Ack! Spending so much time doing computer work my spirit’s bungie-cord in snapping back and my artistic side is screaming for attention. I woke this morning from a dream where an old friend (who I haven’t spoken to in about fifteen years) was singing a sad, Cheryl Crow style song about motherhood and childbirth and regrets.
No, I’m aware that’s not typical subject matter for my inner psyche, but that’s dreamland for you. (Actually, I’d just seen a rerun of the Sci Fi program Farscape and one of the main characters was newly “with child” so the theme isn’t quite so random.) I woke up remembering only a few of the words (which weren’t enough to really write down) and a fragment of the melody (which is hard to “write down” per se) and within a couple minutes it was lost.
Then I remembered another dream I’d had last night where I was composing a parody of Gilbert & Sullivan’s song “Modern Major-General” start started “I am the Very Model of a Presidential Candidate” and went on to joke about the 2008 Presidential primary season. (The only other line I can recall is “…anecdotal stories crafted for a sample audience.”) Come to think of it, I know where my subconscious dug that one up: the second episode of the NBC show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. (lyrics, video clip)
And if that’s not bad enough, when I got up I saw I had a message from this artistic guy who was responding to one of my online (gay) profiles. His message was kind of artsy and full of metaphors, so I decided to respond with a haiku (He swims many streams // All those different media // Stops to say “hello”) and an English Sonnet in full iambic pentameter…
The body has such potent means to bind our hearts and spirits in a thrall of dreams that we forget the wonders of the mind. Adonis is less vital than he seems. Yet Hail the wondrous miracle of dance Through which our minds and bodies strive and seek The spirit's tongue articulate in trance Compels a heart articulate to speak And last but never least we turn to sex, Abandon with delight for devil's trap, That supple hunger: muscle sweat and flesh. In friction, bodies pound, the mind does snap. Yes, brilliant caught in motion and in form With dance and sex it keeps the spirit warm.
Am I losing my mind? I just pray I don’t start dreaming in limericks next!