The Next Day
It is possibly because I had a fairly completely Bowie filled day yesterday, between streaming the new album on iTunes, pre-ordering about four different albums/books/collectibles scheduled to release over the next few months, and searching David Bowie on Netflix (my girlfriend is an amazingly understanding woman), that I had my first Bowie dream in months.
My dreams of David (because we are always on a first name basis in my subconscious) are always incredibly vanilla. My favorite has been meeting him by chance as my sister and I were walking down a street in SoHo and having him ask us back to his place for tea and dress-up. He wouldn't let me borrow this truly fabulous coat, but he said he adored my hair, so that made up for it. But to get back to my point, I never really seem to have adult dreams about the man. Probably because my sleeping mind knows that he and Iman have been married just a handful of years less than my own parents. And that infidelity crawls all over me IRL.
Last night, however, I did have a dream that was decidedly more grown-up in nature, though now that I think back on it, still ridiculously G-rated. I don't know if anyone else's mind works as hard as mine to tie up loose ends when having sexy dreams about your favorite celebrity crush, but mine was on par with HIMYM's Marshall killing off Lilly before having a fantasy about another woman. In fact, this is just about precisely what happened.
I can't really put my finger on where we were, but it seemed as if the dream took place on the set of The One in Barbados from the ninth season of Friends-- bad palm fronds, no actual view of the ocean, lots of ill-timed rain, but I am here for some kind of business. I am apparently in the fashion industry now? My wife has died about three years back (real smooth, that one.) and I meet Iman, who introduces me to her husband, claiming we should really hit it off. And we do. But even after my dream has set up the fact that I am tragically single and Iman is totally cool with sharing, I still get fade-to-black scenes. Not that I particularly wanted some steamy interlude, as dream interludes are usually weird and awkward and on some sort of stage or something, but I find it pretty funny how careful my dream was setting this whole thing up.
On a somewhat related note, I have a full afternoon to myself today and am hoping to get started on this one-shot that has been floating around my head. It deals with some imagery that isn't totally my cup of tea, but I can't get the idea out of my head. So we will see where this goes.
Off for another listen of The Next Day. Splendid weekend.
My dreams of David (because we are always on a first name basis in my subconscious) are always incredibly vanilla. My favorite has been meeting him by chance as my sister and I were walking down a street in SoHo and having him ask us back to his place for tea and dress-up. He wouldn't let me borrow this truly fabulous coat, but he said he adored my hair, so that made up for it. But to get back to my point, I never really seem to have adult dreams about the man. Probably because my sleeping mind knows that he and Iman have been married just a handful of years less than my own parents. And that infidelity crawls all over me IRL.
Last night, however, I did have a dream that was decidedly more grown-up in nature, though now that I think back on it, still ridiculously G-rated. I don't know if anyone else's mind works as hard as mine to tie up loose ends when having sexy dreams about your favorite celebrity crush, but mine was on par with HIMYM's Marshall killing off Lilly before having a fantasy about another woman. In fact, this is just about precisely what happened.
I can't really put my finger on where we were, but it seemed as if the dream took place on the set of The One in Barbados from the ninth season of Friends-- bad palm fronds, no actual view of the ocean, lots of ill-timed rain, but I am here for some kind of business. I am apparently in the fashion industry now? My wife has died about three years back (real smooth, that one.) and I meet Iman, who introduces me to her husband, claiming we should really hit it off. And we do. But even after my dream has set up the fact that I am tragically single and Iman is totally cool with sharing, I still get fade-to-black scenes. Not that I particularly wanted some steamy interlude, as dream interludes are usually weird and awkward and on some sort of stage or something, but I find it pretty funny how careful my dream was setting this whole thing up.
On a somewhat related note, I have a full afternoon to myself today and am hoping to get started on this one-shot that has been floating around my head. It deals with some imagery that isn't totally my cup of tea, but I can't get the idea out of my head. So we will see where this goes.
Off for another listen of The Next Day. Splendid weekend.