Abstract #1

Well, count on my own words to make a liar out of me. Here I am, saying in my last post that "most of my dreams do seem to err on the side of realism and the linear narrative format", and now I'm dreaming in the abstract. I swear, sometimes I think my mind is just trying to make me out as a massive tool. Anyways, my dream last night seemed to consist mostly of a series of images with a snide commentary presented overtop of them, either delivered by or to me (my own subjectivity in this dream was fairly unclear). There did seem to be some kind of overlying structure to the dream, but a fairly vague one. It seemed as though there was an argument or battle of wits taking place in either a library or bookstore. In retrospect, I don't think it matters which one it was, just so long as it serviced as a source of images for debate. Anyways, two indistinct figures or voices (either both me or neither of them me, I was and am unclear) jokingly debated pop-culture back and forth at each other. In essence, I dreamed The Internet, or an episode of "Robot Chicken".

Anyways, the whole thing was pretty strange. Most of the images debated just blended together in my memory, but a couple stand out. In one instance, Voice number one presents Iron Man for debate, to which Voice number two responds: "Iron Man? He's just a cheap Batman with wings!" And indeed, the Iron Man presented did indeed sport a pair of angelic wings (Note to those not up on the comics lore: Iron Man CAN fly, but does not have wings). In the other memorable part of the dream, the two Voices have either presented or transformed themselves into manifestations of "The Chief" from Inspector Gadget, one wearing all black and one wearing all white, which I immediately recognized as being from "Spy vs. Spy". The cavorted around the book depository trying to drop old fashioned "fuse bombs" into the garbage cans they continually popped out of (as they did in the TV show). Clearly this symbolizes something or other, but I can't really say that I care what. This dream was ridiculous. I'm sorry, Internet. Next time I'll try to dream better.

The Wasps' Nest

I had something of a more abstract dream last night, though it was still fairly concrete, as dreams go. Most of my dreams do seem to err on the side of realism and the linear narrative format. Also, I'm not sure whether or not people in my life would appreciate being singled out by name in my dreams, so i'm going to try to avoid doing that wherever possible. Anyways, on with the summary:

Anyways, The dream begins with me at my two-shift a week kitchen job, washing dishes. As I go about my tasks, I notice first one, then two, then several wasps flying around my working area. At no point do these wasps ever move so sting me or anyone I'm working with (the people I'm working with are also all acting slightly out of character in this dream, in that they engage in none of their customary banter which usually makes the work day so pleasant). Rather, the wasps merely hover around me and mine, steadily building in number until there's a good 30 or so flying around the kitchen, being studiously ignored by myself and the cook. Anyways, cook finally sends me downstairs to get some sauce. As soon as I open the door to the basement, I walk into an utter swarm of wasps, circling the downstairs area like they were caught in a funnel. I have to walk directly through the swarm to reach the sauce, so that's what I do. As I'm doing this, the swarm moves somewhat aside to give me passage, but it still feels as though I'm walking through a living, fuzzy wall, and I occasionally have to spit just to get wasps out of my mouth. As I'm retrieving the sauce, I'm aware of the possibility of being stung, but not really afraid of it, because I just know that if I stay focused on my work and don't call attention to my own awareness of the wasps, they'll leave me alone. Anyways, I climb back up the stairs through the swarm with the sauce and close the door behind me, except I take some of the wasps with me. They have landed on my hands and arms, but are quite content to watch me work, rather than commence stinging. For the rest of my work shift, I am compelled to do my job in a room full of wasps (the wasps that followed me out of the basement have made the kitchen area fairly crawl with the things) with several attached to my arms and hands. At no point during this dream, however, am I stung.

The Drug Free, No-Smoke Cigarette MC-athon

Okay, this isn't as fresh in my memory as I'd ideally like my very first actual dream post to be, but it happened within the past week, so most of the details remain clear. This is a fairly simple variation on the classic "forget your lines in the school play/big speech" dream, but it has some variations which I think make it worth remembering. Let us begin:

So to start, I'm sitting in the front row of my high school auditorium (for those who went to UFA with me, this is the auditorium in old building on Croatia I'm referring to, not the one way out in Runnymede), watching the "Drug Free, No-Smoke Cigarette MC-athon", a school sponsored rap-battle theme around a "just say no" message. It was not made explicit in the dream, but I knew at the time that whoever won this battle would get to tour Torontonian elementary schools to deliver their rap at school assemblies. That was the prize.

