A Dream of a City of Song

Wow. Sometimes your brain dreams at you so hard you just have to write that shit down.

It started off kind of aimless – all I remember of the beginning is an event along my usual lines. I had a tuba with me because I was going to sit in with the school’s brass band. Unfortunately, I left it on the bus when I got to school and was running around trying to find someone who could call the bus company and get it back. This is the usual fare for my dreams, and it really wouldn’t have been all that memorable otherwise.

Just keep watching...

Just keep watching…

Anyway, when the dream got on track, I found myself in a living room with a bunch of guys who were doing a kind of art appreciation challenge in their underwear. The idea was to illustrate a dream, or rather a dream as it is retold to others. They were divided into two groups, and when I arrived there, they were just beginning to present their work. I don’t quite remember the dreams that were being described inside the dream I’m describing to you now, but I do remember that the guys were reasonably good artists, and the leader of this group gave them helpful criticism on not only their art but also their presentation and layout and such.

What I soon discovered was that everyone in this class was, in fact, a member of a gang. But this was not a bad thing. This class, and others like it, were part of a movement across the city to bring the gangs of criminals, miscreants, and ne’er-do-wells together to make the city a better place. This would be done by giving them creative and productive ways to improve their skills and contribute to the city, as well as nifty, color-coordinated costumes.

Dammit, Jennings!

Dammit, Jennings!

After art appreciation, we all drove through the city as the gang members marched in their costumes (which looked like variations on Marvel Comics’ A.I.M. uniforms, but in many more colors than yellow) as everyone sang the inspirational hymn, “Put Down That Razor, Josiah.” All I remember are the first two lines:

Put down that razor, Josiah
Josiah, put that razor down…

I know the rest was supposed to be some kind of inspirational, life-affirming song that’s meant to keep a man named Josiah from slitting his wrists. It was the anthem of this weird, gang-built utopia and everyone knew it. They were singing it while they were walking, while they were working; they were singing it happily and in perfect harmonies. Somewhere in the background, there were brass instruments backing it up, but I never saw anyone playing them…

It was a great song. I wish I could remember the rest of the words.

Totally a grownup.

Totally a grownup.

In any case, we were taken up to the top floor of a tall apartment building, where there was an older Japanese man who kept hitting on me, and my sister was going to make an announcement to the city. Not sure what she was going to announce, but as she was warming up, one of my co-workers took me downstairs (which turned out to be my mother’s kitchen, of course) and asked if I was planning to rein in my little sister. To which I replied, “She’s an adult, she knows her own mind. She doesn’t need me to make her decisions for her, thank you.” The co-worker just shrugged as if to say, “Fine, it’s your problem now…”

And that’s pretty much where the dream ended.

At this point you might ask, “Yes, but what does it mean?” Well the first part – the part with the tuba – is pretty boilerplate. I have that dream all the time, where I can’t be where I need to be, and if I do get there, I don’t have what I need to bring. Any armchair Jung can figure out that this means I have a near-constant anxiety about being prepared for what I need to do and about not looking like an irresponsible ass.

The rest of it? I don’t know. That’ll take some better oneiromancy than I can pull off. Perhaps my brain just felt like entertaining me for once…