Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Be Extraordinary
Is it possible to control your thoughts, movements and actions in your dreams? And when you're dreaming, do you realise that you're dreaming, or does everything feel real?
I always thought dreamers never know when they're dreaming. But last night, I knew I was dreaming. And in my dream, I was in control. Not entirely though, the 'view-screen' swerved erratically, wherever it wanted to go, but I felt I could move my arms and force myself to osmose through glass. I went through windows and walls as if they were intangible, or made of gossamer that gave as I floated through.
There were high-rise buildings, and they were made of cold blue glass and steel. I recognised some of them, there was the Eureka tower, and other apartment buildings found in Southbank. I dare say even my own dearest apartment building was among them. There were tiny models of these buildings, and they were there, (with trees made of green sponge littered among them) always while the bigger, real objects stood, rising around and above us. I use the word 'us', because I think there were other people there, but I can't remember what they looked like, and for sure there were no more than one or two, so that pervading sense of isolation remained with me throughout.
And the most bizarre aspect of this dream? Towards the end, I started swimming in a pool. And in the pool, there were little fishes, guppies mostly (one of them was in the midst of giving birth and I backed away, revolted. Guppies give birth to live young, right? So there was this tiny fish baby, twisted and contorted as it was squeezed out of whatever guppies use to give birth. Fish birth canal. Or fish cervix/vagina. Whatever.) I was swimming with the fishes. They had tiny spikes that dug into my skin as I stroked across the surface of the green water. Stupid, stupid fish. I don't like the idea of swimming with the fishes. It's almost like sleeping with the fishes, [I was sleeping when I was (dreaming of) swimming with the fishes, mah] and I don't like what that portends for my short-term mortality preservation prospects, just as much as you hate me using stupid cliches from The Godfather.
What was the point to this long, rambling, entry?
I forgot.
I always thought dreamers never know when they're dreaming. But last night, I knew I was dreaming. And in my dream, I was in control. Not entirely though, the 'view-screen' swerved erratically, wherever it wanted to go, but I felt I could move my arms and force myself to osmose through glass. I went through windows and walls as if they were intangible, or made of gossamer that gave as I floated through.
There were high-rise buildings, and they were made of cold blue glass and steel. I recognised some of them, there was the Eureka tower, and other apartment buildings found in Southbank. I dare say even my own dearest apartment building was among them. There were tiny models of these buildings, and they were there, (with trees made of green sponge littered among them) always while the bigger, real objects stood, rising around and above us. I use the word 'us', because I think there were other people there, but I can't remember what they looked like, and for sure there were no more than one or two, so that pervading sense of isolation remained with me throughout.
And the most bizarre aspect of this dream? Towards the end, I started swimming in a pool. And in the pool, there were little fishes, guppies mostly (one of them was in the midst of giving birth and I backed away, revolted. Guppies give birth to live young, right? So there was this tiny fish baby, twisted and contorted as it was squeezed out of whatever guppies use to give birth. Fish birth canal. Or fish cervix/vagina. Whatever.) I was swimming with the fishes. They had tiny spikes that dug into my skin as I stroked across the surface of the green water. Stupid, stupid fish. I don't like the idea of swimming with the fishes. It's almost like sleeping with the fishes, [I was sleeping when I was (dreaming of) swimming with the fishes, mah] and I don't like what that portends for my short-term mortality preservation prospects, just as much as you hate me using stupid cliches from The Godfather.
What was the point to this long, rambling, entry?
I forgot.
# posted by me lah @ 6:50 pm 
