Cookie Warning

Warning: This blog may contain cookies. Just as cookies fresh out of the oven may burn your mouth, electronic cookies can harm your computer. Visit all kitchens and blogs (yes, including this one) with care.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Strange Dreams

I’ll preface this by saying that it’s bizarre.  So, for those who like the weird and nonsensical, this one’s for you.  For those who prefer my more rational side, well…perhaps there's some rhyme to my apparent madness.

Last night I was at a church in Wales.  The church consisted of several small rooms, and people would traipse through the rooms, and each one was like an artist’s gallery or display.  Most people frowned or ignored me as they passed through my room.  I was wearing my MP3 player, listening to the Olympics, but the actual sporting event was a European-style touring car race.  Through the speakers in my particular room poured the old song “I Want to be a Clone” from Christian Alternative Rock star Steve Taylor.  A black, vaguely human figure lay on the floor.  Pasted over the head was a two-dimensional picture of Steve Taylor’s face.  And people were kneeling down to examine the face and body.  One man in particular rose and announced that he didn’t like it, that he thought it was weird.  (Hey, even my subconscious thought this was weird).  Then my MP3 player, still playing the Olympic-touring car race, suddenly squealed and went off.  A lady beside me examined it, and said that its pneumatic pressure valve had blown. And then I woke up.

I’m guessing that the Church theme is a holdover from last night’s dream (and yesterday’s blog).  We did attend a Church in Wales on this year's vacation, but it looked nothing like this.  I didn’t watch much of the Olympics this year, but last night I did watch the highlights of the most recent round of the DTM German Touring Car championship.  I haven’t listened to Steve Taylor much in recent years, but his signature song must forever be “I Want to be a Clone.”  That ties in with Dorsk 81's death in Kevin J. Anderson's novel Darksaber, which I covered in When Your Favorite Characters Die: Part 1

As to the failure of my MP3 player, either it has to do with 1) the pneumatic valves in modern race car engines, 2) I’ve grown bored with the playlist I loaded several years ago, but haven’t gotten around to changing, or 3) that the player seems to drain the batteries faster than usual.  The squeal could have to do with the little dogs next door, as one doesn’t just bark, but makes all kinds of squealing and mewling sounds, as if it’s being dealt a mortal blow.  Or it could have to do with Harry Harrison's novel The Stainless Steel Rat Returns, in which Slippery Jim DiGriz must transport his brother and a herd of porcuswine (a mixture of pig and porcupine) to another world. 

As for the succession of rooms, and the art display, I can only surmise that it references my pursuit of a writing career.  For before I can be published, I’ll have to continually submit query letters, book proposals, and manuscripts.  After publication, publishers will expect me to help pursue the public’s interest, and pounce on every opportunity I can to point out to Joe Public, “Here, look at my work, it has value for your life, please give it a try.”

It’s interesting how the subconscious grabs up all the different aspects of my life and tries to fit them together.  It’s as if I knocked over several puzzle boxes, but as I try to decide which belongs to each puzzle, I’ve somehow lost the pictures that show how each will fit together.  Perhaps my subconscious mind thought it was doing something important for me last night.  While last night’s dream lacks the coherence of the previous night’s one, it seems to have built upon some of the underlying ideas and thoughts I’ve been working through lately.  Whether tonight’s dream turns out to be weird or intelligible, I look forward to watching what stories my subconscious mind will cobble together from the disparate pieces of my life.

Mystified but entertained,
Dragon Dave

No comments:

Post a Comment