jesus, etc
If you take one knockout pill and a whole lot of cough syrup, don't expect a dreamless sleep. This is no Hans Christian Andersen. This is no Michel Gondry. This is strictly anti-aesthetic, anti-conduct book.
It is a hodgepodge of Sims 3, Wilco with an ivory grand piano in a makeshift concert hall filled to unpleasant proportions with heartland types, a dead friend still alive and not yet a friend. Chaotic? Completely. Poetic? Not really. I'm not sure that this is a pleasant combination. The seamless harmony is not so seamless and the layers of surrealism are lost on me. What happened to good old dreams of witches dancing around a fountain while you go after a giant Lizard as an Asian version of Lara Croft with about 300 percent less sex appeal?
I'm uncomfortable with my dream life. I've always liked to believe in naivete that the dream mes go on living in a parallel universe. Parallel universes full of dream versions of me, often slightly nightmarish in appearance (this is faithful to reality).
The irony - let me interject to say how much I hate the incorrect application of this word - is that I would rather be in one of my dream universes than in real life with real feelings and real disappointments. Real hopes dashed, real desires carelessly battered to a drop of microscopic dew, real dream vacations becoming nightmarish (dream destinations at this point become your top hated place on Earth, even if travel magazines will tell you how beautiful and exotic and - wait for it - romantic they are).
Excuse me, I seem to have gotten carried away by my real reality-induced (I rue reality) feelings. (In an ideal dream universe, I'd like to be a numb android. Please?) I was actually writing about...cough syrup. Barely a month and I've already gone through the bottle. Maybe I should try a different flavour this time.
allaroundbackgroundsound: Naive Melody - Talking Heads
It is a hodgepodge of Sims 3, Wilco with an ivory grand piano in a makeshift concert hall filled to unpleasant proportions with heartland types, a dead friend still alive and not yet a friend. Chaotic? Completely. Poetic? Not really. I'm not sure that this is a pleasant combination. The seamless harmony is not so seamless and the layers of surrealism are lost on me. What happened to good old dreams of witches dancing around a fountain while you go after a giant Lizard as an Asian version of Lara Croft with about 300 percent less sex appeal?
I'm uncomfortable with my dream life. I've always liked to believe in naivete that the dream mes go on living in a parallel universe. Parallel universes full of dream versions of me, often slightly nightmarish in appearance (this is faithful to reality).
The irony - let me interject to say how much I hate the incorrect application of this word - is that I would rather be in one of my dream universes than in real life with real feelings and real disappointments. Real hopes dashed, real desires carelessly battered to a drop of microscopic dew, real dream vacations becoming nightmarish (dream destinations at this point become your top hated place on Earth, even if travel magazines will tell you how beautiful and exotic and - wait for it - romantic they are).
Excuse me, I seem to have gotten carried away by my real reality-induced (I rue reality) feelings. (In an ideal dream universe, I'd like to be a numb android. Please?) I was actually writing about...cough syrup. Barely a month and I've already gone through the bottle. Maybe I should try a different flavour this time.
allaroundbackgroundsound: Naive Melody - Talking Heads
Labels: dream
posted by Jeko at 6:35 PM
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