Posts tagged with "dreams"

Recording My Dreams

Note: Dreams are funny things. As the creator of the world you’re in, you have an omniscient knowledge of everything, including what other people in the dream are thinking. Things that are lysergic and random make perfect sense in a dream. Every now and then, especially when they’re very vivid, a dream will seem fascinating, so I’ll write it down and post it. Then I read it over again, and think “This is the stupidest, least coherent thing I’ve ever written”. Then I delete it. I’ve done this about a half dozen times, and they’re the only entries I’ve ever deleted from this blog.

This is an example from last night. I’ll try not to delete it.

There was also a part about playing table tennis that precedes the beginning, like the scene between Scarlett Johansson and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers in Match Point, which, eerily enough, is somewhat similar to this dream. However, the memory has been lost in the haze of consciousness.

P.S. If you ever read this, Alex, please don’t beat me up. KTHX.

Dreamt Sophia and I were in love.

Continue reading “Recording My Dreams”…

L'esprit de mes reve

Coming up with the right thing to say when it’s too late. The French have a term for it: l’espirit de l’escalier. Staircase wit. When you’re leaving a party, going down the stairs, perhaps playing over an incident in your head, and you think of that perfect riposte.

Staircase wit isn’t limited to insults and witty retorts though. It can be any moment when you can’t think of anything to say, only to reach an epiphany soon after.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling shy or anti-social or just plain flustered, the entire day is filled with such moments.

I always end up saying what I want in my dreams, but it’s never as satisfying. This is how I know that life isn’t a dream.

Otherwise, I’d be more witty.

Dreams For Cash

Thumbnail: March of the elephants
Thumbnail: Floor design
Thumbnail: Grass angels
Thumbnail: Iron circle
Thumbnail: Journey tablet
Thumbnail: Ring table
Thumbnail: Paper bird

There’s something about these small-town stores. They carry everything; books, art supplies, furniture, candy.

The baubles, the African statues, the organic catnip tins, the esoteric wire sculptures, they all go home with someone. Some of them will be thrown out in less than a year, others become heirlooms passed from generation to generation.

In all their tiny beauty, they make a difference.

The people who work there are never the same, but there’s always one thing that’s consistent. You can see the innocence in their faces, a warm feeling of rustic integrity. They all say hi, and go back to what they were doing, never minding your wandering presence in the store. I think I’d like to be one of these people some day. Maybe when I retire.

Selling dreams.

Television Dreams

Short and sweet.

I’ve been falling sleep with the TV on lately. Discovery channel, trashy tabloids, commercials every quarter hour. The constant chatter keeps me company the way old movies on DVD can’t. It’s like the world never sleeps. Someone else is awake, and watching the same thing as me.

It’s one of the things I like so much about you. If you hide that, you’re hiding the best part.

The little girl was taken to Humber River Regional Hospital, and later transferred to the Hospital for Sick Children, where she was diagnosed with what police call “a significant brain injury”.

The J is like an H Ricky, Hal-a-peen-yo

This is live.

Sometimes I wake up with a song in my head that I may not own, or even particularly like. Sometimes I wake up knowing some news before I read it on my lunchtime break. Sometimes my dreams will take off in a strange direction, and I’ll be cooking something complicated or unloading automatics through house windows or fucking someone I’d never have a chance with in real-life.