I dreamed that LA mounted a regional production of Hamilton, with easily available tickets at $5.00 each. Of course, I immediately dragged basically everyone I knew, including a group of visiting sf fans from other countries. Most of the people I brought (about 20 of them) were unfamiliar with the play, but I was certain that they would be instant converts.

When it began, I realized that the director had inexplicably decided to combine the play with Three Penny Opera, which he also didn't understand - for instance, "Pirate Jenny" was done as a strip-tease. Also, all the actors were white.

This went on for 15 minutes while I vainly attempted to communicate in whispers to my friends that this was not the play. "This is like going to see Hamlet and finding that they've actually produced Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead!" I whispered indignantly.

Then I was relieved that apparently they were actually going to do at least some Hamilton, as a black actor appeared and shouted "I'm Aaron Burr!"

Then the opening chords of "Alexander Hamilton" began.

I then found that the director had completely rewritten the lyrics to simplify them, and also to use an all-purpose, gender neutral pronoun of his own invention, "zoo."

All I remember was "Zoo are waiting around for zoo," when I woke up, greatly relieved that this travesty - and I don't mean Stoppard's-- does not actually exist.

Yet. (Thanks to Tool of Satan for the link.)
rachelmanija: (Sandman: Dream)
( Nov. 21st, 2012 10:36 am)
All I remember about this one was someone solemnly telling me, regarding some important person, "We call him 'the Jung of Irøn Lüng.'" The latter was not a reference to medical equipment, but a place name or possibly a title.

My subconscious may be snarking about the high proportion of untranslated, "foreign" words in Jung's The Pyschology of the Transference via what I presume are the completely nonsensical diacriticals in "Irøn Lüng."

Crossposted to http://rachelmanija.dreamwidth.org/1091129.html. Comment here or there.
rachelmanija: (Sandman: Dream)
( Nov. 21st, 2012 10:36 am)
All I remember about this one was someone solemnly telling me, regarding some important person, "We call him 'the Jung of Irøn Lüng.'" The latter was not a reference to medical equipment, but a place name or possibly a title.

My subconscious may be snarking about the high proportion of untranslated, "foreign" words in Jung's The Pyschology of the Transference via what I presume are the completely nonsensical diacriticals in "Irøn Lüng."
rachelmanija: (Sandman: Dream)
( Apr. 12th, 2012 11:46 am)
I dreamed I was on a beach. With each wave coming in, a herd of beautiful pure white or black horses came thundering up out of the ocean.

Read more... )
I got sick of having annoying anxiety dreams about tests, toilets, papers, etc. So before I went to sleep last night, I suggested to myself that should I find myself in any typical anxiety dream situation, I ask myself if I was dreaming...

Read more... )
rachelmanija: (Text: She runs lunatic)
( Feb. 20th, 2012 10:15 am)
I managed to write three of my four papers due on Monday or Tuesday. I have to write the Trauma paper today. (And then bake a cake and go to dinner with classmates.) Cheer me on!

I had an amazing anxiety dream last night, combining a grand total of 10 separate anxiety-dream elements into a reasonably unified narrative. Well, maybe only 5 if you count all the purely toilet-related stuff as 1.

Cut for dream and the eternal search for a toilet )
I and some others were watching a martial arts demonstration in the open air, on a plateau - maybe a mountaintop. No buildings anywhere, just flat earth. We were all sitting on the ground. The person sitting beside me scooted back, and I leaned forward to see what he was trying to get away from.

I hadn't noticed it before, but there was a hole in the ground, like a sinkhole, twisting downward like a tornado bored into the earth, lined with jagged rock protrusions. It went down and down, thousands of feet, but I could see all the way to the bottom. The tunnel stopped short, so there was a space of open air with no tunnel walls around it, and beneath that was moving, foam-streaked water, like you'd see through the cracks in a pier. I wasn't certain, but I thought it was the ocean. I felt a sense of awe.

ETA: I feel like certain images have been recurring recently: bodies of water, the ocean, eels and snakes, and horses or horselike things like deer or centaurs. (I haven't written up all my dreams here - some I scribbled into my notebook and never got around to transcribing.)

