screams, whispers and songs from planet earth

Tag: Inspired by Dreams Page 1 of 2

My First Screenplay


I was in a theater, and first recall walking into it. It was nearly empty, with very few people in there, and I think there was a good deal of time before the show or film was to begin.

The theater seemed large, modern and glamorous, with wide, shallow steps leading down. It had many seats and different levels.

I walked down toward the screen and then realized it was a little too close, so I walked back up a few steps. Looking at the screen for reference, I chose a seat in the middle of one of the aisles, changing seats a few times to get myself perfectly situated in the middle. I finally sat down in front of some people, but they didn’t seem to mind.

Soon after I sat down, a young man came over to me with a set of papers, which he handed to me. He started explaining some changes he had made to the screenplay, pointing to some written changes on the paper as he talked. I was confused about this, but it seemed like I had written the screenplay (or a book it was based on), and I had something to do with the film. It’s possible that I was the writer and he was the director, but I didn’t have a clear memory of having done this.

I played along, though, saying, “ah yes, thank you,” and then I shook his hand and congratulated him for his success. He seemed pleased with that and walked away, leaving me with the papers. I felt privileged and special, though a bit bewildered.

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From Fenway Park, Under Construction, to a Small Exotic Island


I was with my friend Victor, and we were, for some reason, trying to get to Fenway Park. I’m not sure if we were going to a game or a show there. A large group of people were walking in the same direction, so we followed them, thinking that they were probably going there also. But we kept going the wrong way somehow, ending up in various dead ends.

It was quite convoluted, like a surreal sort of obstacle course. At one point, he led me down a metal ladder structure. It didn’t make sense to me that this should be so difficult. We were then in a large building that was under construction, with sections blocked off. I thought we were very close, but we kept winding up in dead ends that didn’t go anywhere. Finally, I just made a concerted effort to get out of there with him, and then we were outside, but suddenly we were in a completely different part of the city.

We walked down this long tunnel in what seemed like a train station. That didn’t make any sense either, though Victor seemed to know where he was going. But it felt like it was taking us further away from our destination.

When we came out of there and went up to the surface, we were by the ocean, and off at a distance was a small island with houses piled on the hillside. It was kind of like Nahant, but not Nahant. In fact, it wasn’t like any part of Boston or Massachusetts that I was familiar with.

I wasn’t sure where we were now, but it was a great distance away, perhaps even in a different country altogether.

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Italian Delicacies


I was in one of the Cambridge, Massachusetts squares (Harvard, Central, Porter or Davis), alone and looking for a place to eat. I wanted something delicious and healthy, and I guess I was hesitating and indecisive, because most places were fast food or something else I wasn’t entirely sure about.

I may have asked someone for a recommendation, because suddenly I found myself going into this small Italian deli and market. This wasn’t the usual Italian place with pizza, pasta and calzones. There was a counter with many delicacies in a case – various kinds of vegetable mixtures, filled pastries and such. It was like Italian countryside food or something like that. It seemed great, but I had no idea what to get.

There was an older woman at the counter, and she was telling me that several things had different vegetables in them (I told her I didn’t want anything with meat). I remember she said “spinach” in addition to many other vegetables. I told her to “surprise me” and select some items. I did tell her it was just for me, and I didn’t need “$100 worth of food.”

I was a little concerned that I would end up with way too much and it would be very expensive. I had no idea what anything cost. But then after I said that, I decided to just trust her, and I watched as she started selecting certain items, putting them in various containers.

I woke up feeling rather strange, and in a “different place.” It was unusual, but very good, I think. Something different. There was a feeling of excitement and adventure, in trying something new.

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Finding One’s Clan


I was walking around in a strange city. I heard music being played, in a few different places. I followed one of the songs and discovered a band playing in a clearing, in a small public park. At first, I sat on a ledge above where they were, as I saw that others had done this. But immediately after I sat down, a strange man sat down next to me and starting staring at me, so I got right up and left.

