The dream started with some kind of high school football tryout. An old boss of mine was there, and he was curious as to why I wanted to play high school football 8 years after I graduated. I really couldn't tell him.
Seconds later the news radio station blared me awake with a report of some traffic accident or fire. The tiny treble sound of the clock radio was a contrast to the slow motion swamp of the dream.
There was a message on my cell phone from my dad. He called before I was awake and I didn't hear the phone. A red alert light blinked impatiently at me.
Dream waves to radio waves to sound waves to cellular communication waves to lighted alert blinkers. Is it any wonder that we get headaches?
Oh sure, everything is safe, and microwave food isn't really going to give you cancer, but am I to believe that all this data and satellite radiation isn't doing at least a little damage to my brain? Should I bring the tinfoil hat back out of the closet?
If we could see all the wireless data, cordless phone, cell phone, pager, radio, television, satellite and walkie-talkie waves zipping through the air from person to person it would be a blinding mess. It would look like a solid mass of colorful spaghetti squirming at light speed from the tip of our noses to the horizon. Maybe this field of information is somehow penetrating into our heads and affecting our dreams. The dreams that used to come from somewhere else now find their source in the realm of computers talking.
My football tryout dream could have been someone's cell phone call, or a commercial for a heart string-pulling Hallmark movie about the struggles and triumphs of small town high school athletics.
When could our waking thoughts be interloped by wireless communication? Could your conversation over espresso and biscotti at Starbucks be interrupted by the raw feed of the Weather Channel?
"Oh yes, I agree. The winter Calvin Klein bedding collection is far, far darker than it was last year. Those chocolate browns feel so... so... cold front moving in from Canada will cause a winter slurry to douse the greater metro area," you might say.
Wouldn't that be something?
The solution to this problem isn't a permanent retreat to the shadowy side of Mt. Everest, but the resolution to embrace our information overload.
The Post Modern movement in the art world instructed us to create collections of ideas and assign meaning to them afterwards. Whichever interpretation of a given collection we could come up with was equally valid.
If we combine all the history, culture and communication power at our fingertips and add to it the ethereal dream sphere, then this mess of data would theoretically be sorted out in the end, by someone.
Our access to information is being filtered through our creativity on the Internet, as sources become questionable and everyone publishes their own version of the facts. The Web has become a source of information entropy.
Did someone say that, or were they quoting someone else who said that, or did I dream that up myself and hit the "send" button?
It all becomes too complicated.
Rob Felt is the photographer for the Daily Herald. He can be reached at (770) 957-9161 or firstname.lastname@example.org .