The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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there is nothing more boring than other people's dreams
children of dune - leto 1
seperis
Due to [personal profile] synecdochic's potential for reality-bending dreams (and becoming an SCP herself), I started thinking about how that would work out if I didn't get to dream up the existence of a sharkopus (you know you would love life lived like a sci-fi original movie, don't lie), and one of my more vaguely realistic and less surrealist ones.

The thing is, this is where I explain I don't understand people who say they don't dream in plotlines, or at least, don't seem to think of them that way. I dream like I'm living a novel that I have the ability to revise, so half of any dream I spend trying to fix scenes I don't like--most tend to be surrealist after school special lessons on if you change things, they get worse, not fucking with you, I dream in goddamn platitudes--and some are sequels to earlier dreams, or at least, a related episode. They have their own memory sets, in fact, that come with them. The only ones that actually bother me a little, however, are the ones that create memories for me later that it takes me a while--and I do mean a while--to realize are dream-related, because they're both breathtakingly normal and background enough that I don't think about them deeply at first and are just off enough that when I finally recognize them, there's this holy shit moment.



There is one kind of dream that I both look forward to and freak me the fuck out. They're the ones that work on a period of time something less than forever, but when I wake up, it literally takes me time to remember that's not actually my life. I'm there that long, so long than I can be hours readjusting and days getting over it. It doesn't actually matter how impossible it is, or ridic, or completely wrong, none of those things matter; I'm there so long those things are internalized. The longest I can remember where I could track it, or the dream let me track it, I think was close to sixty years relative time, and the other reason these freak me out is that these are the only dreams in which time, time passing by, is a factor I recognize in-dream.

Mostly theyr'e just weird real life combined with dream logic and shenanigans (and me spending quality time re-writing my own dreams retroactively in-dream because I don't like how this is going), but one of them, and I suppressed a lot of the details, was this hugely mundane dream in which ships appeared in the sky and--to explain, I lucid dream only when I'm half-awake, never in full REM sleep. This time, I stopped long enough to hope, hope desperately, that this wasn't real, because something truly terrible was about to happen before I forget everything after that. When I still remembered it, I remember waking up in utter, breathtaking relief and horror and I had to go check and make sure, but for Reasons I don't remember now, thank God, if that was real, everything was really, really over. Dream logic was in effect for several hours after that. It's not that I couldn't tell the difference between reality and dreams; it's that unlike normal waking up times, I couldn't get out of functional dream-logic and anything could happen, including alien ships in the sky hovering beign something that was happening right now.

I don't think anything on earth scared me as badly as being unable to get out of dream-logic in the real world. You lose faith in pretty much the fabric of reality at that point. I admit now, the way I couldn't until I watched Inception a few times, that a lot of my problems with that movie was there wasn't nearly enough surrealism for me to discard how fucking desperately close that is to the very few times I can't navigate the overlap and the transition is a conscious effort that I jsut have to wait out until reality asserts itself.

The other reason I still think of this one in a lifetime of strange surrealist dreams of time passing--and these aren't uncommon, just how much I remember of them is, that one I try to rememeber sometimes when I'm half-awake and I can lucidly sort of think about these things without the accompanying emotional reaction--I have no idea what about that dream was so wrong that it broke my reality filter on waking that badly. Every time I try, with this particular one, I get hit with enough adrenaline to wipe out a city block. Most recently, exhausted and half-asleep, I thought about what the ship looked like and had just gotten the shape of it and something seemed to--it was the weirdest sound, like metal being bent but in a human voice--and hello adrenaline and all of it was gone again. This happened, by the way, a few days ago, right before I read syn's entry, so it's been on my mind.

When I'm awake and recall some of the details, this just doesn't happen, but in that space between, I can't figure out what is going on there. Granted, I don't remember most of my dreams more than an hour, and a lot I never remember at all, but so many of them are related, fit together in dream, but this one has never been continued later and it isn't part of any dream memories in my continuing sagas, and I wonder if it's because there was nothing left by the time I woke up to go back to, but I know I felt time passing in there. I was there far too long, I think. It wasn't forever, but I think the difference between forever and something just short of that isn't really any difference at all.

Posted at Dreamwidth: http://seperis.dreamwidth.org/949042.html. | You can reply here or there. | comment count unavailable comments

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Oh lord, now I'm wondering if you've accessed a virtual reality.

I realize this doesn't help.

I hate dream hangovers where I'm angry at someone, or deeply, deeply hurt and they did nothing wrong in reality.

The ability to rewrite in progress is awesome. I've rewritten some nightmares like that.

About the novel thing; I dream I'm reading a book and the pages get closer and closer and then I'm part of the action. So, yeah, I pre-dated Thursday Next and Inkheart.

Waking up with my mouth tasting like an ashtray, because I dreamt I was in a sidewalk cafe in Chicago, despite being a British non-smoker? Or finding myself absent-mindedly doing everything with my left hand, including some legible writing? It's a bit 'Being John Malkovich', but I'm other people in my dreams, or at least, looking out of their eyes. Too much Bradbury in early childhood? I'm glad it isn't just me that dreams in epic technicolour and SFX.

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