Monday, January 16, 2012

Dream Archive 21: Neon Bookstore Crisis

I was at my father's house by the sea. I went off to investigate some fantastic (and fake) looking rock spires which had appeared in the distance, inland. My father and brother came with me. We passed by several trees which had been englobed with wire and metal and chain-link fence. Presumably, they were being kept safe until some kind of repair could be performed on them. We arrived at the old Tattered Cover Bookstore. I was worried that I had worn only thin sweatshorts, despite having a sweater on. Inside, my brother saw some kind of announcement on T.V. which made him cry. He embraced another bookstore patron who was crying as well.

There was some sort of commotion, and a group of us went outside and hid in a covered area below street level. As usual in my dreams, there was an object which seemed to possess opposite gravity. This time, it was a wooden cylinder that had been planed into an ornate shape like the mallet from a Tibetan singing bowl. I tried to hold onto it, but it pulled against my hand. Finally, I showed everyone that if I let it go, it would hit the ceiling, roll to the edge of the covered area, then fly off into the sky.

People began discussing the event which had prompted us to hide. It seemed like it might be contact with some new species. Someone mentioned that Roger Ebert believed in angels, and might therefore know what was going on. I felt the urge to defend him as an intelligent man despite his religious leanings. My brother began explaining things in terms of mathematical formulae and scientific history. I was not paying attention, because I was busy eating some icicle-like objects which I had found. I went to look for more.

While I was out, I had a vision of some kind of neon creature (a creature seemingly made of neon lights) who lived in a house far away. She suddenly realized that her husband was missing, and rushed to the hangar where they kept their neon-airplanes. His was gone, with only splashes of neon left to show which direction he had flown. She followed him.

Back at the bookstore, I had found more icicles. I went back under the covered area, but everyone had left. I went back inside the store, looking for them. Apparently, the crisis was over. I tried to find someone to tell me what had happened.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Post-modernism means never having to say you're sorry.

⎯Mark Kermode