A dream of modern opera.

The other week I dreamnt -

I'm in the far upper balcony of a modern auditorium, and like two-thirds of the seats are filled up with people sprawled between them, and the audience is mostly young and mostly white, like people in their twenties and thirties.

It's a competition of modern operas, with musicians and singers visible onstage, and it's already the afternoon of the first day of the competition, with a lot of the operas having happened before, since they're mostly all short.

After the (older) (white) (female) announcer in a purplish-blue shouldered jacket is onstage with a (young) (white) guy with a short haircut and in glasses and a tuxedo and he knowingly hints about how different his opera is, another opera starts, and people start to realize that it's by another (young) (white) (gay) composer who think he's being clever by putting stuff about cruising and casual sex into the art form, but in fact it's just really uninspired and repetitive, and there's not really any drama and the music isn't even that good or interesting, to boot.

So, most everyone stays in their seats, but like two or three people and me besides get up and start to go, and we start walking past people in our rows to get to the aisles and head out, since we have better things to do with our time, and I see this last part from like fifteen-to-twenty feet above the ground, off to the upper right corner of the balcony I'm in.

And then, I wake up.

. . .