So, I had the last dream of the night, or rather the last dream that I remember of the night, since, after all, dreams tend to last much shorter than they feel like they do and all, nor do we remember all of them, but at any rate, here’s this particular one. It was at an outdoor convention for musicians. I think in this particular one, the conceit was that my band had gotten at least marginally famous (in about the Maximum I would assume that any band I was in could get famous at all even if all the cards were in order and whatnot, and that’s basically a Minor One-Hit Wonder. Not of course that I’d think that we’d ever have even a remote shot at that, but I’m just saying that if The Band Were To Get Famous, That’d Be About The Best We Could Hope For, y’know?), and was at some sort of retreat for musicians. Sort of like a company picnic, I guess. Only instead of a business, it was a bunch of musicians of the sort who were more renowned now than actually famous.
The only ones I really remember were a bunch of country guys and David Byrne. I believe Ben was with me, although, I could be mistaken. I remember really taking a shine to David Byrne, and it was mutual, so we ended up just spending most of the time together, just chatting about various things and making jokes and whatnot. Perhaps Rodney Anonymous was also there, I do not recall. Anyway, though, it was a really good time, and though I don’t recall much of it, other than spending time in a veranda, and then going outside and watching people play ball or something with David, it was really enjoyable.
This was most of the dream, and after a while, the time came to an end, and we all piled on a chartered bus to take us to our various destinations. I sat near David again, and we chatted on the way home, and we were also near some of the country guys (Note: Oddly enough, David was about the only person who looked like himself. I think this is partially because I only know vaguely what most of the Country Guys look like, although the Dream Them looked anywhere between little-to-nothing like they actually do). David Allan Coe (who looked the most like himself, although the Dream DAC was way too Straitlaced to look like the real one) was back a ways, and Merle Haggard (nothing like himself) was across from me, and I think Wille Nelson (who is a total and complete blank in my mind, so I’m thinking I never got a clear view of him) was in front, near David Byrne. There were a couple of others who I am totally forgetting right now, but they were all of the Classic Country era. And all, as far as I know, still alive in the real world as well.
Anyway, David, me and the Country Guys are all chatting amiably and having a good old time, and we pull up to the airport, which is David Allan Coe and Merle Haggard’s stop. They’re still laughing and such from the conversation, and pull down their duffelbags, and pull out automatic weapons, and get off the bus and start shooting the airport up. At first glance, no one seemed to think this was real, and made various dark comments along the lines of “Oh, they’re getting better kill ratios than most of the people who do this kind of thing; those Columbine wankers could have learned a thing or two from them — maybe they should have listened to David Allan Coe instead!” and whatnot, but it soon became clear that they were shooting with real bullets at real people, and pretty much anyone who moves. David Byrne and I get really rather scared, and the bus driver quickly moves on, and everyone’s worried that there might be stray bullets inside the bus.
Anyway, the bus driver pulls up to the next stop, which is in the middle of the downtown of a major metropolitan city (Probably Seattle, I guess, or maybe NYC, it’s hard to tell and, well, all American cities really do look more-or-less the same), and Willie Nelson and Another Country Guy get off and do the same thing DAC and Merle did, and everyone’s getting really worried.
The next stop is near my house (so I assume it was Seattle, though the airport didn’t look like SeaTac, and if anything looked more like JFK or more likely, some Movie Airport), and I get off along with some of the other people (who oddly enough I cannot recognize, yet in the dream I know who they are, and they are not famous), and we attempt to run home. We can hear shooting and such, and we know that even though we’re far away from the other stops, the Country Guy Rampage has started to reach here. I try to unlock my door for everyone so we can all get into the house, but sort of fumble with my keys (one of the locks (in real life) is kinda sticky anyway, so I’d have to fight with that). A young woman who is in the group goes to run down the trail behind our house (where the cabins are, if you’ve ever been to said house, that leads into the woods), and she goes down a ways and starts running back, shaking her head, and we all know she’s seen a lot of dead bodies from the Country Guy Shootings, and I start to fumble with the keys and fight with the door to get it open, even though I’m thinking that They’ve Already Been Here, and that there’s a good chance anyone inside would be dead already, but I try to open it anyway, and then I think I hear something and then I wake up.