Monday, July 18, 2005

I was playing some kind of tricky song on my guitar, a song I'd written. It was in five-four time. I was playing it for my mom and dad, who were seated before me in chaise longues on an unfamiliar lawn. The guitar became a gun and in the dream's logic I played the song by holding and firing the gun somehow, in the air. I made sure to cradle the gun carefully and point the muzzle in the air, away from my parents. I was having difficulty so had to try again and again. At the same time, my dad was giving me money, a few hundred dollars. I thanked him profusely and kissed him on the forehead, still holding the gun.