Dreamery...
Apr. 18th, 2005 05:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chibi_trillianI dream so strangely sometimes. I wonder, do these dreams mean anything? I've had dreams in manga panels, in anime-style animation, in glorious full color and THX Surround Sound, in gritty black and white, in badly colorized sepia-tone, even in text or instant messenger format. I am almost never myself in my dreams. I'm frequently someone else, and sometimes I'm just a spectator. How many of my friends dream in color, I wonder?
I had a dream the other day that involved a rather innovative method of torture--myself/other person-bald tattooed guy being chained in an intricately carved marble chamber (a tomb, maybe?) with a dog-wolf thing. The chains had some overlap to their reaches, and neither dog nor human had any food, though the dog had some scummy-looking water. I don't remember being thirsty in the dream, so I guess myself/other had some too. The point of the exercise was to see if the human would have the courage, cunning, and disrespect for other life to kill the dog to eat it, or if the dog would yank its way through the leather collar and go kill the human to eat it. I/he did not want to kill the dog--I/he refused to take another life, and hoped that I/he would be rescued. I/he foolishly fell asleep on the floor, curled up in the corner. Floating above the other's head, I managed to prod him awake right before the dog finally snapped the collar. Slowed by the chain, I/he didn't quite make it up onto a ledge in time, and the dog's teeth sank into my/his right thigh. I remember feeling pressure and a consciousness that I/he'd just had a chunk taken out of his leg, but no pain. Then the phone rang and woke me up. Stupid telemarketers.
I wish I could draw the things I see in my head and my dreams. My hands won't make the pictures come out the way I want them to, though. Words help, but they don't seem like enough sometimes. The colors, the textures...I lack the words. I could spend ten pages describing the machine with gears like spinning silver leaves from one of my dreams, and not cover it. Rrg. And I always seem to get woken up right before something vital happens in the dream. It's not fair.
When I was little, I used to wonder if perhaps what I thought of as my waking life was actually the dream, and when I went to sleep I woke up in reality, and dreamed/remembered what happened during the day there. I used to wonder if I was a figment of a butterfly's imagination, an unusually strong recurring dream.
I was a weird little kid.
I had a dream the other day that involved a rather innovative method of torture--myself/other person-bald tattooed guy being chained in an intricately carved marble chamber (a tomb, maybe?) with a dog-wolf thing. The chains had some overlap to their reaches, and neither dog nor human had any food, though the dog had some scummy-looking water. I don't remember being thirsty in the dream, so I guess myself/other had some too. The point of the exercise was to see if the human would have the courage, cunning, and disrespect for other life to kill the dog to eat it, or if the dog would yank its way through the leather collar and go kill the human to eat it. I/he did not want to kill the dog--I/he refused to take another life, and hoped that I/he would be rescued. I/he foolishly fell asleep on the floor, curled up in the corner. Floating above the other's head, I managed to prod him awake right before the dog finally snapped the collar. Slowed by the chain, I/he didn't quite make it up onto a ledge in time, and the dog's teeth sank into my/his right thigh. I remember feeling pressure and a consciousness that I/he'd just had a chunk taken out of his leg, but no pain. Then the phone rang and woke me up. Stupid telemarketers.
I wish I could draw the things I see in my head and my dreams. My hands won't make the pictures come out the way I want them to, though. Words help, but they don't seem like enough sometimes. The colors, the textures...I lack the words. I could spend ten pages describing the machine with gears like spinning silver leaves from one of my dreams, and not cover it. Rrg. And I always seem to get woken up right before something vital happens in the dream. It's not fair.
When I was little, I used to wonder if perhaps what I thought of as my waking life was actually the dream, and when I went to sleep I woke up in reality, and dreamed/remembered what happened during the day there. I used to wonder if I was a figment of a butterfly's imagination, an unusually strong recurring dream.
I was a weird little kid.
