i am in the quiet front room of a pub drinking with Brad Pitt.
I have a black holdall with nameless contents. I look up as a middle aged man comes forth from the back room looking drunk but composed with a handful of darts. He aims one and throws it at me. I get up asking him what the hell he’s doing and have to dodge quickly round him to avoid more thrown darts. I throw my beer at him and step behind, picking up a couple of darts of my own. I throw these back; one hits and sticks right into his head. I run for help to the back room where the owner and other customers sit. I tell them about the darts thrower. They are on his side: he is some kind of local hero. Things start to look bad. I quickly walk back through and give the expectant Brad a nod; he grabs my bag and we run for it.
We are in New York though the streets are too narrow. Brad is ahead and takes a different turn. I run exhausted until night falls, and keep running.
This area of town is utterly lightless, shady and dangerous. Cars drive without headlamps and are black shapes against the blackness. Run further into Central Park. This is definitely dangerous but I decide forward is best. I retrieve a big puffy coat from somewhere and zip it up: it makes me look bigger in silhuoette and I am less likely to be targeted. Shapes of people, some running, move in the distance.
The path turns uphill as the light starts to return. Central Park has weird, mad, colourful dogs that follow and circle; only potentially aggressive but unpredictable. The hill gets steeper until I am struggling using my hands to pull up it. I suddenly reach an impossibly pointed summit – only 2 feet across – but I am as high as a skyscraper above the city. I struggle not to fall back down, but the view is incredible and everything seems worth it.
I want to take a photograph but our camera – Nora is here – is primitive and has come apart; the film is exposed. Nora is upset. I can’t fix the camera but realise it really doesn’t matter and tell her so.
-
I am on the streets again. Three toffs from the Victorian era are pestering me and someone else. The leader takes off his moonstone-looking ring and puts it on my finger as a daring and arrogant jape. I carefully take it off and give it back: he boasts about how incredibly valuable it is. Later I have a painful wart on the same finger that looks like the stone.
We go into some kind of bar for food. We buy sandwiches. One of the henchmen is Gary Sawyer, who is rebellious and perhaps on my side. He has written a secret algorithm on a piece of bread which will allow me to steal something of the toff’s. By pretending to eat messily we transfer the bread to me. When I pick it up it has shrunk and the writing is smudged away.
-
Rosy Rockets is here in a concrete room; but she is a warped version made by some dark animator: stretched and drawn and made of wet white clay.
12-Sep-03 at 4:07 pm | Permalink
1.Is this drug induced? sounds quite psychonautic. I like the multi coloured dogs best. Like afro ken or more lifelike?
2.I’ll take it as a given that you’re as good a consultant as you are a writer. Christ, i’ve never actually had to stop myself from being too complimentary about someone. I couldn’t love you any more if I was yer granny! savantic little biatch!
*yet more postmodern, ironic lj hugs…*
12-Sep-03 at 4:24 pm | Permalink
also v. jealous though..
My dream last night was one thats been reoccurring for a while now. It seems like more of a premonition, actually. Very weird.
I’m in a castle, but I’m not me.. someone else. Actually, I think I’m a guy. Its a few hundred years ago. And the morning of my wedding, I’m sitting on an ivy clad, overgrown window ledge. Its dark inside, and very bright outside. I’m quite high up, and there’s no window frame or glass.
I feel myself leaning back. I’m breathing in, and the air is freezing cold, and oxygen rich. Y’know, like when you stick your head in the freezer; that kind of air that chills your lungs and makes you feel dizzy. I feel myself over-balancing, but with a sense of dread. Its like someone’s shot me or something. I dont want to die. My eyes close, but my senses overcompensate. Everything slows right down. I feel myself dropping, I can feel the still air whistling past my ears; my stomach is in my throat, and then I feel the impact as my body hits the ground. Bang. But it doesn’t hurt. I just feel relaxed. And then I wake up. Hair all over the shop, wondering what the fuck just happened.
That’s happened like, 4 times… weird.
15-Sep-03 at 10:16 am | Permalink
>Brad Pitt
Reckon you might safely see him as the Tyler Durden figure to your Ed Norton, especially as a resemblance has been noted.
>darts / They are on his side
This suggests some kind of inner conflict. Brad (ego) abandons you and you set out on a quest for self-knowledge.
>This area of town is utterly lightless / summit
Plumbing the depths of your dark side/shadow and being rewarded with enlightenment/ a Kodak moment
>moonstone
Its interesting that you wont accept the ring but you consider stealing it. Was the ring inherently evil?
>Rosy Rockets
anima/shadow. I would love to go all Sigmund on your ass but this analysis is pretty tenuous. The dream is a surprisingly good read, though. If you want to analyse it you should pay loads of attention to how you reacted emotionally to people/situations in the dream, as that throws a different angle on the obvious analysis.
As for me, I’m scared to go to sleep in case I have a nightmare about Stu’s shaven chebs.
15-Sep-03 at 1:31 pm | Permalink
>Is this drug induced?
Heh, no. There may have been a cheese sandwich involved though…
> had to stop myself from being too complimentary
Well try harder, you’re an embarrassment bean : P
> Tyler Durden figure to your Ed Norton
Interestingly I’m almost certain he *was* in Tyler mode in the dream. Brown leather jacket etc.
> inner conflict. Brad (ego) abandons you and you set out on a quest
Didn’t feel abandoned… he was just ahead.
> you wont accept the ring but you consider stealing it
The act of ‘giving’ me the ring was not sincere, it was some kind of insult. Hence I gave it back to keep some kind of dignity, but calmly so as not to provoke.
> Was the ring inherently evil?
Is this a homophobia question? ; )
No, just a ring I believe.
>I would love to go all Sigmund on your ass
What, rub it lovingly with your beard?
>Stu’s shaven chebs
Nnooooooooo