Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Again With The Dreams Already ...

Will someone please develop a dream-recording device so I can capture the electrical impulses that flash through my brain all night long and leave me dreaming some really good ideas for movies?

One of last night's dreams was about my friend Ciarán who, in my dream, was an actor, just as he is in the waking world, but who, my brain decided as my dream progressed, had a dark hidden life and was using acting as a front.

Like, a dark life. He lived in a house that looked very stately from the front, but the back was literally collapsing. Hmm, dream in symbolism much, Beth? And inside the part of the house that was collapsing, which was dark inside despite plenty of windows, in the basement – because nothing good ever happens in basements – he would torture people. Nice, huh?

Where did that come from? Why did my subconscious decide that my cute-as-a-bug friend who loves stout pie and who wears the hell out of waistcoats and makes women swoon in period dramas is really a psychopath? (I love this picture of him from Men's Vogue because it's dashing. Ciarán is very dashing, but he's far from the ascot-sporting sort. Unless Men's Vogue is skulking about, and then who can say "No" to an ascot? Men's Vogue gets what Men's Vogue wants, I reckon.)

But it'd make a good movie, no? My dream was very cinematic. It looked beautiful. Very moody. Good locations. Like when I ran into him in the lobby of a grand old theater. I was with a group of friends and he was with the cast of the movie he was making. I hugged him and said, "Have you finished filming?" And we all left the theater together to make our way to a restaurant to celebrate. Outside, it was grey and cold, the wide expanses of wet pavement half-covered in ice. A woman in front of me fell, the clutz, but not me. I sought out the nearest ice and gracefully slid across it, stopping with precision like a professional figure skater.

Then later, in the bar of the restaurant, I donned a coat that someone had been carrying for me, that'd I'd recently bought at Marshall's, without trying it on.

Which turned out to be a bad idea, partly because it was too big for me, and partly because it was shiny tan leather, but mostly because it was floor-length and I looked like a pimp.

Not that I have a lot of first-hand knowledge of pimp apparel. But in my dream, that's what came to mind.

I can't wait to find out what I'll dream about tonight.

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3 Comments:

Blogger Dave said...

Wouldn't be funny if tonight you dreamed about being a pimp, only with an Irish accent?

10:38 AM  
Blogger Mercurie said...

You know, it would be an interesting movie...charming actor by day, psychopath by night...

6:21 PM  
Anonymous Mikeachim said...

(....a bit like 'Dexter', except with an actor rather than a criminal psychologist).

I can't say I've ever dreamed about Ciaran Hinds. Although I did once dream I was Julius Caesar, which is close.

12:15 PM  

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