my new car and a dream that has Satan in it


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Hm. I keep forgetting that I want to do this until it’s dark out and not good for picture taking…but, since I posted pictures of my poor old car that had to be put down, I was thinking maybe I would post a picture of the new one.

I’m satisfied with it…mostly. I wish the mileage was a bit better, but at least she’s from this century.

There’s that, too: my youngest sister has named both of her cars…I think her red one was Carlito and her SUV is Herman (I may have it backwards, but I’m pretty sure those were the names), and Jester’s car is called Zippy…but I never called either of mine by a name…

They had them though, just so I would have a name to use for my mental conversations with my car about what terrible drivers other people are…
I always thought of them more as having pet personalities though, so I gave them names of mythological horses. My first white car was Grani, and the one gold that got put down was Sleipnir (and had an eight-legged carousel horse on the rear window)…but my new one didn’t get a horse name. It’s not something I feel like I can easily define…but I get the impression that this new car is a girl car.

I couldn’t think of a mare from that mythology, and I could be misremembering, but the only other prominent one was Svaðilfari, and I wasn’t about to name her that…so…her name is Erika, after one of those horrible songs I’ve been listening to.

Seems good enough to me.

It’s rained almost every bloody day this month, so I haven’t gotten a chance to put stickers on her either–so helpful to have when I don’t know which car is mine in a crowded parking lot–but maybe I will get a chance on Sunday if the forecast is accurate and it really is sunny out. (Which would be great, as that’s also my birthday.)

But…now I will go to sleep–wait! Just kidding.

So, I had this dream. Almost a week ago, I think.

It started out grey. Snow, and woods. Really dense, grey woods that one couldn’t get through except in the little winding trail between the trees.

Thin trees. Not fully grown trees with thick trunks. More like skinny poplars, because they had that shiny-smooth grey bark.
And then the pathway ended at what looked like a hedge or a bush or some kind of tangle of skinny, twiggy branches that went up and up and out and out in every direction.

Except for the tunnel.

And there was someone waiting for me there, also bundled up against the cold (I’ll note now that I don’t know who I was in this dream), and he said he thought we had to go through. Genius.

I don’t know why, but my dream-self had a disdainful opinion of this individual. But we followed him into the twig-tunnel, which we had to crawl through on hands and knees for a very long way. And would you believe it? Despite the density of the twigs overhead, the entire length of the tunnel was floored in snow. Great for crawling through. >.<"

So we make it out again. And we are at the top of a steep hill that goes down to a road. Like…the sort of country highway where people want to go fast for all the dumbest reasons. There were no cars though. Just the road. And the fence that ran alongside it, as on many country highways.

And the flagpole. With the white circle. With the black symbol.
My dream self was feeling cross about that.

And I didn't want to go down to the road. Because I was feeling cross about the flag, and then…because of a little figure in grey with his face covered over. He was standing by the flagpole and wanted us to come down…what? To wait with him? To walk beside the road? I don't know. But I had a bad feeling about it and I said I wasn't going down there. Certainly not after the grey character started struggling up the steep hill toward us.

My companion was wearing a red hooded coat (I wore black, unsurprisingly). And he had glasses. And when I think about it, he resembled my brother when he was younger…and he wouldn't come back into the twig tunnel with me, but he didn't want to see this grey person either. And he started to cry.

This particular dream self was not moved by tears, so I got back down and went into the tunnel again, leaving red-coat to his fate. And the tunnel was shorter. Much shorter. And I came out into a perfectly circular clearing with another flagpole in it. Flying that same flag. And I got another bad feeling…a different, worse one than before (maybe it was worse because I was alone now?).

It was a feeling that this red flag with its white circle and black marks, much as it annoyed me, was the only colour left. And…it was trying to help me. I'm not sure if it was an implication that the colour was sentient, or that the flags were…or that someone or a group of someones was placing them to help me…but I had a feeling that the dense winter-trees and hedges were a maze and the flags were my way out.

