daft punk: something about you.
that's all i'm sayin...
Sunday, January 17, 2010
literary half nelson
being taken to the mat by a script. gettin my arse kicked. ehhmm. 'tis humblin.
what i got. what i need.
the wild itch. guess i was born with it. who knows... all i know is i need to dance, and celebrate and feel alive. oh yes, it's like a drug. and i need it. you better believe it. if i go too long without a good music session i lose my shine.
Monday, February 4, 2008
consciousness and reality. the state of dreaming explored at 5:20something a.m.
the movie awoke me from a deep sleep 5:20something. or rather the dream within the dream, within the movie maybe? am i now inside the movie? be careful what you wish for i say. "you create reality with your thoughts." your life is what you decide it is. everything you imagine can and may become reality as your personal power grows. or is it as you slip outside the paradigm into the outer paradigm you shed enough to work with the raw sources of creation once again? the girlpod has sprouted a seed ladies and gentleman. passing by my bookshelf i turn towards it in the dim light: the title Consciousness and Reality catches my eye. Whoa. Look for the signs I say, they're everywhere if you know how to look. Or if you don't and you become ready, they come a 'lookin for you. Cup of tea in order now if brain insists on carrying on like this. Grab pen, paper, sit at the desk, back to bed? If something has to come out- how shall i do it? suddenly I am capitalizing. Random. Or did this suddenly decide it was important enough to subscribe to the subscribed-to syntax? if thats the question then i beg your pardon, i wish to change my answer! this self-conscious rebel will not lay down for anyone's capitalization thank you very much. but back to the task at hand. where and what to write? a journal, in screenplay notes? then, the blog THE BLOG! that damn blog i created over six months ago and neglected to ever utilize. or at least that i had not yet realized the purpose of. the place in cyberspace where i had placed an image of a blurry road and a nietzsche quote explaining (justifying?) my relentless chaotic brain. (in chaos there is perfect order is the hope i cling to) so here i am. the dream (which literally yoked me into a waking state it was so disturbing) was like a telescope or a fine onion- full of layers and depths within depths. more was constantly being revealed only to render your 'grasp' on the momentary reality null and void. i am attending a party. i am the honored guest, i am the obscure guest lurking in the corners observing- playing the role of the odd man out. i go through a door which becomes a hole in the wall. i discover something. i want to share it. i try to loop back around into the room but the room changes. reality refuses to hold long enough for me to grasp anyone to bear witness. it is like a complex game of sliding doors, a theater set, a choose your own adventure story that someone else chooses the adventures of while you run amok, like a woman trapped in a snowglobe. it is fabulous and then freakish. tintillating and terrifying. people drink champagne in perfect pearls. then a man enters the room. he has come to join the party, an outsider. suddenly i am on the inside again and we all look upon the man like: who is this freak and how did he get in? he looks as if he has tried hard to look the part, but could never. you can never fool a blueblood right? (where is this coming from?? i don't know. it was a layer in the house, in the mansion, in my consciousness, in the movie inside the dream in my memory. now, awake, dreaming hot tea.) the man is trying to reveal something, to claim something. don't leave anything out missey- don't rush, don't have anxiety over how long it might actually take to recount this with care, carefully. what is the consideration for a detail in a memory of a dream which nobody had but me anyway and that never made sense in a conventional sense anyways? well one can't ask such things when one endeavours to record one's dreams. one just has to write. so the man was first- revealing something- or actually first trying to capitalize (there's that word again- hmmm....) and he was rejected for his transparent efforts. but then as he pretended to leave the scene- he apparently began to wander about the mansion etching his way deeper into the plot of the dream which never had any hope of linear conclusion. meanwhile i stumble upon an incredible set of hottub/body massager things en route to some outer bungalow within the mansion complex/ the outer architectural realms of this dreamscene. and then a woman appears to help me. i know her. she is beautiful and is part of this world somehow. she seems to come with the house. she first helps, showing me how to adjust the water and then: runs away. not now she says he is coming. suddenly we hear the voice of the man, the outsider from the party. he has morphed into a predator of sorts, or at least a subject to be feared. i am torn. these tubs suddenly are so seductive it is hard to tear away, but she is panicked and her fear as is usually the case, is contagious. i move on to follow her. i hear his voice. wait as he disappears into another room. the house, the mansion, it seems mirrors the dream in its room within a room way of telescoping in on itself. then i run to where i/ she has gone to hide. here she hovers beside a toilet in a fetal position with several other young beauties from the party. it is unclear what the man threatens exactly but they clearly want to avoid him. i will call the police i say. i go for the phone. i can feel that the man hears but then, as if on a scratch track that seems to erase itself and it as if he decides to not hear or the dream folds in another direction. no, don't call the girls urge. but why? no problem, i say, better safe than sorry, better summon the police. at least they can be here if he is a threat. i call deferring to my own judgements in the moment. the police answer. there is no problem they say. we know he is there. ? i am exasperated, confused, and suddenly, i too am scared. i begin to see the fear of the girls where there is no obvious escape only hiding in hopes the man, who begins to seem more mad, takes no notice or by chance does not telescope back to the layer of this dream to which i had not previously been party but these frightened girls clearly had. the police are in on it. there is no protection, no escape. only safe havens within the mansion, within the dream. i realize within the dream that i am lost in a stream of possible realities and the stream is steady, forceful. i am being carried in it. i cannot choose to swim ashore. who am i here i ask myself? am i in control? who should i trust? the man who once seemed quite innocent, but striving, is now the predator. or is he? i am a lone player. it would seem i am almost part of this girlpod. but i am not. i am my own girlpod. and i can no longer distinguish what is real. i am swimming in my head. how will i ever regrasp reality i ask myself? i begin to sweat. as i look around the house begins to melt, a layer peels, reality is out of my grasp. i am the dreamer in the dream in the mansion of my own making, the prison. and then, i awake, frightened, in a cold sweat. switch the light on. see that everything is okay. but this waking state holds fast to vivid colors and emotions of the dream. sit up, stand up, walk to bathroom, pass by bookshelf, see one book, Consciousness and Reality, note to self. Whoa. Time 5:20something. i have capitalized again- perhaps the waking state commanded something more real? nope. back to this. looking in mirror in bathroom. what is this all about? why that dream? have i been captured into the psychedelic reality that i feel i need to lose myself in to write- to understand my character's interior world. my guess is that yes, i have. be careful what you wish for. excitement, then fear pass over me. what if i have to go "out of my mind" to write this thing? i may. and to certain of my characters that is exactly the goal. go out of your mind to discover who you really are, he would say. okay, i get it. this is useful. but this is scarey. waking up in the dark hours of early morning in a cold sweat, frightened that you've lost your mind but excited to recognize you've been dancing in some of other realm of consciousness and there is no one there to comfort you. fear is a natural response too, he said. okay, cup of tea. this is all making sense. i see. i understand what i am being given. i can use this. i must use this. salvador dali keeps popping into my head. i have three movies to watch: solaris, naked lunch, fear and loathing in las vegas. maybe now is not the right time? no. pancakes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
