It’s been about three years now since I haven’t smoked drugs for this long, and at that time I was walking my dog with Seth Graham, telling him the only noticeable difference in sobriety now from not smoking is my dreams are WAY more vivid. Last night, I dreamed I was picking up some books from a deli for Nick and upon meeting him outside a practice space he was “jamming” at (as he originally learned music on guitar, I believe: real life), I realized I forgot these books in the bathroom at the deli, so he and me and someone with him all went back to the deli, gripped the books, walked to a show, but on the way had to pick up a guitar case from a place that was nooked like Used Kids in Columbus, although I knew we were in the city (not even Brooklyn). Upon leaving, we’re about half way to some venue, and realized we left the books (AGAIN) outside the nooked Used-Kids looking spot, but at this point, I realized my mentality was in a dream state, so I became facinated the navigator of this dream (who is ALSO a co-worker I physically chill with on occasion IRL) were making me remember and backtrack within the same dream. We got the books from some construction hole outside the nook spot; I clutched those books with all my dream-state might, the “someone with him” was carrying the guitar case, and…
…we FINALLY arrive to this venue that looks like a basement, though it’s a first-floor spot, which I’m guessing was an old pizza joint that burned now and is now covered in crust punk graffiti (so mostly tags drawn in shit and blood), and the first thing that happens to me in this venue is some dude approaches me — the LEAST looking punk in there, as Nick is always wearing black, and so was the “someone with him” — telling me all the ways he loves to mosh, physically showing me the moves. Some gal who looked like the gal from XX was fiddling with knobs and electronics in the middle of the venue, but there was only a faint sound (even though I believe that was her show), with this guy yelling over her, eventually telling us it’s the memorial day of Cliff Burton’s death, so the “someone with him” opens the guitar case, and it’s the exact clothing Cliff Burton died in (apparently); everyone was a-gaze, either at the Cliff Burton garb or just the fried-out venue or the music barely audible. Then I work up to an e-mail from HOSS Records owner, Brad Hurst, giving me information about this JUST DROPPED SINGLE by R. MEXICO, which is his own music project that’s been untouched for YEARS. And the way it reflects and backtracks and is entitled “Scrap That (2011 Refix)” made me feel like he crystal-balled my dream-state, refurbished an edit he made years ago, and created a soundtrack that would encase this non-reality forever. This isn’t real:
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