Analyzing the dream-like imagery in Pink Floyd - The Wall is a daunting task--the whole film is one dream-like image after another.

The Wall has already been analyzed by so many different people that it almost seems redundant, so I'm going to focus strictly upon Gerald Scarfe's animated sequences (easily the most dream-like imagery in the film) in the hopes that I may dispense something new.

I've always been amused by people who find the animated sequences in the film to be baffling. A mere lad of twelve when I first saw the movie, I immediately understood that these images were representations of Pink's subconcious. It seemed obvious enough to me, particularly in "The Trial".

My initial thesis was borne out, to my satisfaction, several months later by a "study at home" program I watched on public television during an extended absence from school. In this program on psychology, it was revealed that an experiment had been conducted in which the subjects were placed within cardboard suits to deprive them of their sense of touch. Their other senses were similarly blocked by earplugs, eye coverings and the like. The only contact they ever had with another human being was three times a day when someone (they didn't know who) would feed them.

After a period of time, they were released into a simulated home environment. The behavior exhibited by the subjects was startlingly familiar to me: they simply sat and stared at the television. After awhile, they began compulsively going to the refrigerator, eating to break the monotony.

Some time later, they began to hallucinate. At first, the subjects looked forward to the hallucinations as they provided some distraction, then they turned frightening. Some of the hallucinations, as well as their extreme change from pleasant to nightmarish, were simulated by animation in the show.

Although I could tell that Gerald Scarfe hadn't done this animation, it bore an interesting similarity to the tone of the work he did for The Wall.

Looking for a slightly different angle to take with the animation, I thought it might be interesting to see if there was some common concept to the different vignettes, some representation of Pink's psychosis. It didn't take long to find; I call the first one "frustrated transcendence", which is essentially a foiled attempt to escape from "the darkness within" (the second common theme).

The very first animated sequence we see in The Wall is that of a dove in flight. Flight implies transcendence, but in this case is rudely frustrated when the iron eagle suddenly bursts from within the dove. This also brings forth the first example of the darkness within. For now, it seems that the darkness has triumphed as it continues to fly (transcend) in a way that the dove was not allowed. But the iron eagle's transcendence is still short lived. It dies and is thus permanently grounded.

There is hope as another dove emerges and finally makes good its own transcendence, but the cycle has only just begun.

The next animated clip is "What Shall We Do Now?" Two flowers, a rose and a lily, bloom and begin their growth upwards. Representative, respectively, of Pink and his wife, we watch them meet, fall in love, and then they metamorphose into grotesqueries by allowing their internal darkness to consume them. We watch their relationship disintegrate, their transcendence confounded by their conflict.

The lily suddenly gains a height advantage, permanently confounding the transcendence of the rose by transforming into a monstrous creature and devouring it.

The scene continues as we see the wall itself rapidly growing, gaps filled by ubiquitous objects from daily life. Cars, televisions, various appliances all contribute towards the monolith that will halt Pink's transcendence. Even his screams will not escape.

Outside the wall, we see a man sitting in the sun near an infant. The infant's darkness within takes over and the child becomes one of the Hammer Guard. Whatever transcendent thoughts the first man might have been having end up smeared across the wall.

Another figure's own darkness destroys him by erupting from within, as with the dove and iron eagle. We see the cars, guitars, drugs and other indulgences that have created the corruption now spewing forth. It all culminates in the emergence of the hammer itself--the inevitable end of the path that Pink is on.

In "The Trial", the "darkness within" is expressed by the setting of the piece itself. We are now unquestionably inside the mind of Pink, where he is surrounded by a myriad of frightening creatures. Intercut with the witnesses' testimonies are scenes of Pink drifting in a lovely sky. The frustration of this transcendence is when he breaks through the sky and begins an endless descent into his own internal void.

The ending of The Wall has always been ambiguous. We know that the wall comes down, but we don't know what has become of Pink. In a sense, the piece itself is a frustration of transcendence in that it leaves its audience with no real sense of closure.

