It was a lot like this:
I always say the ditch I just wormed (no pun intended) out of was the worst one I ever knew, but its a cycle that I will say the same about the next measurable period of my life. That could be seen as an expression of the progression of existence or the denial of repetitive failure. Obviously, it is in my best interest to be unsure.How was I going to pay for college? What was I going to do with this crap in my kitchen? Shit, how was I going to feed myself? In the middle of all this frustration, all these thoughts of things ahead, the impending reality of all of those things; I had a dream. I was in a room so bright and ornate. A window that seemed to stretch beyond the angle of my neck. Overwhelming contrast was so present, everything had a white edge. In front of me was one of my now former band mates, looking through me he said: "Welcome to The Verve".
The room, and the booming declaration from someone who I was at odds with stayed with me stronger than most dreams. So much so that I took the most striking elements of the dream and wrote them down in prose. For almost 6 months this sat, relatively unchanged save for a few paragraphs that felt right. Of course, what to do with these 3 pages of text didn't leave my mind often. There was something in it all worth cultivating into something more. There were characters, I left them ambiguous enough for change. But the plot, the direction, it took months to come to what I felt was the right road. I ended with two characters left open ended and one set on a more concrete ideal. The plot with elements of black and white, the separation between stimulation artificial and stimulation felt. It took a lot of thought, deliberation, and time to get where I am right now. I just hope the end result is the sublime, is the worthwhile.