Before I started the program, or maybe very soon into it, I had a dream which I remember because I wrote it down. (It felt significant.)

I was riding my bicycle along the Pacific Coast Highway between LA and Santa Barbara, where it's a narrow strip between the hills and the ocean. I somehow had gotten off the highway, and was riding on a perilously narrow bike trail on the hills, a long way up. The sea below was an intense, electric blue. I was frightened.

I came upon a group of people, and one of them told me, "If you got up, you can get down the same way."
I dreamed that in a superhero world, one of the caped crusaders had a head completely covered in eyeballs - layers of them, so that his head was about the size of a watermelon and appeared to be entirely made up of eyeballs. His superpower was that he could send his eyeballs, individually or in a swarm, to fly through the air after bad guys and bang into them, with the same force as if he'd picked up his eyeball and thrown it at them. Unsurprisingly, supervillains did not find this to be a strong deterrent.

I suspect that this dream was influenced by my professor last night using the metaphor of billiard balls smacking into each other to describe Melanie Klein's theory of internalized "objects" (representations of relationships), and also by the hilarious This American Life segment describing failed superheroes, which mentions one whose power was to make his own limbs detach from his body.
Another school book, this one for Personality 1.

A manual for accessing one’s unconscious via dreams and “active imagination.” Johnson is a Jungian and discusses archetypes, but emphasizes that most dream symbolism is highly personal. Whether one believes that dreams are literal messages from the unconscious, or that one’s interpretation of the largely random matter of dreams is a method for accessing unexplored areas of the psyche, if one has any interest in exploring dreams and the unconscious, Johnson’s methods seem likely to be helpful.

He outlines detailed steps for dream interpretation, as follows:

Associations: Write down all the associations for each element of the dream, one at a time, not censoring oneself. That is, if the dream involves a blue car, all the associations for “blue.” Then all the associations for “car.” Etc.

Dynamics: Connect the images and associations with one’s inner life. Which associations seem intuitively valid? What in one’s inner life might relate to them? He suggests that real people in dreams typically don’t represent the actual people, but characteristics one associates with them.

Interpretations: Search for the central message that seems to be communicated.

Rituals: Do a small but concrete ritual action to cement the meaning of the dream and its message.

He also explains and gives steps for “active imagination.” Basically, this is doing somewhat directed daydreaming while writing down the daydream as it occurs. This sounds potentially interesting, and I will try it. (There’s way too much involved to try to summarize it here, but the book is easily available in the US, if you’re curious.)

Caveat: some mild gender stereotyping, and romanticizing of the past and non-western cultures.

Last night I dreamed that Anthony Bourdain and I were strolling around an indoor-outdoor food court somewhere in Asia, sampling and discussing all the food. We each tried a lamb skewer with different seasonings, his tandoori, mine spice-rubbed, then took a bite of the one we didn't get. He deemed mine "tough but good." I also recall ramen, donburi, and some very fancy wagashi.

Inner Work: Using Dreams and Active Imagination for Personal Growth
I am supposed to keep a dream journal this quarter. First dream of the quarter below the cut.

Read more... )
rachelmanija: (Sandman: Dream)
( Aug. 1st, 2009 12:49 pm)
Last night I dreamed that I was stuck in the audience of the world's worst production of Sweeney Todd. The actors periodically marched into the audience and got in their faces.

At the end, a jet of fake blood spurted twenty feet high, then waved back and forth like the dancing fountains at the Bellagio, drenching the audience all the way up to the balcony. Not waiting for "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd," as a body we charged, dripping and squishing, to the box office to demand dry cleaning vouchers.
I note merely for posterity that I have now commandeered someone else's kitchen to bake cookies because of a dream. Or, as Yoon said, the soul of the universe told me to.

Two nights ago I had a lucid dream in which I was on a shuttle bus in New York City. It was very dull but I couldn't escape. Then some dude on the bus started eating cookies, and it occurred to me that since it was a dream, I might be able to get my purse to materialize cookies. So I mentally commanded, "Cookies!" And I reached into my purse, and lo! Cookies! Entemann's English toffee cookies, which they might have stopped making because I can never find them any more. After that, I got my purse to materialize a bottle of water.

