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    08-21-2011 09:08 AM
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    The Usual But Etymologically Unsatisfactory

    by Motion on 08-21-2011 at 09:06 AM
    This is my first entry, and my first time in any sense attempting to record a dream, having had one.

    It's only recently I began remembering my dreams, and only that because of a brief reading about lucid dreaming.

    I'll start backwards because it'll help me remember:

    The final segment was my mother revealing some information about the downfall of a friend of mine's family. In real life this friend of mine I saw last night at a party and he is headed off to the Cayman Islands to teach Cello - maybe that was why he was in my head.

    It was just an oblique about the success of this guy's older brother, who displayed great academic achievement, as opposed to some of the other siblings who were more along the lines of great musical achievement. He was already publishing articles as head boy at the private school he went to - before the family collapsed. I suppose all this provoked in me was an extra sense of sadness at all the potential some of these kids had, and the distruption their various life trajectories underwent, as they ended up having their home life and family taken out from underneath them, and the effects this has had on them. All this was being told me on the day before a set of exams I had to do, which stayed with to the point I was sitting on the dewed grass of a green that was familiar yet unfamiliar of a university which was similar yet different to the one I went to.

    Then interestingly came a focus to my own home. Which was unrecogniseable and yet familiar. It was labyrinthine, with loads of rooms I had never seen before and yet which seemed vaguely familiar. One which sticks in my head was a cored nursery which was the only room which looked unused but was being kept for that purpose for some peculiar reason. Maybe because my mother still hopes sooner or later a cousin on or somesuch will bring a child over.

    Then comes the basement, which seems to have been where I was. It seems to have been some kind of a workshop for me. It was full of wooden cutout figures that had painted faces; curiously grotesque and horrific yet comical and almost funny as well. It was darkly lit and mostly cement, with a cool, almost wet sense to the air. A backdoor to the basement opened out to a dry desert road going around the side of a mesa. On a layby slightly below this road I was building a very large gattling gun out of rather ineffectual materials. In some cases there was metal, bullets, cables, things which in themselves seemed to overheat and break far too quickly. Meanwhile some important structural parts of the machine were being done in cardboard, and I didn't see how strange that was.

    Anyway that's it in reverse order.
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