So I woke up this morning with a dream about some white bread, cherubic looking twenty-something year old and it was set in the 1950s. The guy was backstage with what looked like an uncool version of what's supposed to be a guitar; and then he gets up on stage in front of an audience of about thirty people all dressed as he was -- in white, dressy shirts, black slacks and befuddled expressions of amusement on their faces.
He shuffles up, starts playing his guitar in the most boring, uninteresting way possible and on his right, is the "presenter" who stands watching his every move. Turns out the presenter was marketing a new gimmick, and this performance was a demonstration of it.
After a few moments of playing the guitar, the guy suddenly rams it into his microphone and starts hammering away. Everyone in the audience looked horrified at the spectacle taking place -- remember, this was in the 50s, so smashing your guitar is something that hasn't been done at that point.
The presenter dutifully explained the purpose of it and the audience applauds. The "hook" being the guitar smashing as they were all players in the music industry and were looking for the next (or in this case -- the first) Jimi Hendrix.
Then i woke up. And thought about what my subconscious was trying to tell me. The words that floated about in my mind were: "Manufactured Image". I've no idea how it relates to my world view, other than thinking of artists like Kurt Cobain, Lady Gaga, Marilyn Manson and Alice Cooper; artists who've all manufactured their personas. (Yes, even Cobain -- go read one of his biographies).
So.. is my mind telling me to re-invent myself? Or is it simply reminding me that perception eclipses the truth? It's one or the other I'm sure.. just not sure which. After my date with Robyn last weekend, I think this particular vision served as an acknowledgement towards the importance of keeping true to myself and not putting on a show of extravagance in order to impress.
Keepin' it real, is the lesson gleaned from all this. And from what I went through with Lauren -- holy shit do I need to get this tattoo'd onto my forehead.
It's that important.
And god damn it. I still fucking miss her. Why can't she grow up?
Better yet -- WHEN will she grow up?
And will I want her then?
