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Dec. 15th, 2005 09:53 amI had the most bizarre dream last night, so I'm kind of glad I woke up in the middle it, since you only remember dreams during which you wake up (high school psych class still paying off!).
I dreamed I was inside an apocalyptic horror movie, made by Orson Welles circa 1947. Must have been that icon I made.
In this film the Canadians (natch) had bombed the rest of the world with bombs which had a specialised kind of radiation involved. The radiation made peoples' bodies reflect their inner thoughts. A lot of people just dropped dead, and everyone else mutated. Towards the end there were these man-sharks...
Anyhow, I was one of the few people who survived with their sanity relatively intact, so I was of course the protagonist (remember, this is a film, in black and white with sepia tones to it) who had to explore the Strange New World The Canadians Have Wrought. Mostly this just meant wandering through abandoned factories (a la the coke-bottle scene from "On The Beach") and seeing a lot of farm fields, one of which was filled with dead people suspended an inch or two off the ground by helium balloons. It wasn't as nightmarish as it sounds. They were all smiling!
It still wasn't as nightmarish as it sounds.
Towards the end it did that typical-movie-thing where it flashed forward several years and I was living in a water-treatment plant near the beach. I poked my head outside to find that life had gone pretty much back to normal! People on the beach were having picnics and sunning themselves and then the man-sharks attacked. Sharks with legs and human faces and needles they used to dart their prey with! Doesn't this sound like a movie you'd want to see?
Anyway, one of the man-sharks was chasing me and during the chase we ran past a pair of musicians (fiddler and flute-player) who were quite calmly playing music. I managed, while dodging the darts, to ask the shark-man why he didn't eat the musicians who were just SITTING THERE and he told me, and I quote, "their sounds are too tough to eat".
Then I woke up to the telephone ringing, leapt out of bed to answer it, and got Ford Credit calling to remind Lucky to make his car payment. He must fucking owe them a KIDNEY because they call every other day.
But at least the man-sharks didn't eat me. Maybe I'll take up piano again.
In other news, I am dithering because I finished CC42 but I worry that if I don't post it with CC43, nobody will read CC43. My other option is to post a truncated version of CC42 that ends in a cliffhanger.
O TEH PRESSHURE.
I dreamed I was inside an apocalyptic horror movie, made by Orson Welles circa 1947. Must have been that icon I made.
In this film the Canadians (natch) had bombed the rest of the world with bombs which had a specialised kind of radiation involved. The radiation made peoples' bodies reflect their inner thoughts. A lot of people just dropped dead, and everyone else mutated. Towards the end there were these man-sharks...
Anyhow, I was one of the few people who survived with their sanity relatively intact, so I was of course the protagonist (remember, this is a film, in black and white with sepia tones to it) who had to explore the Strange New World The Canadians Have Wrought. Mostly this just meant wandering through abandoned factories (a la the coke-bottle scene from "On The Beach") and seeing a lot of farm fields, one of which was filled with dead people suspended an inch or two off the ground by helium balloons. It wasn't as nightmarish as it sounds. They were all smiling!
It still wasn't as nightmarish as it sounds.
Towards the end it did that typical-movie-thing where it flashed forward several years and I was living in a water-treatment plant near the beach. I poked my head outside to find that life had gone pretty much back to normal! People on the beach were having picnics and sunning themselves and then the man-sharks attacked. Sharks with legs and human faces and needles they used to dart their prey with! Doesn't this sound like a movie you'd want to see?
Anyway, one of the man-sharks was chasing me and during the chase we ran past a pair of musicians (fiddler and flute-player) who were quite calmly playing music. I managed, while dodging the darts, to ask the shark-man why he didn't eat the musicians who were just SITTING THERE and he told me, and I quote, "their sounds are too tough to eat".
Then I woke up to the telephone ringing, leapt out of bed to answer it, and got Ford Credit calling to remind Lucky to make his car payment. He must fucking owe them a KIDNEY because they call every other day.
But at least the man-sharks didn't eat me. Maybe I'll take up piano again.
In other news, I am dithering because I finished CC42 but I worry that if I don't post it with CC43, nobody will read CC43. My other option is to post a truncated version of CC42 that ends in a cliffhanger.
O TEH PRESSHURE.
