Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Aimless Reading: The M's, Part 63.5 (Haruki Murakami)

Dance Dance Dance by Michael_Kelleher
Dance Dance Dance, a photo by Michael_Kelleher on Flickr.

Murakami, Haruki
Dance Dance Dance


Purchased at Talking Leaves…Books. Read by Lori.

It's strange to try to write so many consecutive blog entries about books I haven't read. I depend on them to generate memories I can use as the raw material for these entries. If I haven't read the book, however, the likelihood that it will excite the memory is greatly diminished.

The title conjures the Beach Boys.

I just did a search for the song and found it on YouTube. I am now listening to the single. Apparently the "B" side to was "The Warmth of the Sun," which I don't recall. The video is one of those static record cover shots people post in order to make music available. All you see is the still cover of the original single with the music playing over it.

The cover shows the band playing live beneath their name and the title of the songs.

I saw the Beach Boys play on the mall in DC when I was a teenager. They used to play a free concert every Fourth of July, except one year when James Watt cancelled the show because he objected to rock and roll or some such. I think they were back the following summer. They could still be playing, for all I know.

My main memory is that it was hot and there were millions of people everywhere. I also recall there was a Norml rally going on at one corner of the mall. I wandered over to it with some friends and watched a parade of people get on stage to talk about the virtues of legalized pot. I remember there being cops everywhere snapping photos of the crowd through telephoto lenses.

Ah, the Reagan years.

from Dance Dance Dance

I often dream about the Dolphin Hotel.

In these dreams, I'm there, implicated in some kind of ongoing circumstance. All indications are that I belong to this dream continuity.

The Dolphin Hotel is distorted, much too narrow. It seems more like a long, covered bridge. A bridge stretching endlessly through time. And there I am, in the middle of it. Someone else is there too, crying.

The hotel envelops me. I can feel its pulse, its heat. In dreams, I am part of the hotel.

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