Bear with me it’s just gone 3:10 in the AM and I’m writing this for a post later on this afternoon which in my infinite wisdom I probably won’t edit at a better time of day, it begins thusly:
Whilst attempting to emulate Martin Luther King and have a dream, whilst at the same time be as non fussy about it, in the process as Joseph, he of the technicoloured dream coat (‘any dream will do’), I hit upon a strange nostalgic dream, that covered a varied amount of things.
There was the bustling city centre, in which two of the team from the show House wanted to open a side line business in the form of a grocery but the veg they bought was all horrible, they magically at some point in the next scene turned into happy indians who made a Bollywood style song and dance about an idea they had and managed to change the very veg product they were selling and make it into flowers that magically grow on a metal rail coated in vaseline.
That changed to a dream I’ve had before which employed the faintly harrowing old style Disney cartoon type animation, to depict a rich family, possibly some royalty, with a large amount of gold in the top room of a cathedral when fire breaks out, as the floor becomes structurally week and the gold begins to fall through, I heard lots of worryingly realistic screaming at this point, the gold is eventually all dragged into the inferno followed by the rich brood and ids then depicted by a cartoon avalanche sequence where everything and everyone is consumed by firey gold and not in a fun way.
Happily this was followed by a strange holiday based on Amsterdam and possibly Nottingham city centre, in which many things only familiar to me in dreams were referenced and a wedding./christmas party in which some of my top real life friends were involved. I don’t recall an actual wedding but many gifts were exchanged and a bridesmaid asked if I had any old classics in a red cover that had to be battered so she could sell them to an antiques sealer for £15. I heard her arrange this with the dealer then pretended not to have heard just so she’d explain it again. Dream me is annoying like that it would seem. I hasten to add that I was not the one getting married, not that that makes a difference. Still the bridesmaid in question was sick on my hand because she had low sugar so I suppose there is such a thing as dream karma.
This was followed by the final sequence of being in a university campus on the edge of change,with more people and things real and ethereal being referenced before being whisked away to sign some papers ending my formal education. Quite what was going on I don’t know but it made sense at the time.
This was the odd bit though and perhaps the crux of the dream for me: the man who brought the papers remembered seeing me 10 years ago when we first co=signed them and as we signed again in the same places we reminiscenced about what the place (a variation on my last house) had been like and how a lot of things had of course changed and people moved on. In the end I signed with a deep sorrow and as I paused after the final date which oddly was the year ’05 I became a freeze frame like the end of so many TV series. Or the one that sticks in my memory the most, The End of the film Planes, Trains and Automobiles as I wasn’t expecting such a quick finale to that particular bit of fine filmage.
so that is my dream and this is why I am writing (or wrote as it shall be when you read this). the inevitable power of melancholy you get from a real or this case imagined finishing of things is horrible. I don’t buy all this exciting look to the future stuff. All the good stuff lost is sad and the few things that tie the past and present still going on look pitiful alone in the vast spaces of emptiness between. That could be my natural cynicism taking over, so to balance that out I have the next paragraph.
It’d odd, I woke up wanting to capture that lovely sense of melancholy tinged with happiness about all those awesome people I know and have now spoilt it by focusing on the loss of the thing. But like the dream everything fades from memory so it’s nice that our minds retain these memories tucked away and if we are lucky that wonderful piece of thinking (or remembering) matter retains all our fun, bizarre and sometimes faintly sinister dream wanderings.
Anyway it’s 3:35 now and I realised I hit caps lock somewhere around paragraph three, so I will take another seeming age to redo this post and you shall have it decently written later today, although I secretly still believe it is not tomorrow until my stupid alarm goes off at an equally stupid time.
Sometimes I wish it would be nice to stop thinking just for a little bit but that is the way I am. Goodnight/afternoon and a special thanks to those people who appeared in my dream they are in no particular order, Ricky & Maxine Boot, Kev Boot, Mark Denby, Charlotte Winfield and Tom Robinson and Lorraine Bagshaw (who inspired these dreams with adventures in Holland and Scotland) whilst not forgetting Sarah Roberts, (my very brief housemate at dream university, real life worker in the same building who is also credited with reminding me of Maz from school (I forget her full real name off-hand) You guys rock, even in dreams. I am equally thankful those dreams were not of a really weird nature as it would be horrible to scar oneself for life.