So. I could either go down the skinny path that led out of the clearing, or back into the twig tunnel to see if I could find the road again.

My dream skipped some parts, and I don’t know what I chose, but suddenly I was in another tunnel. An earth-tunnel. And it was warm. And I was climbing up in the earth-tunnel, using little geometric-shape handholds that had been brightly painted inside and then dirtied by the touch of my and many other grimy hands. It was warm and humid and dark in this earth-tunnel…no idea how I could see anything, unless the dream was being particularly medieval and the light came from mine own eye.

But I reached a horizontal tunnel and started down it, feeling anxious about when I would find another flag to know if I was on the right track…and I turned around and looked, and saw a glow of light.

An ember-bright glow that shone redly around the silhouette of a person. And this person had a head of curly hair, but the curls did not hide the horns. And nothing at all could hide the bat wings that were folded up and useless in the tunnel…

I can now add running from Satan to the list of things I’ve done in the dreamworld.

The dream ended there, so I don’t know if I got away. I like to think so though. I like to think that I made it back to the road and that my misgivings about the grey person were groundless.

I am rather hoping that I learned a lesson about how I should let my dreams troll me however much they want, and not to get mad about it and do something stupid that results in an encounter with the devil. But we’ll see.

We’ll see.


Things are not going that well for me.

1. Fighting with fiancé.

2. Forgot I was supposed to work yesterday. Item #1 stemmed from having to break off our plans when work called me to ask if I was running late…yes. Yes I was. By an hour and 17 minutes.

3. Having to respond to 5 angry guest emails/social media tags over the last few days…and there are two more waiting for me tomorrow (unless someone else does them). But at least I didn’t have to deal with the one who was threatening us and lying through his teeth about something dumb.

4. I skinned one of the knuckles on my finger while restocking stuff at work yesterday. It hurts so very much, but I can’t keep a bandaid over it because I wash my hands too often and I’d be changing it again and again and again.

5. I was filing the stubs from my bills and bank statements, and I found a bill related to the crash that I hadn’t forwarded to the insurance company yet and forgot about…ugh.

6. Netflix is having a problem, but I don’t have an account. It’s my sister’s account. So if I log it out, I can’t log back in because she is sleeping and I don’t have the password. -_-”

I guess that means I will go read a book or something. Maybe fold laundry that’s been waiting patiently in its basket…

But I’ll leave you with this.

Me: *raging* I’m fucking DONE with all this stupid whining. Why can’t our guests just be HAPPY?
Paris: Happiness is an illusion.
Me: Can’t they just think they’re happy? I’d settle for illusory happiness at this point.
Paris: I can think of some people who embraced illusory happiness.
Me: Who? I want to meet these people and learn their ways.
Paris: The Nazis.
Me: Naturally. I retract my previous statement.
Paris: *laughing*
Me: Although…I confess…I do really enjoy their super happy sounding music…



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I didn’t know that WP tracks the search terms that bring people to your blog. Although now that I do know, I am displeased to have discovered that the only logged terms that brought someone to me in the last month were “Blutengel devil worship”.

Thanks, South Africa, for that. *rolls eyes*

…it’s been a while since I’ve considered that. The whole business of people thinking I’m into something like, for instance, Devil worship. Or whatever else Goth might bring to mind.

I think I’m finally, after spending all my teens and young adulthood trying to make it happen, becoming unconcerned with what people think of me. I just want to be what I am and be interested in what I’m interested in and not bother anyone or be bothered by anyone…

I don’t know what changed it…I used to spend hours and days and nights and weeks being anxious about people thinking that I was something they didn’t like–too negative, too quiet, too morbid, too melancholy, maybe devil-worshipping, maybe gay, maybe too unemotional, maybe too irrational–and now it hardly phases me at all.

There was a time when I could not have bourne something like the persistent allusions to Nazism. It wasn’t even that long ago. Last winter, at least. Probably into last spring.

