by Drew MartinI have written a few times before about dreams as media. In a time when they are taken less seriously for psychoanalysis, I think they still hold their own as media; they are free, require no production, no system/machine of distribution and they are never boring. Last night I had several dreams that took me to new, open landscapes and cities where the citizens swam in narrow canals. The dream I remember most vividly was one in which I went on an evening date with Anna Netrebko. We went to a grand hall and she started singing. A middle-aged man in a tuxedo joined her in duet. He had golden hair and golden skin, which was darker than his hair, and bright, straight teeth. I went outside the hall to the lawn, wondering if I should get Anna's car, some kind of silvery, sleek sportscar but then she slipped out a second-story window and I carried her in my arms to an overlook. She had on her red dress from La Traviata; I still remember the crisp material. We looked out over a valley of city lights, as numerous as the stars, and she said I could be with her forever. I told her that all of the lights reminded me of all the possibilities there are in this world, and with that the dream ended.