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.