Sometimes I dream about friends of friends. Strange, dilapidated structures seemingly centuries old. I am reminded of the increase of buildings during the Industrial Revolution. These images mix with gatherings of avant garde musicians and artists. I imagine that in the years to come there won't be enough people to support governmental institutions and the great cities of the 20th century will be abandoned and in an advanced state of disrepair. This theme has been explored in more than one film. Especially Bladerunner, based on the novel "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" It seems so recent that people got around with horses and buggies, trains and steamboats. Now in the Los Angeles area the streams of cars that whiz by in the daylight hours is surreal. I look at the freeways and wonder where they are headed. There are plenty of museums and cinemas in L.A. but they couldn't come close to housing the flow of commuters on the main roads. Maybe we people are addicted to motion alone, constantly erasing what is ahead and behind. This is what is memorable about dreams. They bring to the conscious mind concerns about lasting cultures and societies and the looming reality that all things come to an end. Who will turn the massive gears and pull the strings? Where is the coal chamber that powers the drivers and workers? These are questions that settle in my mind like dandelion seeds or snow flakes. There is a tug-of-war between art and labor. Perhaps the future will make a better union between work and activities that individuals would do without compensation. I'm sure that Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley enjoyed writing their famous novels and did so without contracts, agents or large press releases. Here's to the workers and artists. May we all get celebrated in our own time.
