Dreamed of 'Scarface'

This morning, I woke up after dreaming I was in the final scene of Brian DePalma's 'Scarface' as one of the rival druglord's henchmen in a violent gunfight with coked-up Tony Montana (played by Al Pacino). The garish interior of Montana's mansion was all around. Fountain in the atrium with a generic statue of women holding a globe with "The World Is Yours" in neon. While stressful, I was able to crawl on the floor and avoid Montana's gunfire even though he saw me.

"Say hello to my little friend! Sweet dreams."

I had been up late watching a documentary about Gore Vidal "The United States of Amnesia", which has tidbits of the fallout he had with Christopher Hitchens. I still mourn the passing of both men, and may write something about that later. Vidal's elegiac sighing over the American Empire likely influenced the dream.

Debris flying, curses in English and Spanish all around, I thought as the dream ended: "This is a tacky way to go."

That would be a pretty good exit line. Something to bear in mind 300-400 years from now when I finally pass.

Gore Vidal now through the door marked "exit"

I'll miss this guy. He was sometimes full of horseshit, but when others claimed he was full of horseshit often they were proven to be wrong. So allowance must be given.

He tended to bring out the worst in people who weren't confident in themselves. Interviewers/journalists suffering from what Harold Bloom would call the anxiety of influence got con-testy with Vidal, which he would detect and throw back. The best interviewers were fine in their own skin and ended up in decent conversations or giving him good setups for his lapidary phrases and tales.

He loved his country, his republic, with a deep love that meant always wanting better, and wanting to ward off its perceived decline by calling out when it had more pomp than substance. No, that's way too buttery. He saw our country as a Miss Havisham, and described her past charms and decay in great and savage detail. If he had a magic wand to restore her vitality he would, but he knew woefully no such wand was available.

Feeling sore about both Vidal and Christopher Hitchens dying within a year of one another. I doubt I'll be as deeply eager what any other public figure, or eager to be suprised by what any other public figure thinks.

Chronically elegiac with a zest lit from a core of hope.