My dreams are reverting to that weird cusp between reality and fantasy which is nigh indistinguishable. Last night I dreamt that I got to go to a series of concerts to musicians and groups which I could have sworn I really enjoyed maybe a decade ago, when I first got into acoustic music and almost famous artists. The issue is that while the names elude me, the memories of the style , aesthetic, and sound were such a close approximation to reality in spite of being total fabrications of my psyche. I spent a better part of my morning trying to recall if I did indeed listen to bluegrass, or or music which had eccentric guitarists who were talented but would not garner main stream attention. The fact is I did, and do. They were simply no the musicians I dreamed of.
The night prior I dreamt I was in some shopping mall in France, but a few Russian speakers were also there. I think I was separated from my traveling group in that scenario. I speak basically no French, and can read maybe more than I can understand, sometimes. I was a lonely stranded expatriate in some indeterminate location which may as well have been an airport. Overall, it is a totally feasible situation which can happen, but has not happened to me. I find the nature of the trend towards the uncanny realism rather than the overt impossibility of the tings I usually dream of fascinating.
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