Anyways, The dream opens as I watch The Clean Street Crew perform their set. There's all drawn in the exact same style as they appear in the aforelinkèd comic, but I don't really notice. Anyways, it's all very entertaining, especially the MC Horse bits, and it receives a healthy smattering of applause. In fact, I'm still applauding when the announcer calls out my name.

Now we reach my part of the dream: apparently, I had earlier signed up to perform an anti-cigarette rap and completely forgot about it. I'm shuffled onstage by a few vague administrative figures (they had no discernible "features," as such), handed a mic and told to "go on!" as the red jumpsuited DJ lays a beat down from behind me. Nervously, I walk towards the audience and begin to stutter out some of the lamest anti-drug propaganda ever to be rhymed to a crowd. I'm not entirely sure exactly what I said onstage, but I can clearly remember that it was characterized by long pauses, embarrassingly simple rhyming ("cigarette"/"don't smoke et", etc.), and at best sloppy adherence to the beat. I felt really bad about it, too. Like I was letting everyone down.

Nonetheless, the audience seemed to love it. With every tortured or hackneyed rhyme, they would scream louder and louder for me to go on. I can remember, for instance, rhyming "crack" with "whack" (the most clichéd anti-drug rhyme in the biz) to howls of approval. People were lifting lighters, throwing confetti, raising 40's, it was insane. (The irony of raising a 40 to show approval for an anti-drug song did not strike me at the time of the dream). This all just made me really angry. On the one hand, I felt bad because I was letting everybody down with my lame-ass styles; on the other, were these people were so piss-ignorant, they couldn't even tell how terribly I sucked? I started to think that maybe this was all fake approval, like a massive, audience-wide conspiracy to spare my feelings or something. These people should be disappointed, damn them! What the Hell was wrong with them? Plus, through all this I was still stammering, taking long pauses, etc., so it couldn't have been my technique that impressed them. Was I just a William Hung to these people?

Anyway, I ran out of material, so I had to stop. Or maybe I just wanted to. After the applause died down, they didn't even let the other acts go on; they just gave me the prize. I forget who was hosting, but they pinned a blue ribbon to my lapel. I had never felt so undeserving in my life, like I was being rewarded for something I should have by all rights been punished for. I believe the dream closed with me, from the stage, looking out on the dejected Clean Street Crew, who wanted this prize more than anything in the world. Then I awoke.

So there it is, my first dream post. I didn't mention it before, but you Internauts reading this should feel free to analyze and/or review these dreams. My subconscious just loves critical analysis. So do I, in fact. It's the only way I'll learn. Also, I've filed this under "nightmare" because it invokes unpleasant feelings of guilt, not because it was terrifying. I have few real "terrifying" dreams. I haven't concretely figure out all the "labels" I want for this blog yet.

So I made this blog...

First of all, don't start calling me a "blogger". I'm just a boy with a dream. Several dreams, actually. Dreams which, in my opinion at least, are worth noting, not just for their possible significance or relevance to my life (boooooring...), but for their sheer entertainment value. I mean, I tend to have fairly entertaining dreams. It's a thing. A thing I think maybe the internet might get a chuckle out of. That's all, really. Anyways, the basic philosophy of this blog will revolve around me posting any dreams I can remember, ASAP after I have them. Should I experience a "dream dearth", I'll have to go to post with "Classic Samdreams", older dreams which I can still remember and judge to have re-telling value. 

That being said, I will post my first "actual" post sometime tomorrow (today, if you want to get technical). My laptop battery is a bit low right now, but I have a recent dream which demands telling, and you'll be second to hear it, blog. I'm at a bar right now, so I suspect it'll slip out tonight. But you'll hear it second, 'Net!n I swear it!