There's this dream I keep having about a man with a horn. He's kind of a big man and he's playing a trumpet, a silver colored trumpet.

Maybe you think my dream doesn't sound all that scary, but there's something really ominous about it. Something amiss in those cold black eyes.

He's not always alone, either. Sometimes he'll be with another musician.

Freud said a dream is not comparable to the sound of a musical instrument, which instead of being played by the a musician is struck by an external force; the dream is not meaningless, not absurd, does not presuppose that one part of our store of ideas is dormant while another part begins to awake.

Seems like there's plenty of other things in life to be afraid of. Why, for me, is it the man with
the horn?


Monday night, when I had to fly to New Orleans, I fell asleep in my seat and dreamed about him. The entire next day I couldn't shake the feeling that he was out there somewhere nearby, watching me and following me. It really spooked me.

When I get through being president, maybe I'll ask a psychiatrist, but for now, I guess I'm best off trying to ignore it and
hoping it will go away.


2006, Mark Hoback