So I went to Yoon's place and demanded that we attempt to recreate those cookies. We used Hershey's Skor bars and a random recipe off the net that suggested Heath toffee. Maybe my dream was prophetic after all: they were delicious.
I was so intrigued by the dream poll that I decided to try to remember my dreams more. I had a nice long one last night, full of sexual and work-related symbolism. I think. Would you care to help me interpret it?

Well, excuse me for having female parts that bleed! )
rachelmanija: (Sandman: Dream)
( Mar. 22nd, 2008 09:23 am)
Skip to the cut-text if you don't want to be bored with my dream.

I dreamed that there was a war on, and I had just heard that a fighter pilot who had been shot down, a guy who I had a crush on, was not dead as I had thought. I dashed into this weird mad scientist lab, which had glowing multi-colored amoeba-like blobs traveling through a network of glass tubes. Apparently there was no infirmary, so wounded soldiers were given cots in the lab because that was where the doctors were.

The pilot was lying on a cot there. I flung myself on him, clutched at his arm, stroked his short blonde hair, and babbled about how glad I was that he was alive and recovering. He said, rather irritated, "Careful! The shrew-mice are escaping!"

It seemed that he had been there a while and was bored, so he had started taming the experimental shrew-mice and was keeping twenty of them under the covers. I spent the rest of the dream chasing them through the lab.

What struck me about the dream was the extraordinary vividness of the tactile sensations: the impossibly soft velvet of the hair at the nape of his neck and the smooth rippled skin beneath it, and the fluffy fur of the warm wriggling shrew-mice. In my dreams, touch is nearly always the most vivid sensation. Sight is next. Taste, sound, and kinesthetic feelings are dulled, and smell doesn't appear at all. In real life, all but smell are fairly important to me, though I am especially sentitive to touch and taste.

What about you? Take my poll!

Cut for long but fascinating scientific poll on dreams )
rachelmanija: (Default)
( Sep. 13th, 2007 04:01 pm)
I had an unusually well-plotted dream last night.

There was a woman in a military society in a state of cold war, or in which war might break out at any moment, but which was currently at peace. It was very elegant and old-fashioned, perhaps consciously so. The men wore dress uniforms with polished boots, and the women evening wear or, to the dances, ballgowns. There were dinner parties and gossip. It was something like the British Raj, but not a real society that I recognized.

This woman, who was not married herself but was part of the society of officers' wives, was snubbed by the other women, for no reason that she could figure out. They whispered about her behind her back, and she was left out of party invitations. Sometimes the supply lines got mixed up, and the enemy's food was all that was available in the shops; it was strange and didn't taste good, and the other women seemed to conspire that it was all that was left by the time she got to the store.

Then a new woman joined the group, and the ostracized woman overheard an established wife talking to her, about the woman herself: "Don't talk to her, she's a vom; we don't associate with them."

"What's a vom?" asked the new woman. (That wasn't the word-- it was some other short word beginning with v that I didn't recognize and now can't recall.)

"Sometimes people just lose it here," explained the officer's wife. "We call them voms. Don't talk to them, or you could get sucked in too."

And then the whole world shredded like mist in a wind, and, just for an instant, the woman saw where she really was: it was WWI, and she was a soldier huddled in a filthy trench in some field in France.

(If you're about to say, "Write that story!" I should mention that most magazines specifically note in guidelines that they hate stories that end with it all being a dream or hallucination.)
I dreamed that the house was full of alligators.

They swam through the floor like water, with only their bulging eyes and toothy snouts and sometimes a bit of ridged back protruding above the surface of the carpet. They took refuge beneath the sofa and large armchairs, and scattered when people sat down above their lairs.

I was very worried that they would eat the cats, but everyone else who lived in the house, none of whom seemed concerned about the gator infestation, pooh-poohed my fears.

I wish [livejournal.com profile] ursulav had had this dream instead of me, because she might draw it.


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags