to his left speaks, she too is old, and one of our old team as well. we share our stories, we laugh and cry and celebrate over old times.
there's a woman sitting by a fire on the beach with an old cassette radio ghetto blaster on her lap. she has been handed a cassette and tries to play it on the exposed heads of the player by stroking it back and forth. there are short moaning snippets of music coming out. she complains that someone has asked her to play this "jazzy little number on manual, there's a world of genius in it". then she pulls a small crank handle out of her shawl, puts it in the hole in the front of the cassette and winds it by hand, like a hurdy gurdy. music comes out of the speakers and rebounds across the beach.
old loves are reignited, old hurts healed, old joys and tears celebrated, and new loves begin. we see couples walking hand in hand and talking, sitting by a shack and smooching, in the full moonlight.
as the sun comes up we walk up and down the beach. there is so much joy in the air. seems like around 40 to 80 people have gathered here during the night, some young adults, barely out of their teens, possibly too young to remember the Disaster. as we walk, we invite everyone to a meeting about forming a community later that day.
It begins as a "story so far" from a previous dream. There's been an attack on a wedding party at a temple complex. I fly (as in superhero fly, not aeroplane fly) over the roof of the complex and see bodies lying everywhere.
There's a team of us. We discover a highy radioactive source and have to keep watch over it in our own home. To stop it escaping. Only catch is we are all trapped inside the bunker with it and expect to die slow and painful deaths.
bitterly, determinedly resigned to this, we wait. the alien war goes on outside.
eventually one or two of us decides to leave. Then so do I. I say my goodbyes to those who are staying.
there's much lonely wandering through the devastated world. i have a companion. we are passing through a small village when we meet a girl. she is wearing a bright yellow pointy hat, fake fur with black spots, which flops down her back to below her knees. i am astounded, i stop her and ask her about the hat, explaining that the last time i saw it was on my bedroom floor inside the base, and we never thought to see or hear anything or anyone from that time.
she says she was given it by a bald, hyperintelligent five year old boy in a police uniform who gave her a lift in a bright red messerschmidt motorcycle and side car. my companion and i both say "ah, the Master, it has to be him." we remember him from our old complex, where we thought everyone was going to die.
she tells us all about her journey with our old friend, and all the amazing tales and facts he told her.
we are amazed and overjoyed that at least one survived - maybe that means others have too.
we wander on. time passes. then we are on a beach, at night and there are other people around. some of them are our old dear lost friends and lovers from the "team". there are fires, and wooden shacks on the beach. in a beach cave we meet a group of travellers. one is old and recognises us by our voices. he seems blind, wears sunglasses and moves his head from side to side when we speak. it's me, it's jack, he says. we are amazed, he is much older than we thought he would be. there's a sense that more time has passed for him than for us. the woman to his left speaks, she too is old, and one of our old team as well. we share our stories, we laugh and cry and celebrate over old times.
there's a woman sitting by a fire on the beach with an old cassette radio ghetto blaster on her lap. she has been handed a cassette and tries to play it on the exposed heads of the player by stroking it back and forth. there are short moaning snippets of music coming out. she complains that someone has asked her to play this "jazzy little number on manual, there's a world of genius in it". then she pulls a small crank handle out of her shawl, puts it in the hole in the front of the cassette and winds it by hand, like a hurdy gurdy. music comes out of the speakers and rebounds across the beach.
old loves are reignited, old hurts healed, old joys and tears celebrated, and new loves begin. we see couples walking hand in hand and talking, sitting by a shack and smooching, in the full moonlight.
as the sun comes up we walk up and down the beach. there is so much joy in the air. seems like around 40 to 80 people have gathered here during the night, some young adults, barely out of their teens, possibly too young to remember the Disaster. as we walk, we invite everyone to a meeting about forming a community later that day.