In the dream, there is a Balinese myth about a young girl and a stone monkey. The girl and the monkey have a game that they play: the monkey turns himself to stone, and the girl has to dance around him and make him laugh. The monkey tries not to laugh or smile, but when he gives in and laughs, he turns back to flesh, and then it is the girl's turn to be stone, and the game continues. The girl and the monkey love this game, and it ends when they both roll around, laughing.
In the dream, I am the stone monkey. The girl dances around me, laughing and teasing. I want to laugh, but I also want to play the game, so I hold back. My face scrunches up comically as I suppress my urge to laugh. Eventually, the girl gives up and walks away. Without the girl, I can't move.
Thousands of years go by. The cities rise and
fall in the jungle, but the jungle always remains. Eventually, no one
can remember where the stone monkey comes from, or what it is.
Elvis Dream #1
It is very late at night. The aliens have landed. Three of them, in space-suits, knock at my door. When I open it, they ask me, "What is the word for Elvis on your planet?"
This catches me off guard. "Why, it's Elvis," I stammer.
"It's Elvis here too! It's Elvis here too!"
murmur amongst themselves. Then they leave.
Elvis Dream #2
Present day. I'm walking down a busy city street when I walk into Elvis Presley. He looks frightened and confused. He's wearing the black leather suit from the 1968 NBC Special, and gold sunglasses. He is slim and handsome.
"Elvis," I say. "Elvis, what are you doing here?"
It turns out he doesn't know where he is or how he got here. He takes my hand, and I lead him to a café to talk. He's shocked when I tell him the year is 1999. He thinks it's 1975.
"Everyone thought you died in 1977," I tell him. He says he can't remember anything after mid-1975.
We talk for hours. I let him know everything that has happened in the world since his mysterious disappearance. I tell him that Colonel Parker is dead. I tell him that the world badly misses him, and that, if he makes his presence known, people will tug at him from all directions. I tell him that he has a wonderful gift as an entertainer, but that his popularity could kill him if he isn't careful.
We strategize. We come up with a way for him to balance show business and his own personal needs. I urge him not to let his obligations stand in the way of his self-maintenance. I make it clear to him that he can do both: entertain people, and take care of himself.
After a few hours, we are done, and he is eager to return to Graceland. "Jeremy," he says to me, "Jeremy, I can' t thank you enough for helping me get my head straight."
"Elvis," I tell him, "I care about you very much. If you ever need anything from me, anything, you can call me any time of day or night, and I'll come running to you."
We embrace, and he hails a cab to the airport.
Elvis Dream #3
In this dream, I am Felton Jarvis, Elvis' producer. It is late 1976. Elvis is grossly fat and his speech is slurred. He is sitting on the couch in the TV room at Graceland. The Colonel has begged me to convince Elvis to record. RCA is on his ass, and so he is on mine. And, despite the last couple of years, I still believe in Elvis.
Elvis is holding court. The "Memphis Mafia" surround him, folding their arms and scowling at me. I want to talk to Elvis alone, but I can tell that he's scared. His reaction to his fear is to make sure his cronies are boosting his ego. He is defiant, refusing to go back into the studio to record. Each stupid, slurred argument he makes, one of his buddies backs up with words of agreement. It is pointless.
As I argue with Elvis, my eyes blur with tears. "You stupid jerk!" I tell him. "People love you so much. They believe in you. I believe in you! You've always been my hero, and now look at you! I want so badly to be proud of you. I want you to make me proud of you. I want you to be that person you've always been at your best, that person we all love so much. I want you to be Elvis again."
He's not even listening. It's pointless to
continue. As I walk away, I can hear Elvis say something, and the room
explodes with laughter. As I get behind the wheel of my
convertible, I start to
Hitchhiking with Dweezil Zappa
In the dream, I am hitchhiking down the Pacific Coast Highway somewhere north of Santa Cruz. A big red convertible, music blaring, pulls over to the side of the road in front of me. The driver is Dweezil Zappa. "Where are you going?" he asks me.
"LA," I tell him.
""Hop in," he says.
I get in the shotgun seat, and we drive south on the Pacific Coast Highway. The skies are clear, the weather is beautiful, and the sea is blue-green. The car twists and turns across each switchback, and we make our way slowly down the coast. Dweezil has a killer car stereo, and we sing along with the music as he drives. He has amazing taste in music. We end up singing for hours, to all kinds of rock music. The miles seem to fly behind us.
By the time we reach LA, my chest is tired from singing. Dzeezil asks me where I want to be dropped off. I give him directions, and when we get to the house, I shake Dweezil's hand.
"Dweezil," I tell him, "You're the best ride I've ever had. It's been great hitchhiking with you. I've had such a good time."
He smiles at me, and drives away.
LSD Aerosol Spray
I had this dream back in high school. In the dream, LSD has been legalized, but only in the form of an aerosol spray. It is available everywhere, in grocery stores, health food stores, hardware stores, everywhere. The only brand is called "Hippy Trips." It comes in a dayglo swirling paisley aerosol can. People spray it on their tongues, on their skin, or on glass, which they then lick. It has DMSO mixed in, so contact with the spray sends the LSD directly into the bloodstream.
"Hippy Trips" spray becomes incredibly popular. LSD becomes a national craze. For some reason, blotter acid is still illicit, but "Hippy Trips" is socially sanctioned, without stigma. Parents buy it for their kids. "Hippy Trips" comes out with an LSD-laced bubble bath, and it sells out in every store.
In the dream, I buy five cans, take them and
spray my stepmother's toilet seat until I have emptied all five cans.
Mavis Staple and the Baby
In this dream, I am a little baby, and Mavis
Staple is my nanny. She lifts me out of the cradle, and sings to me,
walking from room to room. She looks right into my eyes as she sings.
Her voice carries throughout the house. Her face radiates love and
delight. It is a wonderful dream.