series of dreams

I am contemplating a certain period of my life that may not have existed. It’s sort of
complicated, so I’ll try to keep it very simple. It was a strange time. I was either having one very long dream, or a series of dreams that happened every night for quite some time. I was very deeply into this dream, if it was a dream at all. Not very much happened in it, which made it very non-dreamy. But for quite some time, I had become Bob Dylan’s new friend. I would go to see him perform with his band in parking lots, in people’s driveways and front lawns, at a restaurant near New Buffalo Michigan. And he would see me in the audience, and invite me “backstage” and we just kind of hung out.  And then I’d awaken, eat my oatmeal, go to work, and then, then next night I’d see him at another concert, maybe in another driveway in another dream. And I would think he probably does not even remember me, but he always did. And we’d hang out again. We never had much to say to each other, but we enjoyed each other’s company. I’m totally convinced this happened. I am just waiting for them to release the bootleg recordings from that period.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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