But what now? Where did it go?

No idea.

It wasn’t my Wolf…he won’t take credit for it…can’t, as I have been him for several years now and this is a fairly new trend…

I just don’t know what it could have been within the last year or so that finally enabled me to achieve a level of self-acceptance that would enable me to stop…not stop caring, because I still care what people think…but…”being concerned” is maybe a better way to put it. I’m not concerned about people’s perceptions hurting me. Because they can’t, I guess. They see what they see. And who cares?

Maybe…maybe what happened is that I finally accepted that nobody will ever see what I am Really Like. Except for me. I know what I am like. And have people’s perceptions been wrong? Hell yes. But also…no. I suppose I am a little bit of all the things people have said I am and that I never wanted to be.

It’s all very complicated, and I can’t make it make sense. Or maybe that is only happening because I think it sounds bad to say I just stopped caring, and I want to explain it away.

Oh well.


more book thingggggsss

A book-type survey that I lifted from bluchickenninja.

Which book, most recently, did you not finish?
Texts and Contexts, a literary theory book from my college classes that I don’t actually remember deciding to keep, but I guess I did…? When I last picked it up from the shelf, I thought, “maybe I’ll get more out of it since I’m not reading it for class…”, but that didn’t happen. The introductory chapter was incredibly…patronizing, I guess. Speaking directly to “students” about their “student-level” reading comprehension. I couldn’t make it past that, and now the book is in a bag, waiting to go to the half-price store.

Which book is your guilty pleasure?
I can’t think of a single book on my shelves that I really feel would embarrass me if I admitted to reading it. I have excellent taste.

Which book do you love to hate?
Mmm. Twilight. My sisters were super into the series when it first started picking up, and they persuaded me to read one…I was truly disappointed that it wasn’t any good, and I was annoyed that they got me to read it. It’s not as fun to hate on anymore, but for a minute there…

Which book would you throw into the sea?
Gone Girl. I hated all the characters by the end. I was so mad and wanted all of them to suffer. All. Of. Them.

Which book have you read the most?
Ha. Probably Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I read it at least 4 times–my initial reading and then one for every time after that when the next installment was released–which puts it at one more reading than the next book that I am pretty sure of.

Which book would you hate to receive as a present?
The majority of them. If you don’t know my reading tastes and aren’t a reader yourself, then you have no business giving me a book.

Which book could you not live without?
That’s a dumb question. I could live without all of them. But I couldn’t live and be the same person without having read certain ones…but I guess that’s not the same thing.

Which book made you the angriest?
Gone Girl. 100%. I swear, I have not wanted to throw a book across the room in any memory prior to my reading of that one.

Which book made you cry the most?
Oh, you know…Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows…The Return of The King…All Quiet On The Western Front…a book in the Everworld series, Fear the Fantastic…
They don’t make me cry “the most”, maybe, but I cry every time I read any of those books, even though I know what’s going to happen.

Which book cover do you hate the most?
Ah…I think I’m deterred from reading a LOT of fantasy/sci-fi novels because of the bad cover artwork. Any book where the characters are depicted in some cartoonish, “hey-I am a wizard!” or “look at this hero with a sword!” or “woah-a half-dressed maiden!” makes me cringe. That was one thing I did like about the initial Twilight books…they had really aesthetically pleasing covers that revolved around high-contrast colour schemes and simple objects. Too bad the stories didn’t live up to the promise of those images.

Aaaaaand because I have successfully been awake for 24 hours now, and would hate to leave out this example of the universe trolling me–

The phone rings. Mike and I both look at it.
Me: Wait. Does that say…?
Mike *laughing*: Yes. Yep. Germany is calling. That means it’s probably for you.
Me: Obviously.
Mike: Der Führer wants to know why you haven’t reported for duty.
Me: You can’t report for duty if you never left!
Mike: That’s right. Because you fascists never sleep.
Me: I’m beginning to think it’s only me…

reading times



I forgot about the way the last Game of Thrones book ended, but thanks, internet, for reminding me on every platform.

