Carla Bean

I had a dream that there were some horribly evil, really unrealistic, bright-green aliens. They were killing folks left and right. It wasn’t just zapping and vaporizing, there was some decapitating and skinning too. Since the aliens were capable of such atrocities, and also, because they looked like they were made from painted paper maché, what we did next didn’t seem so wrong.
There was a big abandoned art studio that a small group of us came across while we were trying to avoid the horror. Much to our delight, there were babies and children of the aliens, unattended, so, when we heard their parents coming, we decided to kill the youngin’s and hide inside their bodies. It worked well, but I knew I couldn’t stay there forever, I also knew that If the aliens were willing to torture us before, the fact that we killed their children, may have made things worse.
I did a very sneaky good job of escaping, but once the aliens saw their precious little offspring’s gutted carcasses, they were right on our tails. I ran around a city block, and a friend of mine invited my into his fortress, which was a high-end department store. An alien must have squeezed though the stone gate right as it was closing behind me, so, conveniently, I started to fly. My flying actually turned out to be worse than my running, as I was only able to slowly levitate above ground level… that’s when I woke up.

Whilst my producer, Rubin, asks me how the latest mix sounds, I look up and say, “sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,”  and make him play it again… I guess since my active roll in this album is winding down (all the writing, singing, and piano playing aspects are laid down) all there is left for me to do, is nod or shake my head at post-production actions. Still, it’s important for me to be here and focussed… focus, however,  is not my greatest talent.

I always feel the need to multitask when there is a lot of downtime, or even just a lack of physical involvement, like now. Maybe I have the propensity towards divided attention ,because, as a singer /piano player, my brain is spit into at least six independent parts while performing; singing, lyrical recall, right hand, left hand, right foot pedal, left foot keeping beat, you could even count presence, and cuing the band… Yikes! This is starting to sound like an Andy Rooney rant… Anyway, a few months ago I was holding my brand new nephew for the first time totally in-love and drawn in by his gurgles and giggles, yet I found myself thinking, “besides holding a baby, which, let’s face it, is pretty easy, I’m not really doing anything”… so I inched over toward my trendy smartphone and checked my e-mail. If we can’t sit still while looking into the eyes of a baby, or taking-in the vast beauty of a landscape, or even something that requires undivided attention, like, driving; that’s pretty sad. I’m much more a fan of  seizing the moment… often, with both hands.

When I sleep, instead of counting sheep, which has no benefit beyond boring me to sleep … I do something with more mental tedium, and much more benefit to my future; like recalling notes on a grand staff, or memorizing lyrics. If I’m waiting for my hair to dry, why not practice piano? If I’m confined to a bomb-shelter because there’s the threat of nuclear holocaust, I could easily occupy my time until I pass-out from near starvation (2 to 3 hours.)

It’s hard to live in the moment and focus on one thing at a time these days when the bar is set so high. Everyone’s accomplishments are up on youtube, there is always a world record to beat, a instrument solo to improve upon, while tap-dancing… all before the age of three. The best we can do these days is bring our own flavor of kick-ass to the table. As for me, my hindquarters are numb now, so I’ll do some squats, while blogging, and giving second opinions on the EQ of that guitar track.

I know what  it looks like. I haven’t been blogging or status updating or interneting in general,  for two weeks, so I must have been entertaining myself with food induced hallucinations. Not true. I’ve been advancing myself musically… recording, practicing, writing, and yes, eating… so there.

I really do try to keep up with this dream blogging thing, but here is my problem: I wake up with a head full of crazy dreams, I scan over them to make sure I remember them, and I fall asleep scanning.  I’ve taken to recording my voice giving certain cues, as soon as I wake up,  in hopes that it will trigger my memory of a dream.  Here is an example of one I just listened to: “um… little red riding hood had a… skin license? um it was to that you could put any sort of explicit content into it…”  I can’t say I have anything but a vague memory of that dream, so I guess my only hope is to record my dreams in full detail as soon as i wake up. Dang.

SORRY. Sorry I’ve abandoned you Mr. blog. Sorry I haven’t been smearing my disturbing nightmares s all over your cyber-pages. I’ve had so many dreams that you would find mildly interesting; Like the one about me watching a video tape of my life in high school, while two HUGE mallards swam out of the screen towards me… Or the one about me sitting at an ice cream shop with Bill Clinton, and crying like a two-year-old and screaming, and smashing my birthday cake…
You’d think I would get more bloggy stuff done, whilst the snow was upon us. Nope. I’m just not a very consistent doer of anything… not type A. I’ll sit at my piano for 6 straight hours and practice- in the middle of the night- rather than setting a strict hour-and-day thing. No matter how hard I try, I just don’t work that way. I won’t remember your birthday… so you’ll just have to accept that.
I will say, I’m driven, and I do get a lot done, I guess I’m just a slave to inspiration, not schedules. I Think most artsy people are like that, that’s the real reason they are starving… they forget to eat.

Here is a new dream. Does anyone actually like reading my dreams? I sure do hate hearing other people’s.
I have a lot of apocalyptic dreams, but for some reason, the weather is always perfect. I was bargain shopping for a long sleeved bathing-suit, and the dude at the counter game me some free sunblock and spray-tan. I think i was getting ready for a big wedding on a lake… or something. I started doing something called “jet-surfing,” which was basically a surfboard with jets. I was flying, and it felt pretty darn good, until a helicopter flew into the “washington DC Bridge” and it blew up. The bridge was actually a building that was shaped like a bridge going over the Lake, so 99 people were killed. Anyway, I, and millions of people surfed or swam over to the site of the crash, and had a party in the water. good times. maybe I should make a forum page and everybody can share their boring dreams… or maybe you can just leave comment. I’ma go practice my piano so I can bring you more beautiful songs.

