My cool dream-time tunes
I’m wearing headphones and listening to a song while walking along a familiar street. I know every verse to this song, and the addictive tune gives me a happy, albeit unintentional, skip to my step. A woman is walking in the other direction, and as we are about to pass each other, I notice that she is mouthing the words—in time—with the song I’m hearing through my headphones.
“Wait!” I call out to the woman. I wrench a 1980’s style personal stereo—a plastic brick—from my pocket and wave it about in front of the woman. “We are listening to the same song. How cool is that?”
I don’t know if it was the sight of a madman trying to talk to her in the middle of the street, or the sight of my ancient entertainment device, but, after a confused moment, the woman gave me a disdainful glance and walked off. I continued on my way, muttering sarcastic rebuttals to myself.
My original earworm
I woke up, humming the tune while the lyrics echoed around inside my head; it was an original song, with a pleasant melody, and it had actually become a lively ear-worm; although, as I was about to discover, a short-lived one. I need to write this down… I need to record myself humming the tune… Paper… Pen… Laptop… Quick, write it down… Record it! But, like a sudden wind giving enthusiasm to the leaves on a tree, the lyrics and tune flew away from me, and the memory of that dream began to crumble. In a short moment the song had stopped playing.
Had I really created an original song from within a dream?
I’ve read about artists creating original works: music, paintings, and stories, while enabled by the freedom of a dream. Or had the song been complete gibberish; fantastic and wonderful to my dream-world ears, but no more than incoherent nonsense when I try to replay the song in my waking state. I believe it was an original and complete song, but I will probably never know. Unless my old musical plastic brick plays again tonight.