I walked down to where the band was and stood near them. There were iron bars that separated the band from passersby.

The band was extremely good. They had a violin player, guitars, drums, etc. I don’t recall how this happened, but the show had ended and I was now at the home of one of the musicians, sitting and chatting with them on an outside patio or front porch. There was a man with long hair and a woman. At first, I thought they were together, but I think they were just friends or bandmates/housemates.

It was a very cool-looking neighborhood, with many tiny houses lined up like row houses, and some people had their beds right in the front yards, with hippie types of decorations. It had a Scandinavian vibe, very lose and free-spirited, so I was thinking that this was somewhere in Europe.

I asked them if this area was special to them, if they enjoyed living there and if it had some special meaning for them. The woman answered that it wasn’t the place, but the people. She said something about this other woman she knew, and I got the feeling this girl was her partner. Then I responded with something like how I hadn’t “found my clan” yet, and I mentioned how my best friend was really my only close friend.

They said, “it’s not too late,” and I explained that I was in my ’50s, but they still thought it wasn’t too late for me to find my clan. They were very nice and laid back, and I felt that I could be happy there.

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Unprepared for a Bowie Rehearsal


I was in a very large room. But it wasn’t just a room — it was a huge, wide tower or majestic structure high off the ground, and I sat with a few hundred others around the rim of this enormous cavern.

The room was rectangular in shape, and at the far side, standing on a ledge facing us, was David Bowie. He was working with us on some sort of project he was doing, acting as our choral director, as he led us in performance, singing something from his last album — or possibly a new work.

He spoke for a while. I was trying to take it all in, but it was quite heady and sophisticated, so I didn’t completely understand everything that he said.

Then everyone started singing. The place had amazing acoustics, since it was a giant chapel or church tower. I wasn’t familiar with the song and didn’t know the words, but somehow, I figured them out as we went along that first time. It sounded incredible, like a huge professional choir, and it was extremely moving.

We must have been chosen to work with him on an album or live show, and we were rehearsing our parts. Then something happened. He was talking to us some more, and then we were to sing again. I’m not sure if a bunch of new people had joined in or what it was, but when we began again, we were all out of tune and not in sync with each other. I could no longer recall the words, and others struggled as well.

Bowie must have been frustrated with what he was hearing, because after a little while, he spoke to us again and said that he decided we should work with someone else until we were comfortable with the music, before working directly with him again. He went on to say that obviously not everyone had listened to his new music and some weren’t familiar with it. It was like a scolding or accusation. He said he was handing things over to some woman who would work with us instead.

I felt disappointed, of course, but it was completely understandable. I mean, why should he waste his time, when we were obviously so unprepared? Though I couldn’t figure out what happened, since we sounded so wonderful earlier.

It was as though the magic had been lost.

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The Missing Dog


I was in a large school with different floors, walking around and looking into various classrooms, all of which were very different in mood and purpose. One room was air-conditioned with a tranquil bedroom layout. Others were more traditional. Some were art studios, psychological evaluation rooms or sensory labs.

At one point, I was holding a small dog. I was supposed to bring it somewhere. It was light colored and shaggy. Then suddenly I didn’t have it and I freaked out, wondering where it was.

There was a professor, maybe a doctor or psychologist. I may have been trying to find his office. Was it his dog? And then there was a closet, or perhaps it was the doctor’s small office, and there was a big water leak at the entrance and another large leak inside. Water was spraying everywhere. I ran to tell someone, and soon there were plumbers or janitors looking at it.

I was roaming the hallways, looking for the dog. I saw other dogs running through the hallway, but not the dog I was trying to find. In several locations, I also saw cats. A few were running after mice. Another was sunning itself in one of the rooms. It was quite strange.

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The Bowie Installation


A facility, a gathering, a celebration
a myriad of different rooms,
though I gravitated to a room where there
was David Bowie music playing.

Was it a memorial?
The music was challenging–some of his more obscure work
I was alone, listening, standing in this installation.

