The Raised By Whoops Fake Radio Show!

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I woke from a dream with an ache in my heart. Not for some person, moment, or object I’d lost, but for something I’d never really known: the ancient forests of my current home in Northern California. This set me wondering if there was a word for that. Instead of meditating quietly on the subject, I turned to my computer and typed in “Nostalgia for a time I never knew.” As luck would have it, there is a word for this sensation: anemoia. This beautiful word is not just new to me. Wholly made up and propagated by author and neologist John Koenig a little over a decade ago, it’s also new to the world.

Now, if, like me, you’re unfamiliar with what a neologist does, fret not—I looked that up, too. Neologists are in the business of lexicography. Palm, meet face, as this is yet another word whose meaning I needed to track down. By the time I looked up what a lexicographer does (dictionary stuff), the specifics of my dream had faded completely.

Of course, I know I shouldn’t wake up and stare at a computer screen right away. If the modern fitness dork is to be your guide, one should leap from the sheets, immediately guzzle water, eat protein, expose the eyes to sunlight, meditate, do some pushups, and face the oncoming day with triumphant humility and openness. If that all sounds a little horrible or impossible to you, know that I feel your pain...

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“Am I bleeding?” His request was as calm and unemotional as it was deeply weird. His elbow, in the air, about a foot above the woman’s head, wasn’t even red with irritation, much less blood.

“Nope.” She was a cute lady, and her quip was sweet, succinct, and reassuring - to me at least. The young man wasn’t convinced.

“Are you sure? What about this side?” Without moving his right arm, he reached across his bulky torso, inelegantly grazed the outside of his elbow with his meaty left hand, and said, “What about right here?”

“No, not bleeding at all. It seems all your blood is where it should be.”

“OK, thanks.” He said flatly, without dropping his arm.

The woman turned up the speed on her shuffle and moved on to her shopping experience. It was my turn to talk to him. He did not drop his elbow as I approached and was craning his neck to check if she might have been hiding the truth about the status of his skin. When I stopped, he closed the distance and stood mere inches from me. We were the same height...

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What are dreams?  

According to Shakespeare, they are the very stuff we are made of.  To Joseph Campbell, a dream is a personalized myth—and a myth a depersonalized dream.  Both communicate in the same way, through a story, through imagery, which some may deem as the realm of pure fantasy, but which is in fact more real and truer than true than many may care to admit.  However, dreams and myths are not literal—and in a time when people are literally obsessed with literalism, it’s only too easy to shrug them off as meaningless junk.  It’s just the brain’s way of processing what happened during the day, and nothing else.  But dreams are more than that—they are a subterranean mycelial network of connections, the deep underground roots we don’t see on the surface in the light of day, but that give us all the nutrients we need to survive.  Whether we remember them or not, they are providing us with much needed sustenance and repair.  But when we do remember them, and pay them the respect and attention they deserve, something remarkable begins to happen.  We are bringing some of those deep dark depths to light, which in turn means, bringing ourselves more fully to life.  It is a blossoming.  A dream has very personal connotations, but can also hold deep meaning for another.  Many of us have similar recurring themes and experiences.  In sharing them, we honor their existence, and can spark a remembering in another person.  In a time of extreme disconnect, I believe this remembering is one of the most important things in the world.  But not only that, sharing dreams is a lot of fun.  Because, who writes this stuff anyway? That is the very reason for this segment, just the sheer joy of sharing dreams.  We are not trying to pin anything down through interpretation or analysis, just appreciating the masterful art of the mysterious dreamweaver at work. 

Dreams in this Episode Provided By

Brendan Couch-Smith and Kristen Kadi

Link

Alexis on the Show

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Remember to subscribe to the Monkey Tooth Podcast for more interviews (strong word, really) with artists, musicians, and weirdos of every stripe!

Join me in conversation with multi-instrumentalist, writer, poet, singer, and brilliant human being in general, Vera Sola. We talk about dreams, music, exploding doormats, and her new record - Peacemaker (available everywhere you buy music).

Get her record, see her live, and follow her trajectory here - VeraSola.com

Read a Review of Peacemaker Here

Check out my pal Dan Piraro's Newsletter Here

Tunes in this Episode

Delicado - Oscar Aleman

Hands - Vera Sola (Courtesy of City Slang Records)

The Line - Vera Sola (Courtesy of City Slang Records)

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Last year, I started cooking dog food. To be clear, I’m cooking regular food and feeding it to my dog; a lack of spices and the inclusion of a rather stinky multivitamin are the only things that make this food specifically of the dog variety. I’ve eaten plenty of it before the vitamins go in. 

Also, if you like music and the people who create it, head on over to The Monkey Tooth Podcast to listen to this week’s guest - Vera Sola. We talk about dreams, music, exploding doormats, and her new record, Peacemaker. Or read the review below. 

A Review of Peacemaker

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Written and narrated by Glenn Vanderkloet

Songs featured:

Hazlehurst - Pale Cricket

Self Defense - Ryan Adams

Photo - A barn in Kingston, NY- GV

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