It was neither of us

Strange dream last night: an epic, a group of us against some evil genius, and I woke during a side-plot involving secondary characters. So many movies over the years have influenced my dreaming; I have flashbacks in my dreams, too. Yesterday, I was inside the GE Building at Rockefeller Center, with its over-scaled Socialist Realism murals. I was with R, hanging out in the Maison du Chocolate, where the goods are very pricey but quite good. He was detailing an experience he’d had years ago that was very philosophical/spiritual. Then, after stuffing myself with Greek food in Astoria with A, I guess I was primed for travel on other planes.

Meeting with my two oldest friends this weekend reminds me of this excerpt from Coleridge’s Notebooks, where he’s telling an “Irish joke”:

“Dan Hennesay’s story -- passing over Black Friars’ whom should I see (coming from t’other end of the Bridge) but my old Chum, Pat Mahoney -- and at the same moment he saw me -- we ran towards each, & when we met, just in the middle of the Bridge -- by Jasus! -- it was neither of us.”