I have never had the chance to attend any of the rare Pink Floyd fan conventions that take place from time to time. Fan conventions for groups like the Beatles and science fiction franchises such as Star Trek and Star Wars are fairly frequent events, but Pink Floyd has not enjoyed the same level of interest to make such events profitable.

I was attending a recent professional education conference, well-funded by industry sponsors, and organized by a foundation that exists solely to coordinate such events. There were informative lectures, panel discussions by experts, and an exhibit floor where attendees could test (and purchase) some of the latest technology.

So there I was, nibbling a free croissant and enjoying a free lecture, and it occurred to me that I would love to attend a conference on Pink Floyd. And I started daydreaming...

Any city with a major convention venue would do, preferably one with convenient access for international travelers: Chicago or San Francisco or Dallas, for example. Other consideration might be given to surrounding attractions. Cleveland would not necessarily be the most enticing of travel destinations, but would offer trips to view the Floyd memorabilia at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Florida is home to the Hard Rock Cafe's central warehouse of rock history goodies, including one of Syd Barrett's first guitars.

The city that seems most logical on all counts would be London, of course. Not only could there be side trips to Cambridge to view Grantchester Meadows, nearby Ely Cathedral, and other Floydian landmarks, but the Conference could also offer guided walking tours to the site of UFO, the Roundhouse, and the Marquee Club. Imagine walking the streets with 40 other Floyd fans, listening as Colin Turner and other 'faculty' reminisce about seeing the Floyd and other Underground acts.

The conference itself would be a time for Floyd fans to hear Floyd experts give talks about whatever areas interest them the most. The role of Eastern philosophy in Syd Barrett's writing. The development of Dark Side on the road and in the studio. The history of The Man and The Journey suite. Lectures on the Floyd's musical influences and inspiration. An in-depth look at what a record producer does, and how the Floyd's use of the latest recording technology kept them on the cutting edge for so long. Lectures on recurring lyrical themes in the Floyd repertoire. Lectures on important Floyd collaborators, such as Ron Geesin, Snowy White, or Pat Leonard.

For the live recording enthusiasts, imagine having notable collectors play samples of the rarest Floyd recordings. I'm sure that we could convince a few hoarders to dust off their rarest gems for the fans to get a quick listen, at the very least. (Up until it went into wide circulation a few months ago, the Frank Zappa jam on "Interstellar Overdrive" would certainly have been a show-stopper.) And even if we can't own copies of such rarities, it would be amazing to be able to hear things like Waters' original Pros and Cons demo, or outtakes from the Atom Heart Mother orchestral sessions. There could be panel discussions in which the hardest-core collectors debate the finer points of dating certain recordings, and invite the audience to share its insight.

There would be an exhibit hall, where fans could set up displays of their collections and let the rest of us have a look (and drool). Just imagine what someone like Pink Floyd Archivist Vernon Fitch could put on display! The enterprising might even turn this into a massive Floyd fan's swap meet, and vendors could offer Floyd t-shirts, records, videos, and so on. EMI and Columbia would be there as corporate sponsors, and there would be displays from major Floyd websites and fanzines. Fan communities such as Echoes, the 'alt.music.pinkfloyd' newsgroup, and Neptune Pink Floyd could have areas for fans to meet, share stories over a cup of coffee, and relax.

I already mentioned the potential for educational 'field trips' above, but the more I think about it, the more I come with places that demand to be seen: Battersea Power Station and Britannia Row Studios. The Astoria, Earls Court, Alexandra Palace. A guided tour of Abbey Road Studios. A trip to Hyde Park to hear a lecture on (and selected recordings from) Pink Floyd's several legendary appearances there. Personally, I would want to see All Saints Hall and Powis Gardens, home of the London Free School's Light and Sound Workshops and some of the Floyd's very earliest gigs.

