Dreamscape – Music and dreaming

Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.

Marsha Norman

So I created a “Calling all Dawns” radio station on Pandora and then promptly fell asleep. It features a lot of video game music–heavy synths, a lot of Gothic/Gregorian chant style music. Yea, you get the drift. MAN! The dream I had! I just had to write it down before I forgot. None of the characters in the dream had names, so we’ll name the protagonist George.

***

The story starts with a man in a suit falling out of the sky. I do not see his face–in fact I think he is dead. His limp body is falling fast through the cloud cover, and then the smoke cover. Just when I think he is about to make contact with the floor, he begins to fly! He rapidly shoots across the skyline of the city and quickly disappears from view. I have no idea who he is. From the landmarks, I’m not even sure what city it is. The scene fades out to black.

I feel myself turn and I find myself in a lab. For some reason, I feel it is hidden underground, but I’m not sure why. Throughout this situation, I’m walking through the scenes but not being seen — an invisible third party. The lab looks very much like Dexter’s laboratory. There are large mechanical structures, and some ambiguous chemical concoction is brewing in the corner. In front of me is a man, maybe in his mid-thirties, face aglow with the light of an old-looking CRT monitor. He is typing furiously. His eyes dart back and forth over the screen as his fingers fly across the keyboard. There is a sense of urgency. I’m not sure why, but this man is an a hurry to finish something and get somewhere, fast. All of a sudden, he rises from his seat –so fast his chair falls over with a loud clatter. He doesn’t seem to care. He runs over to where the concoction is brewing, peers into a microscope , chews on the pen in his hand, and quickly rushes back to his computer. Hunched over, he continues to type furiously. He darts back to the brewing concoction and pours a vial of….something…into the brew and lets that simmer for a while. He carefully takes a pipette, and draws a sample of the stuff. He looks into the microscope again, lets out a yelp of joy — done with a small leap in the air and fist pump. He draws a small vial of the potion, and drinks it all. The scene fades to black.

It is a post apocalyptic world–a thick layer of smoke covers Washington, DC. Yes, I know what city I’m in. However, something is not right–all the monuments are in the wrong places and DC seems to now have a series of canals meandering through the city.. The monuments are flashing by me quickly as I realize I’m in a plane and its flying dangerously close to the ground. I see the obelisk whisk by, then the FDR memorial, then the Thomas Jefferson memorial, and .. The Colosseum? That can’t be right. In the next few moments, somehow I find myself outside the aircraft watching it approach for a landing on a wide dirt road surrounded by thick bushes. The road is still in DC by my recollection. I wait for the plane to drop tire, but that doesn’t happen. Rather, it lands, skidding slightly as it uses its tail to slow down. It is a bumpy and most likely, uncomfortable landing for the passengers. However, I get that this is the norm. I see people de-planing as the dust begins to settle. A very official-looking gentleman walks off the plane with a man in a black leather jacket and thick-rimmed glasses who looks uncannily like the George, in tow. He escorts him to a waiting vehicle and they drive off into the dusk. Scene fades to black.

I am now in what appears to be a secret bunker underground. It looks oddly like a reception area of a lawyer’s office. In front of me I see George, cleaning his glasses and then playing with the pens in the container on the receptionists counter. On the chairs in the waiting area, other people sit. I’m not sure who they are or why they’re there, but the people seated in the room are either wearing suits, or some sleek leather-styled garment. I look back at George who is now standing behind the counter. I know even though the guy looks like George, there was something drastically wrong with him. I hear yelling in the background, the sound of breaking glass, and someone shouting “It CAN’T be him! I mean look at him! Does he look like he is capable of anything? How did you manage to bring me the wrong guy??!! You imbecile!” I hear the sounds of more things being thrown, and watch a rather annoyed-looking burly man (possibly a thug working for whomever the boss of this joint is), walk out, grunt at the people in the reception room, and make his way out the door with most of the people in tow. Scene fades to black.

