Hard to say what’s up with the last couple nights’ worth of dreams. There have definitely been dreams but by the time I awake… There’s nothing substantive. Nothing to write on.
Which is weird because I also wake up with a feeling that I had just been through some epic, truly Homeric adventure.
Last night (for example) was some post-Star Wars adaptation. Like Timothy Zahn meets Anne Rice meets Tom Clancy adaptation. Luke Skywalker as the troubled, sexually inadequate hero. Some expansive story into which I was deeply embroiled and yet … the moment that wakefulness returns there is not enough detail to write it down.
The night before was almost the same. Some expansive world that was all underground. I was shadowing Frederico from Six Feet Under and yet he was cast in some different role and yet not and yet there I was, following him through this subterranean suburbia … rivers and narrow wooden bridges and townhouses and dark dark dark as far as the eye can see. Where were we going? What were we doing? Not enough to write it down … but the images too potent to just let go and forget.
In a way, it’s nice… A healthy dream life is usually indicative of lots of good things. But it’s also frustrating to wake up and have forgotten so much of that world. C’est la vie?
currently playing: Fatboy Slim “Santa Cruz”