Interesting...

~~~~Contemplative

The Dark Side of the Dream

I don’t dream. It does no good to dream because it always ends in disappointment. Today I showed weakness. Today I dreamed.

Pink Floyd talked to me. And not the way they usually do, like when I’m in a circle listening to “Dark Side of the Moon.” I mean, Pink Floyd literally talked to me.

I was at the gas station filling up the El Camino when the entire car was suddenly covered in shadow. I assumed, of course, that it was the apocalypse. But when I looked up, I saw the coolest, most awesome thing ever: a hundred foot long, airbrushed rock n’ roll tour bus. I tried looking in to see who was inside but with the combination of the bus’s tinted windows and my tinted glasses all I could see was black.

Then it happened. The door opened and this big fat bus driver came out. But right after him came Roger Waters - the genius behind Pink Floyd and the man who taught me to combine my two favorite things in life – rock songs and my stash.

That’s when I began dreaming. I couldn’t help imagining me and Roger talking about rock. He’d invite me on the tour bus and the next thing you know I’d be in the band on stage rocking out in front of thousands of screaming fans. Of course, I’d have to leave the gang behind but they could be groupies if they wanted and Fez would be happy with just a free t-shirt.

I was in the middle of rocking Madison Square Garden when Roger Waters spoke to me: "Where the hell am I?" I knew we had a connection. That’s the exact kind of philosophical question I pose all the time – where are any of us? I tried asking him that but it turns out they were just driving to a gig in Milwaukee and he really just wanted to know what town they were in. I told him and he got back on the bus and left.

Serves me right for dreaming. I went back to filling up the El Camino. Seventy-four cents for a gallon of gas. What a load of crap