A night restlessly spent tossing and turning seguing in and out of snatches of dreams that intertwine and juxtapose, or merge into one you had during the previous five minutes of stolen sleep, the dreams architecture changing at right angles to itself amidst scenery as familiar as the back of your hand, such as the home you grew up in or your favourite bed with something often as small as a plant but occasionally as large as a wall, so subtly misplaced as to make the whole scenario intrinsically wrong. Where plot and script weave and fold back on themselves throughout a nightsworth of dream cameos and pop up mysteriously later in some other segment of the overarching surreality, so seemingly out of place but certainly justified for your subconscious knows the narrative.
Nights of being heroes and horrors at once all the same and repeating the same absurd actions, where you trip over but don’t reach the ground and you’re flying.
Exes, best friends and old flames and people you had forgotten talk to you but turn away and they are gone replaced by a cat a miles distance away.
Nights where there is no difference between waking up sweat drenched, ears ringing, bruised grey eyes weighing your forehead down and yet staring and focusing so intently on the back of your door in the dim half light that you know how to tie every damn knot in the wood and slipping seamlessly back into sleep.
When perspective doesn’t apply and a step in the right direction sends you hurtling off the face of the earth, where time, logic and the rules of physics are taken as rough guidelines. When a punch to an enemy or a mad dash to save someone are both as through treacle, or as if someone was tortuously tormenting you with slowed down framerates and fast forwards, skipped storylines and deleted scenes.
On nights when all this wondrous mess comes together I’ve noted throughout the day, or until you wake up properly at least, you are so close to the dreaming and can recall long forgotten adventures you had, make sense of last night’s journey….put it in order.
Oddly I find it far more comforting in this unclarified day dream feeling of deep thought than i do at any other time, as if i feel i can reach out and touch the characters I met and talk without abandon…cos hey I saved these guys from a fricking space shark, but i guess then they did let me crash in their zeppelin’s brig during the nightmare saga of the rotten cat. Theres the woman i loved for a month and we accepted our son was evil and we couldnt face each other again, i wandered across fields of war with those elves over there and our base was a rotten apple core. theres my city i designed, a mish mash of my favourite geography and locales, i would pop into my favourite cafe that I dreamt there just for you, but the last time we went my face was a blank canvas and we both sank into the chequered tile floor alone. Theres the stars that i can never tell are real or imagined. Theres a photo album full of the night terrors I had when you left me. Theres a berlin wall with all the faces of old friends, posed exactly as they are in the one photgraph i have of us, painted accurately on them as the builders tear it down, now we don’t talk anymore.
In short i think theres a lot more to dreams than we let on and I have live a hundred other lives and scores of other stories in my slumber which I think is pretty rad….I just wish i knew if I had ever met Dream of the Endless for real…
![victoriousvocabulary:
ONEIRONAUTICS
[noun]
the ability to travel within a dream, usually on a conscious basis. A traveller in a dream may be called an oneironaut.](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2if4p2m2A1r47bczo1_500.jpg)
