We are such stuff as dreams are made on

We saw Anton Corbijn's “Control” on Sunday. Spectacular movie, even though I'm not really a Joy Division fan. Black and white, long sweeping shots, and so mind-numbingly tragic I think it's a good idea to hide away any razorblades you have at home if you're going to see it.

On Sunday night I had nightmares. If you know anything about Joy Division, you know how that particular story ends. To me it wasn't surprising that I dreamed of Henrik. So sleep was frequently interrupted, and I was a very unhappy camper on Monday morning.

Then, between Tuesday and Wednesday, I had nightmares again. And bad. Really frickin' bad. I woke up screaming, at 0330. I haven't done that since I was fifteen or so, dreaming of falling endlessly into darkness. Unless you count that one time when a painting fell off the wall over the bed and landed on my leg.

This time the nightmares were all nooses, dead bodies and spiders. Big hairy fuckers. Spiders are the emissaries of Satan, only eclipsed by earwigs, who are actual children of Beelzebub. And the nooses, swinging from rafters, from staircases, made from rope, extension cords, wire. Bodies strewn all over, cold and dead. So I woke up screaming, and during what little sleep I had the nightmares continued to plague me.

Photo by Lynn Radeka. Used with permission

I really do believe that dreams are all about the subconscious processing things that your conscious mind can't or won't. I know I still have a lot of issues around his death, and that my number one fear is the death of those closest to me. The most powerful dreams I've ever had have been about death and loss, usually involving people I care deeply about.

So what to do? I'm not sure there's anything I can do. This time the nightmares were obviously triggered by the film, so maybe I should avoid pop culture references to suicide, especially by noose. Then I guess it's all down to time. That and maybe a couple of therapy sessions...

Where shall I find a new adversary so close to my own level?

I rarely remember my dreams. And if I do they're often nightmares. Whoever wired my brain messed it up something good. Thanks, evolution.

Last night I had a dream the doorbell rang. I walked from the bedroom and opened the door. Outside stood Indiana Jones. And not the Harrison Ford nor the Sean Patrick Flanery incarnation, no no no. That wouldn't be weird enough. Outside stood Lego Indiana Jones.

For some reason he reached to about my waist. Without a word he pushed by me, ran into the living room and started destroying furniture to get Lego studs. Which, of course, is what you do when you're Lego Indiana Jones.

There he is, fedora and all

As he was working his way through the dinner table and chairs, Mah Girl came running from the bedroom, screaming “Noooo! Not the couch!”. Then I woke up.

I wonder what Freud would make of that... My guess is he would say “Stop playing video games!”.

Burning bridges, building bunkers

I rarely remember my dreams. When I do they’re almost always nightmares. I am a very well-adjusted young man (anyone has a problem with me using young to describe myself? No? Excellent).

Last night I dreamt I was standing on a cliff or something rock-ish, watching a long rope bridge across a gorge. Yes, I admit, I expected thugees to appear, chasing an archeologist with a lopsided smile and a wrinkled fedora. But no such luck. Instead the thing started burning, and tumbled into the gorge. Looking down I realized I held a can of gasoline in my hand. Not the gas station kind, but the honest to goodness olds-school arsonist kind, round and with a spout. Then I woke up.

Shadow: What did you do to that little girl?
Ronald: It's not fair, Shadow.
Shadow: What did you do to that little girl?
Ronald: I burned her.
Shadow: You burned her. What do you do to old ladies, Ronald?
Ronald: Burn them.
Shadow: And what about the world, Ronald? What would you like to do with the whole world?
Ronald: Burn it all.

So am I harboring arsonist fantasies? Nope. Am I thinking about burning a bridge or two? The thought has crossed my mind. Today, and other days. More on that some other time.

And some more love at home today.

We made tortillas, and as we learned this weekend, they fall apart easily, just laying there on the plate. I decided it would be a good idea to stick a fork through my first one, holding it shut.
Me: Maybe you should use a fork too?
Mah Girl: Yes. But then you would be right.

Dream and Death

I had horrible nightmares last night. Some of the worst I have ever had. All around me, friends dying or dead. Friends burning, friends down wells, friends crawling through glass, friends reaching out to me with blood running from ruptured eyes. Through and through, horrible.

I had to text or email them this morning, to make sure they were ok. I don’t really believe in the precognitive powers of dreams, but this was so powerful I just had to. All of them were fine. Quite a relief.

Death is not something I’m accustomed to dealing with. In all my life, I’ve been to three funerals. Not sure if that’s a lot or few. My grandmother on my mother’s side passed away in 1995, after a long period of decline, and somehow that was a release. My cousin died of an overdose of really bad moonshine, which was a tragedy, but I didn’t really know him. Then my friend Henrik died. He hanged himself in November of 2006. No one knows why. That still haunts me. I might get into why some other time.

Malin wrote about fearing death, about death anxiety, which sort of inspired this entry. I think everyone fears death, on some level, at some point. I know I have. It’s not something I face on any kind of daily basis, but it has happened. It has nothing to do with turning 30, which is two and a half years in the past, but rather a part of being human, I think. Yes, I’m sure age can accelerate that kind of thinking, spiraling one down even further into musings on death, but it hasn’t happened to me. Yet.

It’s been a hot day. My brain feels scrambled. Not really sure what I want to say with this, but I do know that death is natural, and unless you subscribe to the notion of a life after this one, then the years you get here is it. Make the most of them. Live, laugh, love, lust, and a whole host of other l-words. Don’t spend too much thinking about things you can’t change (says Mr. Over analytical). Enjoy. And fight those routines.

The pic is of Morpheus from The Sandman, the only comic ever to be on the New York Times Bestseller List. I intend to enjoy part 2 and 3 of “Absolute Sandman” as soon as the paycheck drops on Friday. Wohoo!