In the evenings, there would be opportunities for fans to see Floyd films such as Pompeii or PULSE in a large theater setting. There could be a mini-film festival of Floyd scored-films: The Committee, Zabriskie Point, More, La Vallee, and so on. Screenings of rare concert footage--Pink Floyd plays with the Roland Petit Ballet, pro-shot film of The Wall concerts, and so on. Or perhaps even more interesting would be an opportunity to sit in a packed Paris Theater with the lights dimmed and listening to the famed BBC John Peel broadcasts, piped through the house PA system.

There could be nightly concerts by Floyd tribute bands, perhaps organized into 'theme nights'--one night for Barrett-era music, another for the pre-Dark Side era, and so on. Perhaps one band would recreate the Radio KAOS concerts, or do a full-scale version of what Amused to Death might have been. There could be a Floyd karaoke night, and I envision plenty of informal jam sessions, in which attendees gather into circles on the floor, strumming guitars and singing their way through album after album, sharing the music we love.

So, will it happen? Probably not. There's no money in it, for starters, and I'm sure the band's lawyers would quash any unlicensed use of Floydian trademarks or any attempt to share illegal recordings. Invariably somebody would trespass on the Astoria or accidentally set fire to the site of Mike Leonard's Highgate home. Or some nut would leave the Cambridge tour group and end up knocking on Syd's front door. But as long as I'm dreaming, let me keep it perfect.

Dreams--the gap between our aspirations and our realities--have always been an underpinning theme in the work of Pink Floyd and its members. And The Final Cut, Roger Waters' last work with the band, and a solo album in all but name, is the only Floyd album to address clearly what it is: 'A requiem for the Post War Dream'.

To understand this, one has to assess what the Post-War Dream actually is. In many way, it takes its cue from the first World War, an event that ceased some 88 years ago now, and one in which only a handful of participants are still alive.

My grandfather fought in the first World War. Like many, he lied about his age, and sneaked into the army at fourteen instead of the legal minimum of sixteen, and somehow managed to survive his time in the trenches. Like young Pink, I found his old helmet and uniform in a shed some years after he died, when I was too young to understand what it meant.

The popular euphemism for the first World War was "The War to End All Wars". Four years of fighting in trenches in horrific conditions brought home to almost everyone--even those isolated at the end of a newspaper back home--the true horror of war. And that war was something that would be avoided, under all circumstances and at all costs, and abhorred by civilised men everywhere.

A place where the old had a place to stay, enough to eat, where heroes shuffled safely down the street. A land of dignity without war: this was just one part of the post-war dream. A land where the war to end all wars had actually succeeded in ending all wars.

This was the Post-War Dream. Yes, idealistic, naïve. Even, in some ways, a direct ancestor of the hippie-love-and-peace-flower-power burblings of the Swinging Sixties. But The Final Cut is an album about the cost of war, even moreso than The Wall was.

The biographical background of this--that Roger's father died in Anzio in 1944, that he was raised alone in the aftermath, that his family was torn apart by the decisions of generals and politicians--is well known.

Thematically, the album analyzes not just one post-war dream, but all of them. The dreams of soldiers who hoped to come back alive, and the possible pasts they could never have lived. In "Your Possible Pasts" (and, in fact, many of the songs on the album), it feels as if Roger is vocalising how his father might have felt had he lived. It also reflects how he feels now about the senseless death and murder. There is direct imploring:

The comparison is obvious: the cattle trucks of Auschwitz are compared to the poppies traditionally worn on Rememberance Day, where a nation takes stock and sits in respectful silence at the eleventh hour of every November 11th--the anniversary of the exact moment of cessation of hostilities during the First World War. War, the lyric suggests, is clearly the systematic annihilation of a generation.

The Post-War Dream can be distilled into two simple words: "Never Again." A lesson never learnt by mankind. Hence, a recurring motif across the album--"Oh Maggie, what have we done? What have we done to England?"

