Dreaming of Drum Major Tom

Last night I dreamt about a guy being shot into space on a one way trip. I knew–the way we know in dreams–that he was going to die.

He was fit, with short dark hair and an unshaven face. He was being hurriedly shuffled along gangways and tubes, by a timer, or invisible leads. His hands were bound before him in a way that I could not see, and he kept trying to lean back and crane his neck to catch a glimpse of something he was leaving behind. With that sixth sense I knew his actions were in vain. Nothing he wanted to see was there because what he wanted to see was his wife and his unborn child. Several more steps and he starts singing softly, “baby please don’t go“, in a meter that I’ve never heard before.

As he turned a final bend in the long cylinders I could see he was being marched towards these sliding doors

baby please don’t go

that opened into a cargo hold of some kind. I couldn’t tell the purpose: everything was made of thick, clear, plastic.

I need your love

He was being moved faster, and he sped up the tempo of his singing to match. All the while I can see he is imagining a baby in his wife’s arms; picturing it laugh.

don’t go

The clear slabs slid open and the invisible prods pushed him in and as they did the bonds disappeared from his wrists. He sang loud now, and fast:

Ineedyourlovebabypleasedon’tgodon’tgo-

The doors on the clear capsule closed and muffled his sustain, but as it shot off from the tube I heard the last of the man’s belt and cry

-ooooo awayyyyyyy

And he was gone into the blackness between the stars.

I think I awoke immediately afterwards. I know for sure that the dream was fresh in my mind; enough so that I can still remember the haunting tune. My first thought was that I had heard the song before. There are A LOT of songs that have “baby please don’t go” in them. Well, I’ve done a lot of Googling this morning and it seems that I wrote this arrangement that the ill-fated spaceman was singing to his never-seen newborn.

What I want to know is: How do I unlock such fiction and music composition in my awakened state???

Let’s leave that behind for a minute.

I did find something of interest in my search for my version of the song (possibly even a music video). The ninth hit on Google for “baby please don’t go don’t go away shot into space” is a post titled “21 Harsh Truths Black People Don’t Want to Hear”, by someone who calls herself “diaryofanegress (observations of an invisible woman)”

Well, I told her, “Turn the lights on, lady!”. She thanked me, and closed down the blog.

I kid! It’s still there.

The post is (spoiler alert!) a list of things that is wrong with the world; especially for black people. Things like, “All black people are mentally ill”. That was point 11. Just before that, point 10 informed us that identifying with white people makes black people mentally ill…

I read the whole post, and if you change each instance of “black people” to “men”, and “white people” to “women” it reads like the writing of a third-tier Manosphere writer; someone whose comments have received an outsized portion of acclaim (based solely on their consonance with the acclaiming parties), and now they just know their voice has got to be heard! Except it’s a black woman talking about black people hating themselves because white people (glacier monkeys) drove them insane by teaching them…how to read, and drive cars. There’s even a good amount of prepper and Old Fashioned Homemaker stuff in there (how to collect and filter water), and lots of government conspiracy theories. (I think there are enough disparate agencies that we actually can all be correct on all the theories.). It’s just like the the various orbits of the Manosphere/Tradsphere/whathaveyou.

It is hilarious. We are hilarious. With a handful of exceptions.

And in the end, we all get shot into the black, alone.

Ineedyourlovebabypleasedon’tgodon’tgoooooawayyyyyy

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4 thoughts on “Dreaming of Drum Major Tom

  1. Against my better judgment, I read the post your referenced. LOL. I actually know people who believe a lot of that stuff.

    And yes, substitute race with gender and it does sound eerily familiar.

    You write songs, too? Wow.

  2. What an odd post. Some of the remarks are appropriately introspective. Others just mean or rude, and some plain stupid.
    Why I myself was just pondering that probably every white person i know secretly agrees with my deeply hidden desire to reinstate slavery. If one of us just had the nerve to speak up!
    sheesh

    Song those lyrics immediately remind me of, I was a sophomore or so in HS. Not exact same words but you will see the connection

  3. @Elspeth

    I read some more of that site after I posted this. It seems that this circle of folks believe that melanin is the midi-chlorians of this world. White people’s lack of it is indicative of their soulless state.

    Apparently, I can only write songs in my sleep. I have been known to dabble in poetry, but never writing music. My piano career was brief, but illustrious: I played the fire out of “Swanee River”.

    @Empath

    After listening to a bunch of different songs, I think what the unfortunately cosmonaut was an arrangement of KWS’s cover of the KC and the Sunshine Band song; with a few lyrics changed.

    Ironically, KWS’s version was a hit when I was a sophomore in high school, also.

  4. I’ll avoid the cited page. But I’m totally stoked that melanin is like midi-cholorians. I also hate you for teaching me how to spell that.

    For the record I’m a classical composer in my sleep. My sister was a far better piano player than I was though so in a fit of “eldest son” prissiness I refused to learn more if I wasn’t going to be the best. So the music in my dreams is probably a punishment.

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