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Send those angels down to woo me now
Hello, brain. At this point, I've decided not to ask why last night's dreams were full of alternate Hanukkahs and strange centaurs and spiral staircases twisting down into black and brackish water. The night before, I dreamed that I was romantically involved with a thirtyish Derek Jacobi who lived in a brownstone in not-Boston with a library of videos—were you at all aware of the logistical conflicts with real life this scenario presents? And the previous night, when I dreamed of traveling to a blue-painted city in Tunisia with an eccentric kami who looked mostly like Neil Gaiman, and complicated dealings with a historical nobleman who wanted his oracle to come out a certain way: I went back to sleep and got a political feud with assassinations and Lovecraftian things beneath the streets of a bakery. What is this, dream sweeps week? You go on constructing storylines I couldn't plot even if I were conscious. I'll be over here, thinking about Orlando (1992) and Ash: A Secret History. Get me a Tilda Swinton icon, somebody.
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Indeed, but it sounds very pleasant nonetheless. ;)
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You'll note it wasn't a nightmare . . .
(Your icon is magnificent.)
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My head apparently contains geography.
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Nine
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It's next door to the Lovecraftian bakery. Also, Talos works there.
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Nine
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So tell me, which of those dreams would your conscious mind most like to invest in? Myself, I'd take blue-painted Tunisian city, bakery (always take the bakery!), [unnamed] historical nobleman, and assassinations--no offense to Derek Jacobi or Neil Gaiman, but I find it hard to incorporate real people into works of fiction.
Or, you could just hire your subconscious out as a story element generator.
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Okay; when do I get to read it?
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If I have the time (and I haven't been woken so jarringly that the continuity has just vanished), I often try to write down the ones with actual storylines, but more often I'm left with images that occasionally work their way into stories or poems. I can point to several pieces that are dream-influenced: "Follow Me Home," "Till Human Voices Wake Us," "The Salt House," "Plague-Bearer," etc.
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You're awesome.
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It's been a good run!
I am often annoyed that architecture I commonly see in dreams doesn't exist in any cities I could visit while awake.
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That is irritating.
I tend to have dreams of architecture that's just ungainly or a bit off--broad monumental steps that don't really lead to anything that justifies the size of them, doors that are too narrow for their height or aren't really plumb to the floor, that sort of thing.
I sometimes get bits about strange books--in one dream I was reading a book about a famous French composer and viola da gamba player who developed his unique technique while working as an overseer (or whatever you call it--the fellow who walks up and down the centreline whipping the rowers) on a galley.
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I'll have to get myself a copy sometime in the not-too-distant.
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>> I dreamed of traveling to a blue-painted city in Tunisia with an eccentric kami who looked mostly like Neil Gaiman, and complicated dealings with a historical nobleman who wanted his oracle to come out a certain way ... <<
Oooh, Gaiman would make a great eccentric kami!
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It was weirdly plausible when I woke up . . .
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Oh, yeah, right. Everybody has strange dreams. Mine just tend to come in shoals.
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And to be so splendidly colourful. Mine tend to be more just... odd. Like this one.
If only I could get weird-architecture dreams to combine with the odd-relationship-and-no-sight-of-the-satisfying-parts dreams ;-)
One of my friends had a dream about concertinas growing on trees while we were at Arts Week, but couldn't remember when she woke up if they hung from the trees with the bellows horizontal, more or less in playing position, or if they hung by one handstrap and when the bellows stretched out one knew they were ripe. I thought that was rather brilliant.
Oracle
"No," he said, laying his hand over mine on the bones and cards. His skin was very soft and plump, and there was a plum-colored stone on the ring on his middle finger. He shook his head.
I looked up from the patterns in the cards, drew my third eye away from the patterns in the stars. "No?" I bit the inside of my lip so he could not see my dicomfiture. Though this particular Vidame was rumored to be more generous than most, I did not care to test him; power and money do not generally tend to make people less capricious. "It is hard to turn the wheel of fate the wrong way, signore."
"Hard. But not impossible." He flicked a bone into his hand, caging it in his fingers, dropped it in his brocade pocket. "For luck," he chuckled. Turned a card sidewise.
In the silent cold dark, Mars wheeled and veered.
The fringe on the table also swayed.
"My oracle will read as I wish it: so?"
"You shall die next Wednesday."
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Prrrrr.
Where is the rest?
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It's still lovely.