I may not have seen the last two seasons of the show, but those books, man…they are not for the easily distracted. I’m not even halfway through A Storm of Swords again, and that’s 1100+ pages in its mass market paperback form…so ultimately, I’m not even halfway done rereading the series.


Granted, while I don’t have the insatiable “must know what happens next!” prodding me along…I can take the time to better appreciate just how thoroughly Martin has plundered other stories to find embellishments and plot points for his own books. He’s really got just about everything
It’s difficult to think that there could ever be a resolution that ties all the many, many loose ends together.

Taking a break from the series after this book…that’s how incredibly long it is…
Going to try out a follow-up book to All Quiet on The Western Front and see if it’s any good. The reviews I read are pretty mixed, and I am a little wary because A) it’s a translation, and those are always hit-or-miss to begin with and B) the main character of All Quiet is dead…so yeah. Who knows? Still. I had the curiosity, so once I make it through the 500+ pages left in this current GoT book, we’ll see what that curiosity’s got me into.

I think that…aside from the GoT being so gruelingly long, I am reading it much more slowly this time around because of work. I feel like I don’t have enough time for…well, anything, really. Last week I logged almost 50 hours…I am thinking this week won’t be as many, but all these kids wanting to see some dinosaurs…ridiculous.

And this stuff, too:

Paris (trying to fill out paperwork for a register): What’s her name? What…what…what is it? Emma?
Me: Who?
Paris: What?
Me: No, you ask that question second.
Paris: What?
Me: Yes. You know: who, what, when, where, why, and how.
Paris: Oh, right. But I answered my question.
Me: Emma, right? Wanna know something fun? She didn’t know I was a manager.
Paris: What?! When did you find that out?
Me: Today.
Paris: Man. What did she think you were?
Me: I cannot even guess.
Paris: …a Nazi.
Me: I can’t fault her for that, assuming that by “Nazi”, we mean someone whom we feel compelled to obey without knowing why…
Paris: Fear.
Me: What? No.
Paris: You did tell her to never wear big earrings again by way of a graphic anectdote about someone’s earrings getting caught on stuff and ripping right out of their ears. Who tells someone that?
Me: The earrings were outside the uniform guidelines.
Paris (busts out fake accent): You vill obey ze guidelines! I vill have order or I vill have your ears!
Me: Ow. My feelings.


Sometimes I think I should just go die.

I think it less often than I used to do.

But even when it happens…I don’t think it very deeply.

Because there is this Wolf-creature who looks at me like he doesn’t know me anymore, and then turns and trots off in the snow.

But he does know, and I feel ashamed. And because we can’t be parted, I go with him and don’t die.

Because he wants to live more than I have ever wanted to die.

the important questions


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Seen the new Jurassic Park movie. It was not what I expected, but I didn’t really expect it to be this deep or even emotional thing, so I am not disappointed. I expected to see dinosaurs killing things.

I got that. But not like I imagined.

So now, here I am, listening to movie soundtracks and contemplating the pressing questions that I don’t actually have the energy or inclination to answer, but that my brain thinks we should share with everyone else.

A) If sharks can smell blood miles away, doesn’t the water with the blood in it have to flow aaaaaalll the way from where the blood originated, to where the shark is? So…it’s not smelling it from miles away, is it? I’s smelling blood that traveled to it via currents…right? I mean, I guess it’s like saying that scent molecules have to travel through the air for, say, a lion to smell blood…but…I’ve also never heard anyone make that claim about a lion, you know? That they could smell your blood from miles away.

I doubt this claim about sharks was accurate, but I can’t even remember where I heard it.

B) How did someone have an idea for ICEE? Like…did they just let some soda freeze on accident, and think, “hey, this is a great idea!” I don’t get how someone could think of something like that on purpose, but then I haven’t researched how it was “invented”.

