Synchro-Fri-Nicity-Day

So yesterday VE and I both posted our “take” on the newest expectant member of the Spears clan and Serena asks a question that is the start to a dialogue I have been toying with. I believe this to be a sign that it is time to post the conversation and get some feed back on it.

Oh, it's Friday if you lost your calender.


“Do you dream in color?”

“Yes, but in black and white.”

“What do you mean? How can you dream of color if you dream in black and white?”

“I dream of the concept of color, not the application. “

“Of course.”

“Color, to me at least, adds emotion to objects usually devoid of sentimental attachment. The “little red wagon” of your childhood would not be so memorable if it were, say, black. Even saying “little black wagon” has a morbid feel to it; like a funeral procession for Barbie or something. It doesn't even flow; not in the mind or off the lips. I can dream of that little red wagon and still have my dream be free of color.”

“I see. Like food without taste maybe?”

“Not at all. There are many foods with either no taste or an unfavorable one that we still eat. If you don't believe me, think of the condiment industry and the money Heinz makes. How about gravy? Sauces? No, it is nothing like food with no taste. Nothing at all.”

“What then? How can you help me imagine the concept of color without the actual application of it?”

“A blind man can never know what “blue” is, right?”

“Right.”

“So therefore, while they can touch a vase and learn the shape and feel of one, they can never know the emotional response a blue vase would have over, say, a red one. They are losing a certain aspect of the experience. That is “black and white in a color world” if you will. What I am talking about is the exact opposite experience. Having the emotional response without ever really knowing the shape or feel of it. That is what I dream of at night.”

“No objects? NO people? No real things in your dreams? “

“No, just pure emotion. Flashes of color sometimes, maybe, but in shapeless abstraction and with a blinding white orb in the center. I think I am supposed to get to the other side of the orb one day, but I can't seem to figure out how. I suppose I will when its time. “

“Do you believe there is some meaning behind this orb or is this just some “Arthur C. Clarke type” anomaly?”

“You mean like in a “2001” sense”?”

“Yea, like in a “2001” sense. Could your “pure emotion” just be a dream of deep space? Could your orb be a planet? I'm starting to doubt you on your dream. At best this could be an out of body experience, but this “dreaming of color without color” nonsense is just telling me you really need to cut back on the pipe.”

“Dude, I am working on 100% pure unfiltered logic only right now my friend. I am a logic problem machine to the extreme in every way, shape, form, and way.”

“So you don't think there is even the slightest chance you are just being stoned and babbling again then?”

“No chance, its all there to see man. Right there in the open.”

“You really need to cut back.”

They had been going in circles like this for the last three hours, passing their blue glass bong the entire time. It was their microphone it seemed for they would only speak while holding it, then take a hit and pass it on for the response. They had forgotten the subject they were debating, and the one they were debating before that, and the subject before that. They only remembered that they did not agree and that was all they needed. A knock on the door was the only thing that could break the cycle and, luckily for the readers, one soon came.

“Was that you?” Oz asked. KB was right and he did smoke entirely too much.

“No, I think it was the door.” KB was not that much brighter than Oz however “Is the cat inside?”

“You think the cat's knocking on the door? And you want me to cut back?”

“No I don't think the cat's knocking on the door asshole. He could be inside and knocked something over.”

“In three rhythmic pounds?”

The knock on the door returned and this time it was “Shave and a Haircut.”

“Do cops knock in jovial rhythm?” Oz asked.

“What do you mean?” They were both huddled in a corner of the room and whispering to one another.

“Would you not consider 'Shave and a Haircut' jovial” Oz asked in a voice louder than a whisper, but not quite talking. “Do cops even knock?”

“Dude,” KB began realizing the security of their situation, “no, cops coming for us would not knock and there is even a lower chance of them knocking in a jovial fashion.”