Sweet Dreams Are (Not) Made Of This

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Upon awakening from a lifetime of recallable dreams, I’ve frequently mulled over the feasibility of online dream journaling. However, I’ve resisted making my slumbering nightlife an open book, mainly, because I’ve deemed my content, by and large, to be akin to a bedtime story; in other words, a real yawner. Uh, that is, up till this early a.m., when my R.E.M. sleep story seemed a bit more worthwhile and interweb interweave-able.

It all boils down to a specific dreams’ recursive, bothersome nature; of late, the bizarre manner in which my unconscious mind has been prioritizing a particular narrative; has become unduly fond of (unproductively?) sorting out my time served within a peculiar, particular gated community, a.k.a. Retail Hell (initially, as a sales rep; later on, as an entry level manager).

The, perhaps, unsolvable mystery, here, is why there’d even need to be a nocturnal rehashing of this epoch of my life; these dreams ARE playing out nearly 13 years following my injury-forced early retirement. Additionally, I’d hardly categorize more than 5 of those 30 work years as worthwhile and satisfying. Hence, my headline’s negation of the 1983 Annie Lennox / David A. Stewart’s song title, “Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This”.

Possibly, it’s my having pissed away nearly forty-five percent of my entire life within that milieu, which would account for this phenomenon? Might there simply not be enough of my other life experiences to draw on? My gawd, it’d be bat crap pathetic, indeed, were my so-called career the only aspect that had ever defined me.

Getting down to the actual dream details, they are, at best, phantasmagorical; the slew of farcical / surreal workplace settings, facial flashes of both wretched and wonderful big bosses and fleeting glimpses of the revolving door co-workers who’d been treated just as shoddily as I. Other mystifying dream elements include my neither showing up for work nor completing my assigned tasks on time, utterly failing to carry out the most mundane of work routines and, in the process, completely mucking up everything; all of which, runs totally counter to the actual facts; corroborated by my rock solid, top-notch, annual job performance reviews.

As for “the why” to my experiencing these (worthless?) dreams, the only working theory I can dream up is how that bygone era of my work life had been a walk in the park; when compared to staggering thru today’s zombie apocalypse.

Such an assessment of tough times, doth summon forth the 1967, James Anthony Dean / Paul Riser / William Henry Witherspoon, R&B/Soul musical masterpiece, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”: these songsmiths’ lead lyric, “As I walk this land with broken dreams” aptly setting the world stage.

Once juxtaposed, such a sentiment is totally relevant to the coronavirus pandemic, which has devastated, debilitated and decimated humanity; to a society sickened by the plague of racial inequality, police brutality, gun violence and mass shootings; to the delusional domestic terrorist sleeper cells, who await their collective alarm clock to go off; to trigger the unleashing of their deadly and destructive plots; all of which could, someday, trump Trump’s own, wide awake nightmare; his fortunately failed January 6th attempt to hack America to death.

Indeed, Sweet Dreams Are (Not) Made Of This.

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

-30-

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A Walk Through the Land of Broken Dreams…

What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted serves as both song title and question posed to us all. We are invited to traipse alongside singer Jimmy Ruffin and song composers James Anthony Dean, Paul Riser and William Henry Witherspoon as… together… we walk through the land of broken dreams.

With each subsequent, soulfully, dolefully sung lyrical couplet, memories of our own failed interpersonal relationships are inevitable. Caring souls, everywhere, can relive and relate to the universal feelings of loss… identify with those tearstained, heavyhearted moments from our past.

Several days ago, while playing back this Sixties era, Motown musical masterpiece / classic, I realized that… as is true with all superbly crafted poetry… these lyrics cast their spell on more than one level.

The addressed feelings of emotional distress are not unlike what transpires following the actual death of a loved one… even the death of one’s country… the death of Lady Liberty.

Indeed, patriotism… the love of one’s homeland… is no different.

And what description more aptly sums up the breakup of our relationships with our present-day, troubled world… indeed, the breakup of my relationship with my ideologically fractured, broken down homeland… other than “the land of broken dreams”… the end of the American Dream?

While my love of country has not wavered in the least and I’ve always sensed that my country has loved me in return (well… at least up until January 20, 2017), there IS a diabolical political force afoot and his wicked intent is to make damned sure that my love… my compatriots’ love… shall forever remain unrequited.

In a sense, America’s oppressor is not unlike a narrow-minded, stone hearted, selfish, egotistical, domineering father figure who… just to ensure relationships never blossom between suitors and his daughter, Lady Liberty… imprisons, shackles and gags her in the depths of his dingy, dank, stone walled and iron barred dungeon.

To extend this… he does so just to prevent patriotic love relationships between country and countrywomen / countrymen.

“Daddy” is flat out denying us all the opportunity to experience sweet Libby’s delightful aspect… the freedom gleaming in her eyes, the warmth of her welcoming smile… her soft whispers of unconditional patriotic love.

I can only hope that you, my international readers, are never forced to share in my anguish… in all true Americans’ anguish… experience our heavy hearts and eyes welled up with tears.

And folks… to now quote Dean, Riser and Witherspoon… “I can’t stand this pain much longer!”

 

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Since in our online lives there can be breakups with / breakdowns to musical links, I’m also including a more enduring presentation of these compelling song lyrics which have now… at least for me… taken on a even deeper meaning. Maybe you feel the same way, too?

 

What Becomes of the Broken Hearted

Songwriters: James Anthony Dean / Paul Riser / William Henry Witherspoon

 

 

 

As I walk this land of broken dreams
I have visions of many things
But happiness is just an illusion
Filled with sadness and confusion

What becomes of the broken-hearted
Who had love that’s now departed?
I know I’ve got to find
Some kind of peace of mind
Maybe

The roots of love grow all around
But for me they come a-tumblin’ down
Every day heartaches grow a little stronger
I can’t stand this pain much longer

I walk in shadows searching for light
Cold and alone, no comfort in sight
Hoping and praying for someone who’ll care
Always moving and goin’ nowhere

What becomes of the broken-hearted
Who had love that’s now departed?
I know I’ve got to find
Some kind of peace of mind
Help me please

I’m searching, though I don’t succeed
For someone’s love there’s a growing need
All is lost, there’s no place for beginning
All that’s left is an unhappy ending

Now, what becomes of the broken-hearted
Who have love that’s now departed?
I know I’ve got to find
Some kind of peace of mind
I’ll be searching everywhere
Just to find someone to care
I’ll be looking everyday, I know I’m gonna find a way
Nothing’s gonna stop me now
I’ll find a way somehow
And I’ll be searching everywhere
I know I gotta find a way
I’ll be looking