I love dreams. For most of my life I’ve been able to remember at least some portion of my dreams on any given night. I consider myself fortunate in that regard, and I shower unrequested pity on those out there that never can remember their mid-night shenanigans and escapades.
Ah, dreams. I find them intriguing and fascinating. And at times, disturbing.
Which brings up I philosophical quandary: how responsible is one for the content of their dreams?
Here’s a fun case study: I have a neighborhood friend–for now we’ll call him B.S. Slappy1I could have gone with a play on his initials, but I’m already calling someone else Jesus Christ. Perhaps we could just call it his Second Coming?–who was a professional musician in a past life. One time when he was over with his family for one of our kids’ birthday parties, he saw my sweet SG Gibson hanging on my wall of guitars, and somehow inferred that I could play it with some degree of confidence. That was when he first started strongly advocating on behalf of the two of us getting together for some jam sessions.
Shortly after that thought first entered the ether of my mind, I had a dream that I had gone over to his house for a playdate for the kids. While there, I stumbled into his makeshift studio where he was noodling away on one of his many six-strings. Delighted to see me, B.S. said “check out what I wrote for us!” and started shredding out a very rocking and very unorthodox riff.
It was like nothing I had ever heard before. But I loved how it took me to a new place I never could have imagined. Such ideas and experiences are my favoritest of all things.
When I woke up I had the chance to reflect on my awesome dream…and it occurred to me “Wait just a tick…he didn’t write that song–it sprung forth from the loins of my mind! I’ve never even heard him play guitar before, so that wasn’t him, it was ME!”
So, if I were somehow musically talented enough to figure out how to play the song from my dream, riddle me this: who should get songwriting credits? Me? It was my brain doing the dreaming, after all. Or my subconscious’ projection of my rock star friend? Maybe, in the process of trying to piece together what I knew of him, along with any poorly-informed perceptions of what type of creative limits he might be capable of stretching, I actually synthesized something completely new and surprising to me. Maybe it is something that I would have never imagined had I never met him…
But guess what? You can chew on that mental cud for awhile, and in the meantime I can get to the dream I really wanted to talk about. Good news for me, I’ve already related the tale digitally, so I don’t have to re-invent the wheel from scratch.
For context, this exchange happened earlier this summer when I was in my “workshopping” phase.2See also: The Olde Timey Wheelchair,3See also: A Pound Casual Asshat A friend from back in high school was sharing the beautiful gift of “comedic amnesia” with me, and the fact that she knew a major player in this dream–combined with an unintentional trigger phrase–prompted me to tangentially relate to her my vintage 2002 dream. I didn’t even ask for consent…
I’ll let the screenshots do the talking. Sonny Bono,4Of course, it’s not her real name. To avoid confusion, though, it’s not her porn star name either… take it away, will ya?
For some reason, it seems a little less bragadocious when a past, forgotten version of yourself makes you laugh. This, my friend, is the gift of comedic amnesia.
![SB: I'm glad you were also entertained. Smiley emoticon. I hope the rest of this particular anniversary is lovely.
BJ: I would say it's bittersweet...I mean, for my wall, it's just a reminder that 13 years later and still no ring from you. Crying emoticon.
SB: Oh, I thought it was a reminder of [SPOILER REDACTED]!](https://i0.wp.com/www.thepointofthestory.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/Shotgun_wedding_Figure3.png?resize=664%2C884)
Oh ----- She just uttered a trigger phrase…it’s also a spoiler, so I blurred it out. Once you know what it is (see below), come back and fill in the blank. It was a humorous statement in it’s own right.
![BJ: LOL
BJ: Speaking of which...did I ever tell you about a dream I had back in college about marrying [a mutual high school alumna]?
BJ: I was back in Rolla driving around with the girl who would eventually be my college girlfriend, THE legendary Tiffany Chestnut...
BJ: But I knew it was my wedding day, and I was going to marry [redacted] at the Methodist church there in Rolla...](https://i0.wp.com/www.thepointofthestory.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/Shotgun_wedding_Figure4.png?resize=667%2C854)
To help fill in the blanks, I was pretty sure that, in addition to objectively not wanting to marry the Alumna, I very much wanted to marry Tiffany Chestnut instead. Anyways…”and then what happened?”
Honestly, I’ve never been more proud of the wit embedded in this dream. Again, though, do I really get to take credit for it?
![BJ: Well, I'm looking for the term capturing how the situation was a literal manifestation of the figurative situation. You know, kinds like double entendres, but I still don't think that's quite it. [This was the point of my story].
BJ: And no, I've never bothered questioning if I'm at my core a dark twisted individual for having such ----- up dreams, lol.
BJ: Anyway, that's the story.](https://i0.wp.com/www.thepointofthestory.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/Shotgun_wedding_Figure12.jpeg?resize=640%2C769)
![S.B.: It's a fascinating story! And I wish I were more engaging this morning, but I have to [CLASSIFIED] so off I go for now.
S.B.: We are probably all dark twisted individuals [Her point of the story...]](https://i0.wp.com/www.thepointofthestory.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/Shotgun_wedding_Figure13.jpeg?resize=676%2C605)
I still am searching for an answer to this question–so please, if you know what the right term is, please “leave it in the comments below”. I implore you.
Also, I bet you didn’t think that it would be someone other than me to deliver the money shot. What a twist! Thanks S.B. for really bringing it home.
I’ll leave you with a bonus bit o’ the asinine:
![S.B.: See? Totally searchable...
BJ: jackass. If you're referring to what I think you're referring to, I was referring to finding my "F M" profile by searching for BJ [redacted]. Now that all may change since I am in the process of combining the account.](https://i0.wp.com/www.thepointofthestory.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/Shotgun_wedding_Figure14.jpeg?resize=640%2C813)
Lastly, in regards to the title.5Okay, okay, for you “2A” people out there: yes, I realize that the title is a misnomer, as it was most definitely a rifle that was used in the ceremony.
Content created on: 6 June & 14 August 2019 (Thursday/Wednesday)
Footnotes & References:
ugh I love this
Ugh I love how I didn’t know what the hell that phrase meant, but your mother totally did. The only time I visit the interwebs is to spend time in my little hermit-shack of a website I have here. I mean, it should be totally obvious by now that I spend most of my time living in my head.
You used some unacceptable words in comments between the blue & gray areas. Maybe to save yourself time in typing & readers’ time in reading, just substitute – – – for the word that shouldn’t even be thought of in the first place. It is much easier to blink my eye at – – – and go on reading rather than have to read whatever word you substituted for the unacceptable word.
Hello, Mother.
Your wish has been granted…for now. Actually, my plan was to change up the substitute characters/phrase every few days for ----- and giggles. But I’ll leave it at “—–” for now. Because that’s how much I love you.
I thought I had already commented on this but I don’t see it here.
Anyway, you used some words between the blue & gray areas that should have been blocked out, like the “s” word. And I didnt read all the comments in the blue & gray areas because at a glance I could see there were words I didnt want to see.
Hello, Mother.
Yes, the censor code I use has some gaping technical holes in it. Pottywords near punctuation (especially commas) tends to help them slip under the radar.