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.)
Tags:
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.)
Tags:
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.
Tags:
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.
Tags:
rachelmanija: (Saiyuki: Make my day)
( Mar. 12th, 2006 09:31 am)
In my poll from yesterday, the votes for the showdown are favoring The Circuit Rider over the Gay Mutant Black Ops, but it's a close thing.

In a different question, Sanzo is running neck to neck with a grilled cheese sandwich.

Meanwhile, I have a note to my subconscious: enough with the anxiety dreams! In the last few weeks, I have dreamed about oversleeping or spacing out and missing a flight, a class, and an appointment; having a friend stab me in the back (not literally); being diagnosed with a fatal illness; being run through with a sword; and having my book sell very poorly.

Last night, I dreamed that a very good friend of mine turned evil and did horrible things to me, which caused me to drink heavily, so I showed up for a magazine interview drunk out of my mind and was totally incoherent, and they printed everything I said verbatim. And then I forgot to give my pet rats water and they seemed to die of thirst, although after I spent several hours of dream-time devastated with sorrow and remorse, it occurred to me to try dripping water into their mouths and they revived. But still.

O my subconscious, I get it. I worry that I will "miss the boat." I worry that I am neglecting responsibilities and bad things will happen. I worry about my own mortality and that of others. I worry that my relationships won't work out. I worry about my career and making an ass of myself in public. I am an anxious and overworked person and I should relax more. I accept all of these messages.

But enough already! Now send me a dream about Sanzo. Or at least a grilled cheese sandwich.
Tags:
rachelmanija: (Saiyuki: Make my day)
( Mar. 12th, 2006 09:31 am)
In my poll from yesterday, the votes for the showdown are favoring The Circuit Rider over the Gay Mutant Black Ops, but it's a close thing.

In a different question, Sanzo is running neck to neck with a grilled cheese sandwich.

Meanwhile, I have a note to my subconscious: enough with the anxiety dreams! In the last few weeks, I have dreamed about oversleeping or spacing out and missing a flight, a class, and an appointment; having a friend stab me in the back (not literally); being diagnosed with a fatal illness; being run through with a sword; and having my book sell very poorly.

Last night, I dreamed that a very good friend of mine turned evil and did horrible things to me, which caused me to drink heavily, so I showed up for a magazine interview drunk out of my mind and was totally incoherent, and they printed everything I said verbatim. And then I forgot to give my pet rats water and they seemed to die of thirst, although after I spent several hours of dream-time devastated with sorrow and remorse, it occurred to me to try dripping water into their mouths and they revived. But still.

O my subconscious, I get it. I worry that I will "miss the boat." I worry that I am neglecting responsibilities and bad things will happen. I worry about my own mortality and that of others. I worry that my relationships won't work out. I worry about my career and making an ass of myself in public. I am an anxious and overworked person and I should relax more. I accept all of these messages.

But enough already! Now send me a dream about Sanzo. Or at least a grilled cheese sandwich.
Tags:
I don't usually torture people by recounting my dreams, but then I don't usually dream about... Hippo World!

The world was much like the one we know, except that hippos were the dominant race and humans were a small and rather pitied minority living on the fringes of their society. I was a hippo. My friends were hippos. You were all probably hippos too.

But I was addicted to human movies, which I rented on VHS from a small video shop owned by a human gentleman who resembled BUFFY's Giles. After years of watching these movies with all-human casts, I began to wonder about my world. Why was it that hippos ruled? If hippos had always ruled, why was it that archaeological excavations turned up hundreds of human skeletons for every hippos skeleton?

I finally went to Giles (I'll call him Giles) and asked him. Solemnly, he handed me an ancient encyclopedia. "This has the answers you're looking for."

I sat down in a corner of his shop and began to read. It seemed like an ordinary, if old and outdated, encyclopedia. Then I realized: it was a human encyclopedia. All the references to "people" referred to humans. It was a text from when humans had ruled the earth!

Giles explained that many years ago, a great catastrophe had wiped out almost all the humans and destroyed their civilization, allowing hippos to ascend to the top. Humans and some hippos knew the truth, but felt it was best not to rock the boat.

Sobered and grateful for this knowledge, I went to Crabtree & Evelyn, the shop "for the discerning hippo," to buy Giles a gift basket containing preserved apricots, tender slivered almonds, and candied chestnuts, in return for revealing to me the secret history of the world.
Tags:
.

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags