Tuesday, November 01, 2005


As a rule, or at least as it happens so far, I do not do postings of a personal nature, by which I mean I don't write about me or things that happen to me, my theory being, in a nutshell: Who the hell cares? But this entry has to do with a dream that I had last night. I'm not sure I could precisely categorize it as a dream, because it was rather too...I don't know...organized to be a dream. Too calculated. Scripted, even. And it was a concept dream. Not a narrative or plot driven dream, or some ethereal fantasy or upwelling of hoodoos. The dream was, very precisely and clearly, a series of takes on this concept:

Different scenarios of misfortune befalling dyslexics who mistakenly and tragically misread signs or instructions.

I have no idea why such a theme should occur to my unconscious. Certainly it would never occur to my conscious.

The first take, as I recall, was something like this:

Dyslexic comes upon a sign reading Golf Course, unwittingly embarks on what turns out to be a kind of gauntlet in a sadomasochistic park: in short, a "flog course."

Mind you, and I'm not kidding, this was not consciously conceived; these are all recalled dream elements, unscripted and certainly unbidden.

Another one was: guy in biological testing lab comes upon a cup in the fridge with a hand printed label on it which he dyslexically reads as "ssip." And does.

Also, a guy goes into a barber shop and says "Take off an inch." It's not true dyslexic rearrangement, but in the dream, "inch" becomes "chin" with all the unpleasant ramifications attendant thereto.

By now the dream structure has abandoned pure dyslexia for a kind of anagramica, and let me say right here that I have never in my life been interested in or possessed of any aptitude for anagrams, but my dreambrain in its sublime imbecility came up with: Old guy suffering dementia walking, like, the grounds of a veterans' hospital, and comes upon some ground cover with a sign reading "Thistles," which his mind reads as Lets shit.

Let me emphasize again and most sincerely: this is not a bit, not concocted, but a straightforward report of a highly uncommon and inexplicable dream experience.

I guess we can both agree at this point that it's time you moved on to Fark.com.


Blogger ....J.Michael Robertson said...

Ribbed Woe, that's you.

November 1, 2005 at 11:44 PM  
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November 3, 2005 at 3:51 AM  
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November 3, 2005 at 8:13 PM  
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November 7, 2005 at 9:25 PM  

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