Last night I dreamed that I was being dragged off to be beheaded. It was the time of King James Sixt and I. I'm being dragged down some stone steps set into the pavement of an ancient square."I'm innocent!!" I scream. "At the very least you must spare me until after my concert. I have a very important concert for the King." A magistrate releases me, but shows me the list of charges against me which are numerous, on a scroll, illustrated with illuminations like a mediaeval manuscript.The first of the charges is corruption, but the list goes on which some very anachronistic ones including something to do with the intellectual property rights of Apple Watch software. The final charge is that I have been, as a judge, vicious and capricious in judgment.The magistrate agrees to free me and to let me exercise my duties as a judge, pending a big concert in July which I have to conduct, and pending a possible pardon from King James. But a remarkable thing happens, and the magistrate is the first to note it, as he begins spying on my judgments. I appear to gone from a cruel judge to a veritable Solomon.I stand on some steps beneath some Greek columns and petitioners are queuing up One is represented by an advocate and requests "a name change that we may marry." The name is Kelley or Kellesy. I say, "And which of my judgments would be more advantageous to the petitioner?" Making the advocate smile (he is blond with short hair in a grey-white tunic.) The threat of decapitation has clearly made me a changed man.At length they bring a boy who apparently has his shirt on backwards. He's awkward, a bit plump,with a blond crew cut, and his back is exposed but he so misshapen that I think his back is his front at first. He is the son of a prominent lord. His back is pitted with tiny red holes. I cannot see what can have caused them.He lifts his ill-fitting shirt and I see his front is the same. "It is my father," he says, "for when he beats me, he insists that the club be combined with a thistle." It is this thorny cudgeling that has twisted the boy's shape."I dare to bring him to justice," I tell him. "The threat of execution has made me understand your suffering. I do not fear his high position. I shall listen to your petition against him."Then I wake up.
My dream ... oh! oh! I am i a studio watching some kind of screening of a wild production of Cosi fan Tutte ... with Japanese subtitles. Although it doesn't look familiar, I know it is a production I myself directed and it is very avant-garde.There is a cnotroller with no rewind, but a push a button that looks like "play again" and it appears to play a completely different video now, It's me, climbing up a huge ladder, screaming in German, "something like "mich fühlen!!!" I am climbing and climbing. There are other scenes too, scenes I do not recognize.Suddenly, I am on a park bench in a European street and a man comes and sits next to me (the screening is still going on. It shows me going to unfamiliar places, strange hotels.) The man seems to know me. He's young and English looking with curly, dirty blond hair. I say "This footage is our tour of Europe from 2015. I didn't even know someone made a documentary. The production of Cosi is so well edited. Look, there's me climbing a window." He laughs, remembering it (I do not remember,) We watch a while longer and I keep trying to remember the guy who seems to have been on the tour with us, but I simply cannot place him.Finally I walk over to the counter (we are in some kind of office.) I am thinking of renting the video and making a copy. I say, "How much to rent the video?"A man (with an undefined European accent) says to me, "Ah, but to rent THAT video is very, very expensive. I would say ... one thousand eight hundred euros." "But that's impossible" I say. "I should have received a free copy of this in the first place. Look through it, it's nothing but me. The producers must have promised to give me a oopy and just forgot."The man just smiles and says, "1,800 Euros."I wake up.
I had a really important dream that refers back to a dream I had many years ago and maybe many times over the years. In the former dream, I am wandering through a corridor that oonnects my house with an older, ruined, house and I find a secret room. In tonight's dream, we are about to throw some kind of gala or party with a banquet and white tablecloths on round tables. On my way to the banquet I open a door and suddenly I am in that secret room which I know I've seen before in previous dreams. Only it is being used. It has been fixed up and there is a whirring air conditioner and low sofas. It is a low room, too low to stand up in, but the center rises to a peak, like an attic, enough to have a comfortable set of sofas.My father and my sister Pinky are there sharing white wine. I am happy to have found the room which I know so well.I return to the other side of the house to tell my mother, who is sitting in a step-down larder or parlour. I tell her all about the room and say it is a shame that it was found, because I wanted to make it into my Egyptian room ... I can see the planned furnishings in my mind which include a golden statue of the sky goddess Nut. I also say, it could have been a secret crash pad for guests. I decide to return to the banquet via the secret room, but instead I am in a corridor and to my right is a dark wooden staircase that forks into a balcony where there are two rooms, one ahead and one behind. The room ahead is covered with dark carved wooden panelling and the door has wooden columns on either side carved like twisting serpents. The vision of the room gives me shiver even now as I awaken.But suddenly, I run into an old friend. He is a teenager with long blond hair and though I am now old, he has not changed. I embrace him and I call him Dennis, and say I am so glad to see him. I can't overstress that this seems to be a direct continuation of a dream perhaps decades old.
I had a very interesting dream. I was finishing off some kind of performance. Theater was on a hill. When I came down the hill, the German ambassador's wife and son were waiting for me in a pick up truck and she said "we must go, we must go." I said, "but I am looking for my mother." Suddenly, I was transported to the time I was four years old. I was lost in Vroom & Dreesman, a department store in The Hague. I started screaming, "mommy mommy," in the voice of a small child. I had a feeling of incredible desperation. Then I woke up.
