musically_confused_dreams epitome of incomprehensibility The play, or rather "plateau" that I'm in (what they mean is tableau) consists of streaked makeup, dramatic poses, music. Then the square gymnasium turns into an album I'm holding in my hand. Its title is Violent Femmes - but no. I shake my head. It's the Velvet Underground. No again. It's Lana Del Rey's Ultraviolence. Staring at the square, I've a vague recollection that I hadn't found Lana Del Rey's song Ultraviolence very ultraviolent because it was too... feminine? (I was spoiled by the Lower Class Brats' version.) And do you have to be gay to be a femme? All gay? I'm only half gay. And I'm not much of a femme either, unless I'm in French, and I'm not in French; I'm thinking in English, trying to remember the right title. If I remember the right title, it will allow me to grasp the essence of feminine violence - a sense of screaming high notes, white-hot explosions, and something very difficult, like dividing by zero or eternity. But maybe that's only an idea, an idea that's individual, at that, and I've no hope finding something good in violence because violence isn't good; violence is conflict, right? At that, I'm in the gym again, doing flips and bouncing off walls by swinging on ropes and rings. This doesn't seem to require much muscle effort, just mental concentration. If I focus on putting my foot on the right place on the wall, I'll do so. If I don't pay attention, the wall might disappear and I'll get the feeling that the whole thing isn't real. Then I'm done and I stare out a window. I'm hearing the radio in the background. It's going on about Miley Cyrus's "skimpy" outfit in her acrobatic music video. I realize I was Miley Cyrus, though I've stopped being Miley Cyrus, and I think, Oh, give it a break, I was wearing opaque tights under a one-piece bathing suit, and wearing too much clothing wouldn't make sense for an acrobat. Now it's on to Miley's eating habits: the radio voices are criticizing her for going gluten-free, saying no one really has gluten problems (no one!) and she's just promoting celebrity pseudo-nutrition, but then there's her voice saying that she had so many stomach problems before she gave up gluten so what do you say to that? I say, You tell 'em, not everyone's made the same... but I'm confused. When was my stomach hurting? It must have been sometime in the past, but that was before I started my routine with all its flips and turns. I wouldn't be doing all that spinning if I'd felt nauseous or cramping or even heavy-bellied. Perhaps I was never Miley Cyrus after all? 150204 ... e_o_i So, Sonny and Cher are back for a concert, singing their great 70s hit: "What's Love Got To Do with It?" I need to be Cher, who's actually Sonny, except Sunny, because she's a woman. She has short blond hair going grey, and to be her I have to look in the mirror next to the stage and concentrate very hard on my reflection. Then I'll change it. It usually works in dreams. But I'm having a hard time making myself look older - I'm just managing to make my nose big and wonky - and the hair just won't cut itself. Never mind appearances, because I have to sing. So I grab a microphone, while Cher - who might be a man now, or still a woman, I'm not sure - plays guitar. But before I open my mouth, I notice a woman in the audience with a wide smile. Nothing that distinctive about her apart from the large smiling mouth - she's black, with long braids, and she looks very friendly - but if I'm in my early 60s, she's about half my age. Still, since we made eye contact and are both smiling, this is Love at First Sight. "Oh no," groans Cher, who is the narrator. I remember some vague warning, ostensibly about Cher, about falling in love with the wrong person. It'd ruin my narrative arc, and it wouldn't even be properly tragic because for a long time I wasn't a very sympathetic character. Suddenly, I crave cookies, particularly ginger ones. 150304 ... e_o_i edit: from Cher, not about Cher. 150304 ... raze i had a dream iggy pop's "the idiot" was an album made by a female artist no one had ever heard of. my brain made me believe it even while my heart knew it wasn't true. calling sister midnight. what can i do about my dreams? 240116 what's it to you? who go blather from