Dreams

I just had a dream...

My dreams are always ‘different’!

I’m at home, on a different version of Cape Cod, rebuilding my old 1984 Camaro Z28. It’s got tons of horsepower, but still it also finds plenty of traction on sand. I take it for a drive on a wet roadway, and while my rear traction control keeps going in and out, I still maintain traction. I watch as someone in a very powerful Mustang spins out of control, backwards, down a side road. My brother tells me to be careful that I don’t spin out of control and hit that other car.

We go around a corner and there is an entrance to the Cape Cod Rail Trail, which now extends from one end of the Cape to the other, much like present day route 6.

It is an exit to the left and a sharp hairpin to get on to it, but all art cars are allowed, and my Z28,for some reason, counts as an art car.

An old challenger, colored that shade of purple called Plum Crazy, takes the left, and via its extreme amount of power, spins down the sand dune covered road, the road is covered by drifting sands. I make the left and maintain control, but must stay to the right as another art car, a sky blue and white amphicar, with a camper back is driving down the road toward me... I am about to pull into the left lane when, from atop the hill behind, comes another art installation, two men, one in a costume with legs, pulling another, this in a costume making him a giant merman, come walking down the road (I guess pedestrians have right of way in this dream!), they pass me by and suddenly, the merman shouts, “There, there’s what I need! Salt!” And flops off a sand cliff to land in the sand 30 feet below, where a stationary art exhibit of people carving sculptures out of huge rock salt crystals stands, complete with Gypsy caravans for them to live in!

The people, naked, wearing body paint depicting them as wearing ragged shoes, barely there shorts and exaggerating the size of their moths and teeth, welcome him and their Gypsy leader, Madame Something or other, gives him a small salt crystal, telling him he owes her nothing, but must make a small donation at a donation site at the end of the Cape and must take no receipt for the donation.

He, devishly, responds, “Yeah,”, sarcasm dripping from his voice, she repeats that she is serious!

He leaves.

I drive down there and leave $300 on her table and tell her acolyte that this is a donation from me, for my enjoyment of their art, and as I leave the acolyte is confused about why I gave them money.

I leave and awaken.

Strange, huh?

about average for me. If I could paint, i’d Paint the imagery in my mind, it was fantastic!