There was a structure, a large archway,
where speakers had been set up.

As I stood underneath the magical archway, entranced,
others came into the room.
Somebody marveled at the obscure, unusual music.

We all moved to a round table in a banquet hall,
next to where this installation had been mounted.
I carefully set up 4 or 5 place settings of drinks,
and then placed a dish of nuts in the middle.

My movements, as I did this,
felt precise and purposeful,
as if with spiritual intent.
We all sat down at this table,
to talk about David and share our stories.

[10/11/17: This may well have had something to do with Dale Perry’s My Bowie Story collection — it’s out now! Purchase it at — Proceeds to Save The Children]

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Next Stop, Desolate Dock


I was on a bus with some other people. We were traveling through Boston, but I wasn’t too familiar with all the areas, so I couldn’t figure out what stop to get off at. I was wondering how I would get home and couldn’t figure out how to get to the blue line (was I parked at Wonderland? I’m not even sure).

I recognized Central Square but somehow missed that stop, and then the bus was going towards Boston. I started talking to the people on the bus. There were two guys who I think mentioned the airport and I excitedly asked if I could ride with them, since that would get to the blue line of the train and closer to home. But they seemed flakey and non-committal. The bus driver wasn’t answering my inquiry as to what stops there would be.

Suddenly, the bus pulled over and it was the last stop. There were still a number of people on the bus, and they were all surprised by this. We got out. It was this forlorn-looking dock, and I had no idea where we were.

We were somewhere on the waterfront, but there didn’t seem to be any buildings or recognizable things nearby. It was just a dock. I was thinking that if it was anywhere near the Aquarium, it would be near a train station. It may have been at night or on a dark day, as it seemed quite desolate.

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I had driven to a strange building. There was a parking garage as part of the structure. It was in a city location somewhere, but it didn’t feel like a place I had been in before. There was just a single non-descript door leading to the street. I drove into the multi-level indoor parking garage and parked.

I don’t know what this place was, but it had many different rooms and facilities. I think there may have been clubs and different gatherings of people. Perhaps it was some sort of “sanctuary,” and there may have been music facilities or a recording complex. It felt like some type of alternative lifestyle community.

A Twisting Stairway, A Therapeutic Whirlpool

I followed a woman up a precarious sort of stairway. It was more like a series of structures and steps she was climbing, and she was helping me along after her. She would climb and would look back at me, and at one point I think she grabbed my hand.

We reached a point there she said to me, “Just jump!” And she did and I followed her. We jumped into a strange swimming pool that was actually a slowly circulating whirlpool of foam or some type of substance that wasn’t entirely wet. It was very pleasant and there were others going around in this odd structure. It was quite relaxing. We were all sort of sliding around this circular pool.

The Sophisticated Guru

Then I recall being in a large room with other people, and I was trying to pick out the “leader” of this place to speak with him.

I finally spotted the person in charge. He was a tall man with grayish hair, wearing some sort of ceremonial robe. In any case, he had a rather distinguished appearance. I asked him if there was a way I could stay there in exchange for helping to care for the place. I felt comfortable there and safe. It was a nice, upscale sort of environment and it felt like I had traveled from a distant location and had no place else to stay. I believe I told him this also.

He said something that indicated that we would speak more about it, and I had the feeling it would be ok. I felt a sense of relief wash over me, as I felt I now had “a home.”

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Missing Class


Such a classic, in a classroom;
I gathered materials for school.
Two bags of random things, but no backpack with books.

I tried to find or read a schedule,
as it felt like I was missing a class

or was supposed to be somewhere else
after the class I was now in
but I couldn’t remember what it was.

Upset and discombobulated,
I watched other students with their books,
going on about their typical school day.
What happened to my school books?

I was miserable with my heavy burden.
Why must I carry all this “stuff”

that had nothing to do
with the classes I was taking?
Good lord; I don’t even know where I am!

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