Weird dreams last night. A broad array. After Friday night’s show I needed no break with reality (though Friday night’s show sort of SEEMED like a break with reality) but my brain brought it to me anyhow. Three distinct vignettes that for better or worse are no longer distinctly remembered except for the physical sensations they left behind.
ilyAIMY at Hershey’s Friday, November 30th, 2018. 
Two dreams were torture. Literally dreams about being tortured.I don’t remember the specifics of why. I just remember the beatings and the burnings. Pummeling in the stomach and the testicles. Slaps around the head but never a punch – nothing that might dull my consciousness – body blow after body blow and firm pressure on broken ribs. No knives. All blunt force.
In the words of Han Solo “and they never even asked me any questions”. Or at least I don’t remember any. I remember dirty tile. I remember spitting blood. I think it was probably subtly inspired by an NPR program I listened to on my drive home from tonight’s gig about women imprisoned and tortured in Iran for teaching Christianity.
The third dream was dramatically different. CLEAN tile forthis one. I was being sold into sexual slavery to a beautiful Bollywood-worthy Indian woman. I must admit SHE might’ve been inspired by getting home in time to catch the episode of Buck Rogers where he’s forcibly married to Princess Ardala so maybe my subconscious isn’t so subtle. I remember being in a stunningly sparklingly beautiful bathroom thinking “I’m sorry” to Kristen but also unable to use the restroom because of a stunningly huge erection.
I think I woke up before I was forced to violate my wedding vows.
Definitely woke up with kind of crossed emotional responses.
Friday night we returned to Hershey’s. The bartender and booker had apologized heavily for how I’d been treated previously and we figured, what the Hell – we’ll finish of the gigs on the books. The wedding we played a couple of months ago was quite the experience and though the bartender and the booker weren’t the individuals who needed to apologize, there was a substantial bonus involved with the apology and I guess in this circumstance I can be bought… at least long enough to see what happens next.
And I’m glad that’s the case. Friday was kind of beautiful.The sound was perfect (thank you, thank you) our performance was dead on, we were charming “AF” as the kids say – and the audience, especially through the first two sets were that perfect mix of enthusiastic during solos, ecstatic at the ends of songs and pin drop silent during the music – BAR CROWD. Local blues legend Warner Williams popped in as he often does and listened intently from the front row… more importantly, great fans – many of whom knew the words and requested OUR songs – so in general, this is what more of our gigs SHOULD be.
Just don’t look at the tv screens.
Sigh.
Saturday was a songwriter showcase with the Baltimore Songwriter’s Association at Edith May’s Paradise. Probably one of the best shows I’ve had there. With Craig Cummings, Georgie Jessup, Teporah plus a couple of open mic attendees, it was a good SHOW – and the audience was … well… though a third the size, see above!
Rolling up to Edith May’s Paradise I was greeted by Al McKegg and his fine, fine oysters! The stage is set… let’s sound check at Edith May’s! Craig Cummings kicking off the Baltimore Songwriters Association Holiday Songwriter Showcase! Georgie Jessup at her Edith May’s Paradise. Teporah. The Legendary Rick. Newcomer Joe!
Drove home in the mist. Listened to the radio. Empathized with a story. Slept. Here we are.
