Covid Fever Dream No.3

Physically horrible, but mentally, Covid makes a man think

I’ve had Covid these last few days. It’s like having the Flu on steroids. Unbelievably unpleasant.

But, my fever dreams have been epic. Last night’s a doozy.

The dream felt like a film — a cross between Terry Gilliam, Ridley Scott and Barry Levinson in terms of scale and then intimacy of character study.

I entered 30,000 feet above the “Creative Dome.” (This was a Buckminster Fuller-type dome and it was located on one of the areas of a post-apocalyptic field.)

This creative dome had the air of the crestfallen. An atmosphere of sadness and capitulation. People gave off the sense that they have run out of answers and ideas.

I now traveled close to the ground. It all felt like the last few minutes of a wedding and it was time for everyone to go home.

And by the way, everyone was there. Everyone from Chaplin to Julia Louis-Dreyfus to Jay-Z to everyone one in between.

In the dream I traipsed passed the “Hollywood” table. Scorsese and Spielberg were at a loss for words.

The music table was shattered. Bono asleep. Miles Davis was cleaning his horn with a hankie. Bowie, tux and tails askance, was smoking forlornly. McCartney next to him. Shattered and looking pleadingly.

The advertising table was restless, ready to do something but the players were looking for other players.

Sammy Davis, Jr shuttled past doing a light futile scuffle.

Off in the distance were Beckett, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and Yeats. They were standing together each one holding a glass, or a champagne bucket or merely his coat.

Scott Fitzgerald says: Haven’t we been here before?

Hemingway says: Yes. Yeats you wrote that damn poem. “…Falcon can’t hear the Falconer…”

They all agreed as they looked as though they were literally slouching off to Bethlehem.

Becket smiles. Cheshire cat grin. Godot in his hand.

Beckett: “I have something we can watch.”

I woke up then. My mind was quite vacuous and open. I don’t usually have such star-studded or literary dreams. I pecked out a note on my iPhone. I had an idea. Nothing earth-shattering. But a thing to solve a thing I was working on.

Daylight now. I’m back to my steady diet of throat lozenges and zero sugar ginger ale.

Maybe there will be a sequel tonight.