I had a dream in which I and my companion, a woman, not sure if she is a lover or an accomplice, discover that we have blundered into an alternate universe. Everything and everyone has different relationships and feels very strange. We are wearing medieval clothing. But the building we are in is modern.My friend says this is because of the Queen's baby. What do you mean? I say. She said, We must sneak into the room where the baby sleeps. And we must reach the baby's Eye. The baby sleeps in a very high story of a skyscraper. The penthouse I think. We find the baby's crib. This is what we must do says my companion, pulling out a hypodermic needle. Peering over the edge of the crib, I see that the child cannot be seen directly. An inflatable plastic cushion covers his face and on this cushion is depicted a single eye. My friend stabs the needle into the eye, injecting a magical fluid.Suddenly we know that reality has shifted and we are back to our true selves. We hear the queen, outside the door, asking about her baby. My friend waves the needle and it turns into a long cigarette with a cigarette holder. She flourishes it in the air and smokes it and we walk out onto the veranda.As I stand on the balcony overlooking a huge metropolis, there are many purple skyscrapers. Suddenly they turn different colors and different styles, switching between art deco and something more modern.I wake up.
I had a curious dream. I was at some kind of composers conference or gathering. We all have to contribute a piece of music. My piece was I think dashed off. They were sitting around discussing it. They couldn't understand some of the directions.Somebody said what does this mean? The direction was perform half of a hashed tag. I said well just think of any hash tag, and half perform it. What do you mean half a soprano asked. Oh never mind I said just sing anything. They all started to ridicule the piece and another singer said to me it actually really isn't very good is it. But I had already started to compose another piece in my head. So I said, I'm going to switch out the piece. I wanted to begin with simple triplet D major arpeggios in the strings when I saw that there were only two string players but I knew I could make a clarinet Play one of the parts. Then I knew that I could place two sopranos on top and they would sing a peculiar winding atonal melody. The atonal canon would twist in and out above the tonal accompaniment.I became oblivious to their taunts as I started to compose the new piece which I could see every note of clearly in my head. At this music unfolded in my mind, I woke up.
In my dream it's during the Safavid Empire and I'm leading a huge rebellion against some Shah or other. It's a splendid dream with battle scenes and spectacular Persian dress, cast of thousands. I lose the battle and I am dragged before my nephew, a sweet and delicate teen, who apparently as a test of his loyalty must order me beheaded. We sit on coaches having a tender and loving last meal and then I am led off to my execution.... then I wake up.
In my dream last night, it was definitely what you'd call an "anxiety" dream. I'm in a long corridor manning a ticket counter for a performance of my opera THE SNOW DRAGON and there's a growing queue of people behind me. I have a list of preorders. One of them is Witaya Tumornsoontorn and I can't find his name. Finally I realize someone has misspelled his name as WEASEL (all caps) and clumsily erased it and his own name is much fainter. "Don't worry," I tell him. "You have an E-ticket anyway and you can go straight in."Thing is, this is a long narrow corridor and the door at the end which leads to the lobby of the theatre is latched and the queue is getting longer. I force the door open and march through the lobby into the theatre to tell them they can't start yet because the audience is trapped in this massive queue.But in the theatre which is only half full and doesn't have proper theatre seats, just the plastic-cushion dinner chairs you find in office supply stores, there is a film going on, some kind of business presentation. Back of theatre, an open bar is doing great business. I go up to the bar and give them my message, and they serve me a drink.
Many dreams last night which I only remember snatches. The last one was about A girl who I meet in her store. She is a shaman who fixes peoples dreams. She tells me that she must fix the princesses dreams because the princess is not dreaming right. She tells me that where she comes from dreams are just as real as the real world. We are in the shop. The shop is bisected with shelving full of brightly colored objects that I cannot identify. Another dream I had tonight was about a huge music competition. There's a boy who switches sides and becomes my spy, doing so by entering the competition venue, making an abrupt left turn after declaring his allegiance to the opposing side, and dotting down a hidden tunnel to where my musicians are. He says he can go back-and-forth and tell me everything about the other people.I wish I could remember more. There were other dreams too.
Last night I had performance dreams ... first the orchestra is preparing to perform in the basement of some hotel. A lady takes us upstairs and we find ourselves in a huge shopping mall lobby, but the shops are all closed. She says, "This is the Field of Diana." She takes me up and down twin corridors looking for what is supposedly a well known gay bar, but it is closed. Then in the front of the mall, there is a coffee shop or bar and it too is closed, but the lights start to come on. They are opening specially for us. Then I dream that I've been invited to play a cameo at the Met. In it, I am hidden under the front floorboards of the proscenium, which can be opened up like a lid. I emerge magically to present something to the leading lady. When the opera ends, they open up the floorboards and I discover I'm missing a golden shoe, and maybe another golden object, perhaps an apple. A boy in a toga peers curiously as I try to retrieve them. I think to myself — this boy has no armpit hair. He scurries off. I think he's one of the three boys from "The Magic Flute." Suddenly I realize that the floorboards are crammed with irretrievable golden shoes and apples from all the people who were asked to do this cameo.I climb out of the narrow gap and walk into the theatre itself thinking, "What joy! I've performed at the Met!"
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