I guess Tiger Woods’ epic downfall is affecting me on a deeper level than I am aware of. With all that is going on in my life…The release of my video, digital single, trying to get my album finished, making sure my website, and all of my social networking sites are in order, uploading, submitting, researching, practicing, basically getting all of my ducks in a row…

Basically, my life is exciting; way too exciting to be having recurring dreams about Tiger woods. Okay, I’ve only had two in a row, but that’s more than I’m comfortable with.
First, I dreamt that I had a crush on Tiger, and we were in Heaven…or Thailand. I was looking over a vast landscape, it had miles of mountains, exotic trees, and indescribable beauty. I said “this must be heaven”, but then I concluded that we were in Thailand, because of the plexiglass windows on the houses. Weird…Isn’t Tiger Woods’ Mother, Thai? hmmmm. Anyway, I’ve decided this dream isn’t interesting, so I’ll move on.
In my next dream, I didn’t like Tiger Woods AT ALL, but he was extremely gifted; He could make minnows disappear in his mouth. He was famous for this, and no one knew his secret… but I did… He was just swallowing them. I was in church and everyone was trying to disappear their minnows in their mouths, but they were gagging, some people’s minnows were more like huge eels. I don’t know if it was because Tiger knew that I could expose his secret, but he was locking me out of a room I REALLY needed to get into. So I told his secret, but nobody believed me, because they believed what ever he said… because he was Tiger Woods. Bye

I’m not really sure what the science behind dreaming is. I think there are many many factors. Here’s a doozie:
I can’t recall where it begins and ends, but I was watching my video “magic box” on YouTube, and I noticed that someone had added a new beginning. It was about fifteen minutes of me jogging, past a school bus, past a group of people doing aerobics. The aerobic dancers were wearing green Fresh Cut Salads shirts bla bla bla. you had to be there. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
while I was watching this strange miracle of a video, I started scratching a bump on my hand. The bump became a boil of sorts, and I managed to squeeze a baby bird skeleton out of the blemish. Since that was apparently NOT the first time that had happened, I was understandably upset. Levi Jonston (of the Palin variety) was there for some reason, and when I went into the bathroom, I saw that he had pooped in my sink, to punish me for trying to kick him out of my party. I started screaming at him, and just to spite me some more, he emptied the rest of his intestinal contents in to his trousers. Just as things were settling down, Kim Catrall fell out of my second story window. I looked out the window, to see her embedded in the pavement.
As always, I’m leaving out many details, Not only because I’m lazy, but because my dreams are not for the faint of heart, and you my friend seem like a faint hearted nancy.
Okay sorry for boring, and bye. off to dream some more….

These goodies are very appropriate for this session of therapy. I did them in high-school on MS Paint, using a mouse, on a low resolution screen with like five pixels. To make matters worse, or at least more nintedoughy, I lost the original files. Still…I like them, and they certainly give you a window into my well-adjusted mind. I should really start drawing again, having an outlet might take some of the creep out of my music. I’ll add more, once i find them.

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Okay, I guess my therapy page can be my official blog. So I am starting over. I guess that’s what therapy is all about. I will start by posting a dream I already wrote down, but more is coming.
Gotta Start Somewhere…

I’m new to this whole blogging thing, so I don’t know what to write about. My Dreams; Very disturbing, and emotionally stirring…to me. For some reason, I can never really get that across when I’m desperately spewing out the seemingly relevant details to the nearest victim. Still, i feel the need to get them off my chest.
My september resolution will be this: No telling my dreams to loved ones. I will write them in this Therapy section of my website, starting today. Just know I’m censoring 90% of the disturbing, gory, and embarrassing parts.

Last night, I had a Dream that I was at a vacation house with my family. I was very excited about eating a chocolate chunked brownie, and a slice of apple pie. as I was searching through the refrigerator for some whipped cream, my mom had some how placed several mops and brooms in my bucket of dessert, along with some dirty water. apparently, this was an on-going problem, because after chewing my mom out for ruining my dessert, I banned her from ever coming on vacation with us again.
It was suddenly five years later, and I was driving to a vacation house with my family, minus my mother, of course. My brother Chad and his wife, had a forth child, who was now a three-year-old transgender, with short blonde hair, and an adorable face. his/her name was olivia or something. Our dear friend, Reade, was driving, and clearly did not get the concept of a stop sign, or a crossing guard, because he slowly ran into several school children. When I tried to enlighten him, he got extremely offended. So when we arrived at the vacation house, I was giving a very large iguana a piggy-back ride. My Brother encouraged his transgender baby to take a bite out of the iguana’s tail. I felt guilty about letting that happen. I also felt guilty about excommunicating my mother from all family vacations.
I’m going to stop, as I am sure the one person who made it this far is gnawing his own leg off in, in boredom. but this is only the beginning. I’m starting to think that my dreams have less to do with psychological issues, and more with mass quantities of hard drugs i do…i mean, of food i consume late at night…
sweet dreams.