I never liked the use of the world 'we' here, but I understand it. As if England as a whole was a willing party, complicit in Margaret Thatcher's manoeuverings. Living in England at the time, when Argentina invaded the relatively-insignificant Falkland Islands, oddly near a British election year, it was clear to most people that Thatcher's political ambitions were simple enough: fight a war, and beat the Argies, to get re-elected. So Maggie over lunch one day took a cruiser with all hands, apparently to make the Argentinians give it back.

As is proven even now, sometimes our leaders start wars, not as the last resort, but as the first. Our newspapers were full of images of sinking ships, of "The General Belgrano", an Argentine battleship that was torpedoed in the back by a British Submarine outside of the field of conflict--and this was celebrated with a black and white photograph of a burning, sinking ship with possibly the most callous headline of all time: "GOTCHA"!

Maggie got what she wanted: she got re-elected.

Beyond this, the narrative for the album also moves between various subtexts, all demonstrating the timeless effects of war. The gap between the suffering of the soldiers now, and of the survivors. The next two songs ("One of the Few" and "The Hero's Return") deal with a less-obvious issue, one that also rose to prominence in 1982 thanks to Sylvester Stallone's first Rambo-romp First Blood: What do you do when you've trained a man to be a killing machine, and then you stop him from killing? The issue of army conscription is a strange one: training is, in effect, a way of removing our moral compunctions, and thus turning human beings into murderers. When there's no reason left to kill, what do you do to make ends meet?

The cliché is that those who can't do, teach. And so, The Final Cut reveals itself to be in part the memoirs of a disillusioned teacher who had been a conscript in the second World War, and who finds himself baffled by mankind's dogged refusal to find peace, and scarred by the memories of a war he keeps secret:

Oh Maggie, what have we done? The price may have been a few hundred ordinary lives. But what was the cost?

The Final Cut reveals families torn apart by lost lives, by the secrets held by men who want to forget the horrors they saw, by the secrets--the dark side (referenced in the title track)--that makes them fear losing the only thing they ever fought for: home.

And, aside from the need for there to be an end to war--what was the Post-War Dream? The dream that binds together The Final Cut is the impossible one: a land where we grow old in safety and dignity, where there are no wars, and no secrets between lovers who used to be close. This post-war dream is one that is doomed to repeat itself ad infinitum, as long as there is a war. And this is the clear subtext of The Final Cut: the continued escalation of war will lead to human extinction.

As "Two Suns in the Sunset" draws the album to a close, the album reveals its warning to anyone still in command: That the cost of war is more than financial. That the dream to live in a land without war is honourable and just. And that those who do not learn from the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them. As the album closes on a horrific image of a mushroom cloud that dooms mankind, the message to all is clear: The Post-War Dream is one not of a desire to bring an end to war, but for humans to evolve beyond war as a necessary tool for their continued survival.

It goes without saying that the subconscious mind is a slippery thing. Even the greatest scientific minds in the world are baffled by how it works, and what it means when it chooses to say anything.

Dreams are the window to the subconscious. They are the subconscious at play; running through information yet to be processed, already processed, and sometimes wholly fabricated, they can be frightening and occasionally frighteningly funny, or they can be surreal and wholly without any apparent meaning.

My dreams tend to shine a light on aspects of my own personality of which I might otherwise be unaware. I even have a couple of recurring dreams. Since this is not a magazine about the Living Dead, I'll avoid writing about that recurring dream and focus instead on the others.

I'm on an escalator going down. I seem to be in the lobby of a local hospital that doesn't have an escalator. It seems odd at first, but when you're me, you get used to oddness.

There's some kind of case in my hand. Could be a guitar case, could be a suitcase. Not a briefcase, though. Then I remember that I'm travelling and I'm actually in the local airport (which not only looks NOTHING like the hospital, it doesn't even have an escalator, either) going to catch my flight. Or did I just get off of my flight?

I can't quite remember. Something about a tour bus.

The tour bus had crashed... that's why I'm thinking of the hospital. Wow, I hope David's all right.