Tribute / Rendezvous

I’m at a huge harbor which could belong somewhere in the sixteenth or seventeenth century; the bay is full of both pirate ships and larger galleons and caravels. It’s dark and moody and the moon reflects in the deep blue-black sea. All the ships are flooded in bright orange and red light.

My role here is that of a director – the whole setup is some kind of tributary musical, honoring some great composer or artist (whom I can’t remember now). The cast has a few celebrities, among them are Thom Yorke of Radiohead, and the Disney variant of Snow White. Elton John, PJ Harvey and Neil Young are also part of the cast; I know they’re there but I never see them on stage. A whole bunch of other singers and dancers are scattered about as well.

In addition to being one of the stars of the show itself, Thom Yorke also seconds as a host of some kind, running around, climbing ropes, dancing and telling really bad jokes. His dress is one I envy though, it’s a long, reddish coat with dark coloured patterns and ornaments.

The musical starts, with me having the typically god-like ability of moving around the “stage” in physically impossible ways. I direct – and with passion. Thom Yorke and another nameless artist perform a weird but striking ballad, which, despite having sort of a limp start (it seemed as if Yorke forgot his first lines, which wasn’t singing, but actually rhythmic coughing), ends up making everyone, including Yorke himself, cry.

I move into a new position which leaves me looking through the hull of one of the galleons. Inside is Snow White, apparently doing some knitting or needlework of some sort. She’s also performing a ballad, although solo. As she sings, a sudden wind makes the ship rock back and forth. I can see spotlights surrounding the scene shaking unsteadily in the wind. Someone, which could be me but I’m not sure, decides that the show must cancel for the day.

We wrap it up and I’m on my way to my cabin or room, and then suddenly I’m approached by a woman. I know her – she’s my ex-girlfriend’s mother. She’s wearing heavy makeup which makes her look a bit scary, and she’s crying. She tells me how much she’s missing me these days. Her friend appears behind her and she’s also crying. I know that they have both been drinking heavily. They both beg me to come with them, and they tell me my ex is waiting for me at their place, because she needs to settle things with me. For some reason I suspect there’s an evil scheme behind all this, but I follow them anyhow.

We walk along a bridge suspended by ropes. It bobs and weaves slightly as we make our way over, and I find it a bit amusing at first because of the way the two drunk women are forced to hold on and steady themselves. The bridge then starts wavering more intensely, and we just make it to the other side before getting thrown off. I turn my attention toward the house where we’re headed. I can see the faint shadow of my ex-girlfriend through a curtained window. Her whole posture, the way she just sits there, is so incredibly sad and painful to behold. I instantly regret coming here. Then I wake up, just feeling sad.