I had an unsettling dream last night. I fell asleep listening to Blonde on Blonde with headphones on. I remember drifting really deep with the gorgeous "4th Time Around" riding along each guitar note.

I think I was half asleep, yet my mind was very active as I hung on every word of the final track "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands." It's epic Dylan riffing for 11-plus minutes about all the complexities of a woman he loves. "And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace," he sings - with my eyes closed, I chuckled to myself. I'm on every word, but fading fast. This got me:

I got stuck there. The words delivered with such profound insight. Next thing that happened was lucid dreaming. I was at the bar -- something that resembled the Three Needs in Burlington. The bar closed down and everyone poured out in the streets. Behind the bar was an open field and cliff where people danced and celebrated until the sun came up. It was like a carnival. I sat off in the distance, pensively watching it all. I wasn't apart of it -- I was removed, but still happy seeing different fractions of myself in the celebrations, fractions that no longer exist within me. They've dissipated with time, I guess. My friends Matt and Anna came skipping by playing leap frog with one another like they were children. They smiled at me and kept moving. There were horn players and people in costumes, and a ton of love in the air. The sun started to come up over the lake; it was the most beautiful thing. And then everyone vanished off with the daylight and I was alone.

I walked home, to my place where I've lived for years and years. All my neighbors were up and busy, they said good morning as I was saying goodnight. And then I walked up the stairs to my apartment and it wasn't there. I couldn't remember which number it was. I walked in circles for what felt like hours. I was on the floor below, and then the floor above, and then I was in somebody else's apartment, it was a person who had just moved in. I said, "Hi, welcome, my name is Mike." And he said, "You don't mean it. You'll probably never speak to me again." He put his head down and continued to unpack his things.

I walked away becoming more and more anxious. Embarrassingly, I finally confessed to one of my neighbors that I couldn't remember where I lived. He responded, "Maybe you don't live here anymore." I said, "You know that I live here." He looked away. It felt as if everyone knew something that I didn't. I started second guessing everything I thought was true and I thought, "Am I really that far gone that I can't remember my address? Why can I not find where I live? I always have it together - am I losing it?"

In a panic, I pulled out my license -- that would help me get helped if I showed them. I looked down at my license and it had my address from an apartment I had in Syracuse, NY in 1999 or so. "Wait, is that right?" I said to myself confused. I looked down again and the numbers and letters changed with familiar fragments of different times and places all jumbled up and messed with by the passing of time. I had enough of this, I thought to myself, I have to end this shit. The next thing I know I'm pulling headphone chords off from around my neck, the clock says 7:35 and music is blaring. "Why the fuck is my alarm going off, it's Saturday?" I felt completely lost and found for a minute. And then I thought… I went really far with "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" last night -- the unsettling, and amazing, end to Blonde on Blonde.