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imomusIn almost a year of entries in Click Opera, I don't think I've ever mentioned or transcribed a dream. So here's one I just had.
I wake up in the middle of the night with a headache, the kind that happens to me if I don't eat well enough and my blind right eye loses pressure. So I eat some food, take three aspirin and go back to sleep. I dream I'm at a big nightclub with some London friends from the early 90s, the people I used to have 'Twin Peaks' parties with. One of them is Douglas Benford, who now runs the Sprawl Club. We're in a rather chintzy nightclub full of different rooms, all open plan and on different levels. I'm standing between two of these rooms when security staff tell me I have to make up my mind, and stand in one or the other. This annoys me and I decide to leave. In a long corridor a bit like the one at the ICA I'm walking with Douglas, and it seems he needs to crash at my apartment, which is closer than his. Next thing you know we're in the same bed. Douglas is talking about a female artist who'd been at the club with us, and who might resemble Georgina Starr in some way. 'Ah, you're in love with Georgina!' I exclaim. 'I suppose I am,' says Douglas. 'In fact, I'm surprised you aren't as well.' I tell him the idea has never occurred to me. I like her, but not in that way.
Still in the dream, I wake up in the same apartment and it's the next day. I'm with Shizu and Karin and a bunch of mostly Japanese friends I knew in the late 90s. There's some sort of reality TV show going on, which rather surreally involves us driving around on a big tabletop in little blue open-topped dodgem cars. Some of the collisions are violent, and the drivers are bleeding. Shizu is mopping up nosebleeds with loo paper. I know that the car causing the most violent collisions is being driven by a robot ghost character, so I arrange for a huge crash in which the robot ghost car is completely destroyed and thrown off the tabletop. It lands upside down and scrunched up in a pile of bloody tissues on the floor. Several players round on me and accuse me of murder, but I protest my innocence. 'Go and check the wreckage, you'll find no body!' I tell them. With some trepidation and horror this is done, and indeed there's no body there. The robot ghost has evaporated into thin air. I am vindicated.
Next we're all on the balcony of a Tokyo apartment overlooking a university campus that's a cross between the village in 'The Prisoner' and some scene from the Monkees film 'Head'. It has the feel of a very pleasant yet paranoid 1960s film set, in other words, where nothing is real and everybody might be an agent or an actor. We're sipping cocktails and the evening sun is golden and warm. Down below there are lots of people standing around selling things. The actor-agents are playing the role of students in a campus theme park. There's a projection onto a mid-air plasma screen of a line of Asian adventurer-mercenaries, strong handsome bearded men in bearskins. It's a roll-call, and they're checking to see if they're all present. This is related to the robot-ghost. If everyone's present, then I definitely haven't killed anyone. The roll-call ends and a trumpet clarion sounds to indicate that nobody is missing. I catch the eye of a woman down below who looks like a taller version of my first girlfriend, Helen Hintjens. Shizu and Karin move inside because it's getting too hot out on the balcony. I decide to move inside too, but before I go I witness two emissaries being dispatched to a remote province with the good news that nobody has been killed. They both wear silver armour, buskins, and uniform with black trimming. One of them has a ludicrous and somewhat fascist-looking helmet that incorporates a large flying crow.
Inside I pass the sprawled, cooling girls and go into the bedroom where I'm staying. I'm carrying a small gadget I have to put away, but it occurs to me that this isn't my apartment and that I'm just a guest here, so I should put the gadget into my suitcase or one of my bags, which are dotted around the room between pieces of furniture. Otherwise I'll forget it when I leave the apartment and move on to the next place.
At that point I wake up. My headache has gone, but I'm pretty hungry. It's six am. I walk through my apartment, which is lit by floor-level fluorescent lights, and make a cup of yogi chai in the kitchen.
I wake up in the middle of the night with a headache, the kind that happens to me if I don't eat well enough and my blind right eye loses pressure. So I eat some food, take three aspirin and go back to sleep. I dream I'm at a big nightclub with some London friends from the early 90s, the people I used to have 'Twin Peaks' parties with. One of them is Douglas Benford, who now runs the Sprawl Club. We're in a rather chintzy nightclub full of different rooms, all open plan and on different levels. I'm standing between two of these rooms when security staff tell me I have to make up my mind, and stand in one or the other. This annoys me and I decide to leave. In a long corridor a bit like the one at the ICA I'm walking with Douglas, and it seems he needs to crash at my apartment, which is closer than his. Next thing you know we're in the same bed. Douglas is talking about a female artist who'd been at the club with us, and who might resemble Georgina Starr in some way. 'Ah, you're in love with Georgina!' I exclaim. 'I suppose I am,' says Douglas. 'In fact, I'm surprised you aren't as well.' I tell him the idea has never occurred to me. I like her, but not in that way.
Still in the dream, I wake up in the same apartment and it's the next day. I'm with Shizu and Karin and a bunch of mostly Japanese friends I knew in the late 90s. There's some sort of reality TV show going on, which rather surreally involves us driving around on a big tabletop in little blue open-topped dodgem cars. Some of the collisions are violent, and the drivers are bleeding. Shizu is mopping up nosebleeds with loo paper. I know that the car causing the most violent collisions is being driven by a robot ghost character, so I arrange for a huge crash in which the robot ghost car is completely destroyed and thrown off the tabletop. It lands upside down and scrunched up in a pile of bloody tissues on the floor. Several players round on me and accuse me of murder, but I protest my innocence. 'Go and check the wreckage, you'll find no body!' I tell them. With some trepidation and horror this is done, and indeed there's no body there. The robot ghost has evaporated into thin air. I am vindicated.
Next we're all on the balcony of a Tokyo apartment overlooking a university campus that's a cross between the village in 'The Prisoner' and some scene from the Monkees film 'Head'. It has the feel of a very pleasant yet paranoid 1960s film set, in other words, where nothing is real and everybody might be an agent or an actor. We're sipping cocktails and the evening sun is golden and warm. Down below there are lots of people standing around selling things. The actor-agents are playing the role of students in a campus theme park. There's a projection onto a mid-air plasma screen of a line of Asian adventurer-mercenaries, strong handsome bearded men in bearskins. It's a roll-call, and they're checking to see if they're all present. This is related to the robot-ghost. If everyone's present, then I definitely haven't killed anyone. The roll-call ends and a trumpet clarion sounds to indicate that nobody is missing. I catch the eye of a woman down below who looks like a taller version of my first girlfriend, Helen Hintjens. Shizu and Karin move inside because it's getting too hot out on the balcony. I decide to move inside too, but before I go I witness two emissaries being dispatched to a remote province with the good news that nobody has been killed. They both wear silver armour, buskins, and uniform with black trimming. One of them has a ludicrous and somewhat fascist-looking helmet that incorporates a large flying crow.
Inside I pass the sprawled, cooling girls and go into the bedroom where I'm staying. I'm carrying a small gadget I have to put away, but it occurs to me that this isn't my apartment and that I'm just a guest here, so I should put the gadget into my suitcase or one of my bags, which are dotted around the room between pieces of furniture. Otherwise I'll forget it when I leave the apartment and move on to the next place.
At that point I wake up. My headache has gone, but I'm pretty hungry. It's six am. I walk through my apartment, which is lit by floor-level fluorescent lights, and make a cup of yogi chai in the kitchen.
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Old Banjos
Date: 2004-11-20 07:38 pm (UTC)