The third one started without any reference to film music. I lived in a different apartment than I really do, and the landlord seemed to be rather tyrannic (although I think I didn't see him in the first half of the dream, I just knew it). Somehow, it was difficult to find something to eat in that part of the world, can't remember why.

I had been waiting for a package of soundtrack CDR's, but all I found in my mailbox was a catalogue of horribly expensive baby toys??

Then one day, the landlord knocked at the door. I let him in, and he started to inspect my apartment, looking at all the unwashed dishes that were standing on the hearth, while I was apologizing all the time.

But suddenly, he took a piece of paper out of his pocket and started to read aloud all the CDs that were listed on it. The first one was a track from some Hans Zimmer score, the others were some soundtrack CDs I can't remember (including a porn soundtrack??) and some other CDs, including one by Bob Marley. I don't think any of the CDs are in my real collection. I didn't know what he intended with those CDs, but then he told me that these were the tracks he wanted on the compilation I had promised (???) to burn him - he wanted to record a song himself and fill the rest of the CD with the stuff on his list. We went over the list again (obviously, the CDs were chosen from a list of my collection which I had given him earlier), and he didn't seem to know any of the music he had on his list, but he didn't care. I then tried to convince him that when he was going to record his own song and distribute it, it wouldn't be such a good idea to include copyrighted tracks from other CDs on the disc, but he said that would be no problem.

Then he left, and I started to take all the CDs from my shelf, but unforunately, in the middle of it my phone rang and I woke up.

Very weird.

NP: Six Degrees of Separation (Jerry Goldsmith)

NP: Logan's Run (Jerry Goldsmith)

But one short part of it really struck me: a brief visit with by grandfather, whom I rarely see and certainly never dreamed about before, that I can remember. He was lying alone in bed, and had more hair than usual, and even a mustache, all dyed brown. Looking younger, but still quite weary, as you'd expect of a man in his late eighties. In fact, he looked amazingly like my late father (his oldest son, and one of two he had to bury) when Dad was thirty, only somewhat more weather-beaten. He squeezed my hand and said goodnight.

My grandfather died at midnight, peacefully, painlessly, in his sleep. I did not know this until after I'd had and written down the dream. It seemed just a footnote in a much larger canvas. Now I have to wonder.

Eerie, but moving.
[This message has been edited by H. Rocco (edited 11 March 2001).]

Sometimes it's also a hobby shop that has all the spaceship model kits I ever wanted (or didn't even know existed).

quote:

---

Originally posted by H. Rocco:
My grandfather died at midnight, peacefully, painlessly, in his sleep.

---

In the night when you had that dream?

I may tinker with the giant dream, but have NO IDEA how much space it'll take up. Not more than your average DANIEL2 historical post, I hope. I may try it and see. Rereading the text yesterday, it occurred to me that what might be nightmarish for most people (particularly the opening sequence in the tunnels of The Mutations and their king's attempts to poison me, or the later part where I'm vacuumed up into the wind vortex in Union Square -- that one happens a lot) don't affect my dream character as being terribly outlandish. (Actually, the wind vortex is always a lot of fun, since the view is sensational.) I am reluctant to show this much of myself, to be honest, but at the same time am not willing to doctor it, so we'll see what happens.

It occurs at a place I've been to before in other dreams: Akira Ifukube's International Music School. (Background: First time I was here, several years ago, I was just in the neighborhood and decided to drop by his house, and discovered he'd expanded it into this fabulous tree-lined, almost tropical-mansion-like university. The second time, a couple of years later, has more morbid overtones: after a plague has killed almost everyone in the world, though nobody much I liked, curiously enough, I leave my house in Brooklyn and go to Japan next door, where I find Mr. Ifukube fortunately still alive, but also feeling that since the world has basically come to an end, there is nothing left to live for. I regretted his decision, but it was not mine to make, and bid farewell before he actually committed suicide.)

Anyway, last night at the Ifukube School -- this is the first time I've actually attended class there -- we were being taught (not by Mr. Ifukube himself) a course in "How He Makes All Those Weird Noises." The room is mostly darkened as a guy in a welder's mask takes a blowtorch to a huge, peculiar machine with many different colored lights that give off different sounds. Then there's a seven-foot-tall harp, which a different guy assaults with a pair of long metal batons, creating some remarkably dissonant, yet still listenable, effects. Then the teacher's assistant, who turns out to be a genuine old high school friend (Jeff Yang in fact, co-author in real life of Jackie Chan's memoirs), hands out a three-page pop quiz, in which we are expected to explain Ifukube's music in mathematical terms. I don't see what this has to do with anything, but the answers aren't that difficult, simple algebra, really. But the quiz is called to a halt when it's discovered someone already sneaked a copy out, photocopied it, and put the answers on the bulletin board, wrecking its efficiency for future classes. I talk to Jeff briefly, and find I barely recognize him (he is gaunter and bespectacled now).

One last detail: watching the bizarre tableau of blowtorch and harp, I whisper to my seatmate (we're all sitting on a bench against a wall) that I REALLY wish I had a camera. He laughs and agrees. He is Marian Schedenig! Welcome to my nightmares, Marian! http://www.filmscoremonthly.com/board/biggrin.gif">

It's strange - we both seem to have had unusually many dreams lately (or do you often get four dreams in a row), and both of us had another bord member in one of our dreams.

NP: A Zed And Two Noughts (Michael Nyman)
[This message has been edited by Marian Schedenig (edited 13 March 2001).]

NP: The Great Train Robbery (Jerry Goldsmith)

NP: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (John Williams)

CSK 1 = NOK 0.236922
NOK 1 = CSK 4.220797

(Either the exchange rates have changed in the meantime, or I clicked the wrong currency last time)

NP: Leonard Bernstein: Selections from West Side Story (Members of the LA Philharmonic, Michael Tilson Thomas)