C) How is it that I went to hear one of Gustav Mahler’s symphonies–actually bought tickets and went downtown to the theatre and everything–and I am only just now bothering to learn anything about him? I wasn’t a very good student in my humanities class.
I wrote a paper about the symphony…but I cannot for the life of me remember what the purpose of the paper was or what I thought of it…at some point it seems I downloaded Leonard Bernstein’s New York Philharmonic recording of the music though, so I was listening to it again before I moved to LOTR soundtracks…I forgot that Mahler wrote it with the story of Faust in mind…that idiot. I haven’t thought about Faust in a long time. But I still want to punch him. Usually I don’t want to hurt literary characters (what’s the point?), but not this guy. He’s so stupid that I cannot stand it. And having the same professor teach me the material twice? Torture. I liked the way Lord Byron adapted the character in Manfred though. I didn’t want to hurt him so much.

D) In Harry Potter…why is it you can transfigure a feather duster into a hen, but you can’t conjure food? Ollivander can conjure wine. He does it in the 4th book at the wand weighing ceremony. Seamus Finnegan transfigures water into weak tea. Could you not transfigure a tennis ball into an orange? Perhaps conjure some coffee out of a wand? Mrs. Weasley conjures a cream-sauce while she’s cooking in one of the books. It seems like Rowling’s most needlessly contrived plot points.

E) As I am online, it seems that more and more I see two strategies for dealing with other people.
One, which says I have no right to take offense at anything just because I may hold one view and other people don’t share it. I’m no better than they are, just for holding one view or having this or that preference, and I have no right to make any kind of judgment on views that are different from mine own.
The other, of course, says otherwise. That I should be upset when people imply that my views don’t matter. That I should not be ashamed to hold a particular view, and I should take every opportunity to make sure I tell people what I think and never mind how they feel about what I say…

Does anyone else feel like this dichotomy is becoming more and more of a thing? Because, tbh, I don’t feel like I can really share anything about anything anymore for these reasons. That feeling doesn’t apply here, obviously…I can say what I like because almost nobody will see it. But on facebook? Hell no. I don’t want to bother anyone by making them feel like a view I might take belittles them, or that I am trying to be an asshole by having this or that opinion…and I also don’t want to discover that, by declaring that I have an opinion on something, certain people whose considerations I had valued may suddenly become assholes to me because I shared a view they didn’t like.

It’s all very distressing. And I think that is a piece of why I have such difficulty in making connections with other people. Because I don’t want to make others feel bad, but I also don’t want them to make me feel bad. So I just say nothing and become nothing at all as far as others can tell. No opinions. No interests. Nothing to contribute. (Because despite my recent spate of work-conversation posts, the majority of my interactions with other people are not about Nazis or murder or harvesting the tears of orphans…)

F) Why is life so difficult?



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I’ve mentioned bluchickenninja before, and so I will again. She posted a list of 10 books she would like to see a (good) movie adaptation of…and that’s a thing I think about a lot, what with the combination of working at a movie theatre and reading all of the books I have time for.

The problem is that a LOT of the books I have already have film adaptations. I tried to do a list of books/stories–okay, so most of them in my list are short stories–I enjoy that don’t already have that going for (or against) them, and I almost did it, but not quite. Too many crappy movie adaptations; there is at least one that I feel could be done again, and done better.

That said, here are my 10.

The Vampire Lestat
Novel by Anne Rice, sequel to Interview with the Vampire….and such a great book because Lestat is a great character. But it never got its own movie. It was, however, badly incorporated into Queen of The Damned, which is one of my least favourite in Rice’s Vampire Chronicles. I think it would be better done with the proper storyline, with the 18th century backstory and without the unnecessary introduction of characters that weren’t even in that book…but it’ll never happen, because vampires have run out of popularity, it seems. They’ll come back (don’t they always?), but I doubt this will really be on the radar, given how old the book already is.

