This one came through the other night while I was drifting in and out while sleeping in a luscious suite in Mexico City.
I was working on a film with some friends. We had designed a very complex lighting system with robotic arms and tracking. It was a fully computerized system that we had programmed to move at certain times and in certain ways. We were in a studio room which only looked big enough to house the lights, and frankly the whole thing looked a little scary and obviously ridiculously expensive. Nothing was happening though.
There were men standing around talking. I don't know what they were saying. Jake, a friend, seemed to be the director. He was angry, and frustrated, and obviously upset.
I went outside to smoke a cigarette, which I don't really do in real life. I sat outside the building which was an old colonial style stone building about ten floors tall. I was looking up at the window where the studio was when an older woman sat next to me t smoke too. She asked me what was going on in my day.
I told her that I was working on a film, and that we had built this incredible lighting system, but couldn't afford to turn it on. She laughed at me. But it was this wild cynical laugh that sometimes I get from dreaming characters. The way an adult laughs at a child when they innocently say something profoundly philosophical.
I realized what was going on then, so I put out my cigarette, marched upstairs, and yelled out in the room. TURN THE LIGHTS ON. I want to create, we'll worry about the bill later. Then I woke up.