In Dreams


Time for a little prose piece I think, I haven’t done one if these for a while. So, many years ago when I was nineteen or maybe twenty I had just come back from work after stopping at my friendly local used CD shop (CDs were how we old folks used to listen to music children, pleas try to keep up). It was called Sonic Temple and it was one of my all time favorite places to be, on Yonge Street, just a few blocks north of Sheppard. I wonder if it’s even still there. It would be a shame if it wasn’t, places like that are treasure troves, just waiting to be rummaged through, their contents devoured in hedonistic gluttony. With the way music is consumed now though, it’s probably gone, another ancient cultural ruin awaiting future archeologists to unearth.
But I digress, I’m good at that. I had just purchased Under The Pink by Tori Amos. I was a bit late to the party as far as Tori was concerned, so I was playing a little catch up. I threw my bag down by the door, pulled off my boots and almost ran over to the CD player, but instead of popping in the new disc, I decided to start back with Little Earthquakes, to begin at the beginning so to speak. I placed the CD tenderly in its tray, slid the machine closed and punched play, retreating back to the sofa just as the lovely, pure sonic waves began to wash over me. This may have been a mistake as pretty much by “Silent All These Years” I was drifting off and by “Winter” I was completely asleep.
So, here’s where things get strange. I dreamt I woke up to knocking and I found myself in the exact position I had fallen asleep. It was one of those dreams so vivid that you wouldn’t realize you were even dreaming, yet somehow I did, I was aware that I was in a dream but just decided to go along with it. So I answer the door and standing there, in the outside hallway of my basement apartment in North York (part of the GTA, or Greater Toronto Area children) was Tori. She was naked. Of course she was. That’s what my brain said “of course she is”, like it was just that more acceptable that an internationally known and renowned singer/songwriter was not only knocking on my door but that she was nude.
So I stepped aside and she came in. She smiled and gave me a hug. It was a nice hug, but before your fevered imaginations begin turning this into some kind of celeb porn, there was absolutely no sense of arousal. Her being naked was just a thing, a property of the dream and it seemed natural. It probably would have been more erotic if she had been clothed really. So, she hugged me and then walked over to the chair opposite the sofa, sat down with her legs curled up under her, but kind of to one side. I went and sat back down on the couch and we started to talk. That’s it, just talk. It was like we had already been involved in the conversation and we’re just picking it back up again, like she’d just popped down to the shops for a moment. She was very warm, I remember that, at least the Tori in my dream was. I remember knowing, deep down knowing that was she was saying was important, I knew that to the core of me.
I woke up when the CD stopped, like at that exact moment. I felt fuzzy, almost like I’d been drinking. I get that way after a really clear dream, especially one where I can remember the details so clearly. Normally all I can ever remember of my dreams is that I dreamt. The pictures fade like there was a painter in my brain who created these incredible pictures of fantasy and vibrancy but in a sudden fit of creative depression threw turpentine on the lot, leaving only colors and vague shapes running together. This one though, this one lingered. It was in my waking brain for days afterward, just playing it out over and over and over. The one thing I couldn’t remember at all was what she said, all of the important things she was trying to tell me.
So that’s it children, that’s my little story. I still try to figure it out every now and then, what it was all about. When I listen to Tori’s music I try to listen for what she might have been trying to say to me in my dream, underneath the raw lyrics and ethereal piano. I haven’t had much success, but it is a joy to try anyways. Perhaps one of you out there could tell me. If you figure it out, drop me a line, I’m sure it’s something important, something I’m really supposed to know. If you can’t respond here, tell it to me in a dream, I promise I’ll pay attention, I promise I’ll remember this time.

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