The Events at Poroth Farm
Novelette by T.E.D. Klein, it probably wouldn’t make an amazing movie, but it could be a decent creepy film. Klein’s narrator admits at the very beginning that his story isn’t very believable, being based on the clichés of religious repression, rural isolation, and “something in the water”, but this is still one of my favourite weird tales, and I think that with the right details and pacing, it could be just as visually creepy as it is in print.

American Gods
Novel by Neil Gaiman, which works off the premise of the gods and supernatural creatures of every mythology living and adapting and scheming and being murdered among everyday people. There are a lot of great side-plots and secondary characters in this book, so I don’t know how easy it would be to translate to cinema, but it’s a story I’d be interested to see someone take a crack at.

In the Water Works
Short story (a long one, at that) by Caitlín R Kiernan. It’s ultimately a “what is it?” story, but one with the kind of setting and characters that keep it from being kitschy (I realise that may be an opinion, but I think it’s a valid one). It’s the kind of story where you can imagine it as a film because the characters seem so normal. But in the end, it’s still creepy.

Snow, Glass, Apples
Short story by Neil Gaiman, reimagining the Snow White story, except from the POV of the “evil stepmother”. That’s a “thing” these last few years…reimaginings of fairy tales, or retellings from the POV of the villain…and I particularly liked this one because, A) it kept all of the primary details of the story, B) it made the details really, really dark, and C) it reclaimed that uneasy feeling one sometimes gets when reading the original versions of fairy tales, when you can’t even feel good about the supposed “happy” endings. It makes me think of Pan’s Labyrinth, tbh…that’s how I see it in my head, at least.

Hand of Glory
Short story by Laird Barron. I like the setting a lot…it’s like a sort of prohibition-era hillbilly setting, except in Washington state, rather than Appalachia. I watched a movie recently called Lawless (Tom Hardy, Shia LeBeouf), and that’s kind of what I picture this story like in my head. Except without so much moonshine, and with more creepy cults instead. I also liked the way the main character seems to come out on top in this instance, which isn’t usually the case in a weird tale…it amuses me to think that gangsters might trump monsters. Just this once.

Teatro Grottesco
Short story by Thomas Ligotti. Depending on how one reads the characters, they could be made up to seem like mostly normal, pretentious, artsy-types, living the sorts of thrifty, seedy lives that one lives when one is a poor artist. And then blaming the loss of their artistic inclination on a shadowy group of people whose reasons for targeting artists are unclear. Although they may have something to do with androids. Or doctors. Or some things that, when I see them in my mind, look like dahlia flowers. Hungry dahlia flowers…

Good Omens
A collaborative novel written by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This one isn’t a weird tale, I promise…but it is about the apocalypse getting botched by less-than-competent demons (and one lazy angel), and it is a humor story. I feel like it could be awesome and campy and still be totally faithful to the feel of the story…the kind of movie where one actually has a narrator break in from time to time because it’s the best way to deliver some of the jokes that are in footnotes throughout the book. Not that I want to compare the two books, but I keep thinking about the way that The Hitchhiker’s Guide movie was done. And then also about Monty Python. (Confession: I’m not good at humor.)

Once More From the Top
Okay, so, since I’m not good at humor…this is a short story by A. Scott Glancy. And it’s based on a Lovecraft idea, but this is a much more exciting version of The Shadow Over Innsmouth. Think 1920s, and the Navy rounding up all the creepy inhabitants of a coastal town, and finding so many shut-up attics and cellars…and the chaos when these spaces are opened up and the things are unleashed…and then the hordes that burble up from the sea to attack…this is basically the action version of my thing for weird tales. But it was an exciting story, and I think it could be an equally exciting movie. The only thing that I wouldn’t like so much about cinematising this particular one is the showing of the creatures. That can either be great, like in Pan’s Labyrinth or District 9, or really awful, like in so many other alien and monster movies.

