The Land of Nod, Pt. 2
I arrive at the park to find a group of young children sitting there playing instruments under the guidance of my father. Good thing I have this small guitar, even though I have no clue how to play it.
The sky is getting darker and there are quite a few people milling about. As I sit down and prepare to be idolized by the children for pretending to know how to play a guitar (I plan to tap the wooden panel rhythmically a lot), a blood-red World War I-era biplane swoops in from the west. Set against the dark and cloudy sky and flying low, it would be an ominous thing even if it weren't approximately five times as large as a commercial airliner and fifteen times as large as a regular biplane. With a deep and horrible drone it passes us by and vanishes into the east.
As I prepare to start faking guitar chops, a military helicopter is seen in the east, hovering just above the apartment buildings across the street. It, also, is grotesquely oversized, and it has dark smoke-lines coming from its underside and extending horizontally into the distance, like it just fired off a couple of missiles. It hovers unnaturally backwards to the north, in the process firing off missiles which leave dark trails of smoke but never seem to impact on anything.
No matter. I begin playing the small guitar, and to my surprise find that I am rather adept at it. Maybe it's because it's such a small one. All the children stop playing and start looking at me wonderingly. My father beams with pride. I suddenly become aware that there are quite a lot more people in the park than I realized at first. One of my best friends sidles up and gives me that look, half-jealousy and half-admiration, and I sense that the next words out of his mouth are going to be "Well, you multi-talented motherfucker." In spasmodic anticipation of the compliment, I fuck up the song and accidentally break the guitar.
As if to save me from the feelings of humiliation sure to follow, the dream at this point treats me to an ellipsis, the duration of which I do not know. I am immediately aware of the facts of the present situation, though; there is a nuclear world war on, it is being fought with grotesquely oversized aircraft, and there is a gigantic bomb on its way here to obliterate everything.
I step out on the back porch. This is a house I lived in as a child. There is a giant, endless field across the street from our back yard, and it is on fire. Behind it, in the distance, my city burns. A sense of almost joyous finality lies in the air. This, then, is it. Here's where it all ends. I have vague memories of having said goodbye to everyone. There is a strange, bittersweet glory to the whole situation. We are all going to die, but we will be remembered. History will mourn us.
Somewhere amidst the wash of dramatic thoughts, I am aware of the blinding flash, the burning up of the film, and I see myself from a third-person perspective, arms outstretched, embracing the end. Whatever lessons there could be had from the whole thing are completely negated by its intense thematic similarity to the movie Deep Impact. I am aware of this even as I am vaporized by the bomb.
Waking up in my bed this morning, with drool on my pillow and my left arm asleep, was a bit like going to a Limp Bizkit concert and learning the entire band had been wiped out in a freak embroidering accident. You know; an anticlimax, but a good one.
The sky is getting darker and there are quite a few people milling about. As I sit down and prepare to be idolized by the children for pretending to know how to play a guitar (I plan to tap the wooden panel rhythmically a lot), a blood-red World War I-era biplane swoops in from the west. Set against the dark and cloudy sky and flying low, it would be an ominous thing even if it weren't approximately five times as large as a commercial airliner and fifteen times as large as a regular biplane. With a deep and horrible drone it passes us by and vanishes into the east.
As I prepare to start faking guitar chops, a military helicopter is seen in the east, hovering just above the apartment buildings across the street. It, also, is grotesquely oversized, and it has dark smoke-lines coming from its underside and extending horizontally into the distance, like it just fired off a couple of missiles. It hovers unnaturally backwards to the north, in the process firing off missiles which leave dark trails of smoke but never seem to impact on anything.
No matter. I begin playing the small guitar, and to my surprise find that I am rather adept at it. Maybe it's because it's such a small one. All the children stop playing and start looking at me wonderingly. My father beams with pride. I suddenly become aware that there are quite a lot more people in the park than I realized at first. One of my best friends sidles up and gives me that look, half-jealousy and half-admiration, and I sense that the next words out of his mouth are going to be "Well, you multi-talented motherfucker." In spasmodic anticipation of the compliment, I fuck up the song and accidentally break the guitar.
As if to save me from the feelings of humiliation sure to follow, the dream at this point treats me to an ellipsis, the duration of which I do not know. I am immediately aware of the facts of the present situation, though; there is a nuclear world war on, it is being fought with grotesquely oversized aircraft, and there is a gigantic bomb on its way here to obliterate everything.
I step out on the back porch. This is a house I lived in as a child. There is a giant, endless field across the street from our back yard, and it is on fire. Behind it, in the distance, my city burns. A sense of almost joyous finality lies in the air. This, then, is it. Here's where it all ends. I have vague memories of having said goodbye to everyone. There is a strange, bittersweet glory to the whole situation. We are all going to die, but we will be remembered. History will mourn us.
Somewhere amidst the wash of dramatic thoughts, I am aware of the blinding flash, the burning up of the film, and I see myself from a third-person perspective, arms outstretched, embracing the end. Whatever lessons there could be had from the whole thing are completely negated by its intense thematic similarity to the movie Deep Impact. I am aware of this even as I am vaporized by the bomb.
Waking up in my bed this morning, with drool on my pillow and my left arm asleep, was a bit like going to a Limp Bizkit concert and learning the entire band had been wiped out in a freak embroidering accident. You know; an anticlimax, but a good one.
posted by fnoonf at 13:36
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