I am now in a building, watching another man who looks like George run through a maze of corridors and hallways, obviously in a hurry to get somewhere.This time I know it is George, the real George. He opens a door, turns a corner, and stops abruptly. About 100 feet down the hallway is a man who I know George has tried to avoid. There is no escape. A loud click informs George that his only escape route has now locked behind him, and in front of him is what could be his doom. The man standing in front of him at the other end of hallway looks like a member of the Mafia. His hair is stiffly coiffed, and he is wearing a gold chain that rests on his somewhat hairy chest. This is paired with a 1990’s style blazer, a black/forest green wife-beater, a belt with a gold buckle, a large-faced watch, pleated pants, and wing-tipped shoes. The man is not particularly tall and is not (obviously) carrying any weapons. I do, however, get the feeling, that what/whom I’m seeing is not someone who likes being toyed with. Behind him stands a tall bodyguard. Both are staring right back at George.The stare-off lasts for what seems like a couple of minutes. Abruptly the shorter guy turns and walks into a room through the doorway directly to his left. The bodyguard awaits, arms crossed in front of him. George tentatively makes his way down the hallway; his feeling of doom increasing with every step. He finally arrives in front of the bodyguard, who says curtly, “We’ve been waiting for you”. From behind him appears yet another guy, who walks in between George and the body-guard. The new guy stops in front of George and says, “We’ve been keeping track of your work. Especially what you’ve done with malaria research.” George looks at the man standing in front of him with a puzzled expression on his face, “Malaria research??” the man in front of him nods his head. George is kind of confused and asks, “Who are you?” The man replies, “Your first patient”. Fade to black.

The next scene opens into a pale coloured room. I believe the colour would be what you would describe as a lemon yellow. I’m not sure where or what the room is, but in front of me is a small side table with a magazine propped up on a stand. On it, a picture of a platinum blonde woman in a green chiffon evening dress. I do not read the caption, but I know that everybody assumes she is dead and this magazine cover is a tribute to her. Fade to black.

We rejoin George and his three gentlemen friends. Something is wrong. George seems to look like he is melting. He stumbles, grabbing at the nearest surface to stabilize himself. He mentions something about “the bends” and asks the bodyguard to direct him to what looks like a hyperbaric chamber. George climbs into the capsule and lays back. I can hear the hiss of released gas as the chamber door closed shut. As he begins to drift off, we see Agnes (the blonde from the magazine in the previous scene) stumble in from the adjacent room dressed in a hospital gown. She is also put into one of the hyperbaric chambers. Both she and George are then put into stasis. What now?!!

========

Okay, here is what I think is going on: George is a mathematician/chemist who finally found the permanent cure to chloroquine-resistant malaria through solving a complex maths (computation geometry) problem that allows him to find a custom-designed molecule/protein that binds permanently to the malaria virus. Like all things, there are side effects. He was temporarily suicidal, but then he figures that he can fly and has other uncanny abilities. His friend and colleague is media mogul and socialite Anges Sophia, also known as “The Blonde”. She finds out George’s secret and sneaks into the lab one day to see whether she can give the formula a try. It has immediate effects. She is now immune to the peculiar strain of malaria that is ravishing the city. However, the side effects she experiences resemble George’s and are debilitating. In seeking help, she confesses to George that she stole some of the formula and is sick, as the symptoms get worse. George has by then realized that his little invention is really dangerous/valuable and that he has to keep it safe. However, he is limited by what he has done with his body, and every Friday night he needs to rest in stasis for 3 days. Somehow the information leaks out that he has invented a miracle drug and the Mafia, militia government, etc. is looking for him. They want him to perfect the drug so that they can a) control its distribution, b) find a way to use the side effects to their advantage. Who is friend and who is foe? Will Anges and George survive? Will good triumph over evil in the end? Or is it already too late? I have no idea!! When I fell asleep again I dreamt about the Chinese Junior League archery championships and a cute little contestant with dimples who I kept poking. I’ll have to make up the details of the story….later.

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