So, yeah…great stories that I would probably watch if they were ever movies, but won’t get to because they probably won’t be. It’s fun to think about though. :P

the last thing


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Waiting for some laundry to finish up before I go to bed…and hopefully I will find a balance between the 12 hours I slept last night, and the 1.5 hours I slept the night before…

Because while 1.5 hours makes me feel weird, I have the illusion that I can just keep going and it will be alright.

12 hours? Nope.
I can’t do it anymore.

I’ve spent all day feeling like I’ve been drugged or something. Brain fog. It’s worsened now that I’m not at work, but it’s definitely been a thing all day.

The last 15 minutes before closing just draaaaagggged by…so my employee took the opportunity for some trolling.

Shanth: The worst movie to fall asleep after is Inglourious Basterds.
Me: That’s not true. I watched it not too long ago and slept just fine.
Shanth: I meant during. It’s bad to fall asleep during. Because there are so many subtitles. You doze off, and then you miss half of the movie.
Me: It’s that what happens when you doze off during any movie?
Shanth: I guess, but…you know, most movies you can just close your eyes and listen to the dialogue. Not that one. You’ve gotta read if you want to follow along.
Me: But do you really want to follow along?
Shanth: No. I just want der Führer to be the last thing I see before I close my eyes at night… *starts laughing at my expression*
Me: I cannot even. *covers face*

Last thing I see before I go to sleep is hopefully going to be a stack of bills all paid and sealed and stamped and ready to go out tomorrow…but we’ll see how motivated I’m feeling once I grab my laundry.

dream comparison



Dear Lovecraft,

Thanks for making sure I will continue feeling paranoid about my dreams

For reals though.
I feel like part of why I feel the never-ending compulsion to tell people what I dream is the glaring lack of similar dreams that I hear about from others.

I mean…I don’t know. Are dreams not a thing people talk about? For a while, after Inception came out, I remember people talking about their dreams and about lucid dreaming a lot. But the content of their dreams concerns me more than whether they can consciously act in their dreams. And they seem most reticent about sharing the content.

That’s what I care most about in my own dreams. So many of the most vivid ones are disconnected to my waking world in any way…I’ve never run into anyone else who talks about their dreams and who has that kind of dream on a regular basis.

I would like to meet such a person. Truly, I would. Then I’d feel like maybe it was normal. Because right now, the best I can do is to imagine that it must be normal, on account of these stories I read about dreams…but then the other me is like, “You know those are stories, right? Fiction?”

But dreams are fiction, too, are they not?

I suppose what I mean is that…I want to know why nobody else talks about dreaming the sorts of things I dream: is it because they think it’s dumb to talk about, or because they truly don’t dream this way?

I have a hard time thinking it’s because they aren’t interested by it. It’s hard to not be interested, and I don’t know why I started to be interested in remembering my dreams…but something changed when I was about to graduate college, and had a recurrent theme of being crucified in my dreams. It just expanded from there.

Maybe…another reason it fascinates me is the living of multiple lives. Because I am almost never myself in my dreams, and that has been true for many years.
That being the case…dreams are even weirder than they would normally be, because they are not like books or like watching television. The things that happen are happening in something of a variant reality. Like they are real events from another place and time, when I was someone else.

It’s exciting, in that respect. And it would probably be more exciting if I could just know that other people experience dreams like this, and not just dreams about accidentally showing up naked to an important function, or about arguing with a relative or something that has recognisable ties to their waking lives.

But…I wanted to thank Lovecraft for “The Shadow Out of Time”, and for renewing my vague and laughable nervousness that I may someday come across a place in my waking life that I recognise from the dream world.

That’s the kind of thing that makes me glad when I have dreams that take place in temples overrun with carnivorous fungi, or in the ice-encrusted hills outside Asgaard’s walls. Less excited about the idea that I could ever find myself in the room with the green-brocade wallpaper and the heavy drapes. And perhaps a desk with an oil lamp…

This is why we don’t talk about dreams: because it makes us sound crazy.


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