Darn good coffee! And HOT!

I almost titled this post "Lynching," then realized that would be a very bad idea.

As previously noted, I've finally finished the second and final season of Twin Peaks. I then went on to watch "Blue Velvet," one of David Lynch's earlier works. The one-two punch of these viewings apparently triggered some sort of deep psychological distress in me, because for the next three or four nights I had pretty bad nightmares.

At a meta level, that's actually pretty cool. I can't think of another time that I've had dreams that seemed to be directly touched off by a piece of media. I also appreciated dreaming in general, since these days I almost never remember my dreams. Having nightmares was a different and kinda fun experience, too. When I do dream, mine tend to be rather strange and surreal, but almost never frightening. This time around, though, I was jolted awake almost every time.

Amusingly enough, while the specific images in the dreams didn't have any overt connection to either Twin Peaks or Blue Velvet, I DID have one dream that was ripped from another David Lynch movie that I had originally seen maybe four years earlier: Mulholland Drive. Most of the dream was different, but it ended like the  scene at Winkie's Diner. Kinda funny to think that that particular image has been lurking in the back of my brain for so long before finally striking.

Other than that, most of the dreams were a weird mishmash of violence and the everyday. I realize that that sounds like a capsule summary of both TP and BV, but mine were a bit different... for example, in one dream I was at a water park, which was frequented by several large families of all ages. There was a gang war going on, and people were being killed (in the water slides, in the pools, or while waiting around); everyone knew this was going on, but still kept on playing, even occasionally laughing. I got a sick feeling once I realized that one gang (either an individual or a small group, I forget which) had found an unguarded family and wiped them out. When I woke up, I realized that the thought going through my mind was, "im in ur base killing ur d00dz". The gap between that concept and the "reality" in my dream freaked me out. Anyone who has played, say, an FPS game has experienced the thrill at a string of easy kills, when you've broken through defenses and are able to pluck off a host of unprepared foes. If you think of those enemies as people people, though, then it becomes macabre.

Aaaanyways, just thought I'd share that fun little nugget. I have absolutely no regrets about any of my viewing, but I think I'll wait a bit longer before breaking out "Eraserhead".

Peace? I hate the word. As I hate hell, all Montagues.

I had a dream last night. I guess that's a little unusual in and of itself - I rarely remember my dreams these days. What's even weirder, though, was what the dream was: an old-school anxiety dream, of the kind I haven't had for years and years.

In this dream I was back in high school. I was still the same age I am now, but for some reason I was taking classes there again. The dream started as I was finishing a class over in the academic part of the school. I was delayed getting out - had to talk with the teacher? needed to pick up my things? I don't remember why - and as a result the five minute passing period was almost done. I had to walk all the way over to the gym, and the bell rang while I was still in the deserted hallway.

A hall monitor (the adult kind) spotted me and called me over to the office. "I hope you're on your way to a wedding," he said, "because that's the only excuse for being in the hall during class." "As a matter of fact I am," I replied. I wasn't, but I knew that since I was in my 20s it was at least a feasible excuse. "I see. And what's your name?" he asked as he pulled out a ledger of all the weddings coming up. Thinking quickly, I said "Josh Rynne." I knew he'd been married, and hopefully he would be in the book. I broke into a sweat when I tried to remember his wife's name (Colleen), because I was sure that would be the next question, and then I woke up.

Again, this is so weird on so many levels. It has been over three years since the last time I needed to be worried about making it to a class on time, which was the source of anxiety in this dream. It has been over SEVEN years since I needed to be worried about "getting caught" during class. I'm not sure whether I should read anything into the marriage bit at the end, although I think it's funny that my subconscious may be thinking of marriage as an excuse for bad behavior.

All that said, this is the sort of thing that used to bother me a lot. I put a lot of emphasis on doing the right thing when I was in school, even for things that in retrospect seem petty. The only time I recall getting in trouble during junior high was in this exact situation, where I had to get from one side of the school to the other within the passing period, and I was late often enough to get a tardiness detention. My shame!

So, I have to wonder: are those old anxieties still present there and bubbling up, despite not having any triggers left in the real world? Or is there something that I subconsciously feel (anxious/guilty/harassed) about, and it is manifesting itself to me using old patterns I'm more familiar with? This may bear further consideration.

That's it, this is my rhyme. Let's take it to the street!

Not long enough for its own post, but whatever.

I love dreams and dreaming. I don't dream enough any more, or at least I can't remember them. I'm probably down to about three or four dreams a year now. When I get one, I treasure it.

It was probably a combination of (1) a tiring schedule, (2) seeing high school friends twice in a few weeks, and (3) messing up my sleep patterns, but whatever the cause, I had a good (as in interesting) dream last night. It was set back in Wheaton North, where for an English-type class I had to write and direct a play.

It wasn't an ordinary play, with three acts and a small cast of characters. It was pretty experimental, though I think this was more because I wanted to write it that way than because it was required. The tone of the play was very similar to some stories I'd read the prevoius days in "Best American Non-Required Reading 2004." It was just slightly sinister, with very precise dialog that seemed perfectly ordinary but peppered with odd gestures and glances that infused everything with a sense of unease and dread. Ooh, a better analogy might be the second act of "The Courier's Tragedy" (courtesy "The Crying of Lot 49"), in which the audience is presented with a Presence that infuses the dialog but is never named.

Anyways. The structure involved me writing a lot of little roles. Each of my classmates played a part, with each person having just a few responsibilities but each part was also indispensible. I went through the dress rehearsal and made some adjustments, switching some roles between actors and making some changes to the blocking. I don't remember many details, except that I made a change so at one point Josh and Nate both stood on small platforms, parellel to each other, speaking out to the audience; each character was only aware of what he himself was saying, but each only made sense with the participation of the other; it was essentially a monologue with each delivering alternating lines.

Jennie and at least one other girl were mad at me. Well, more upset than mad, though I don't remember why; they played their parts but weren't happy about it. I wanted to fix it for them but knew that the play wouldn't make sense unless they were in it, and there weren't enough extra people to take over their parts.

There was going to be a performance that night at the school, and while going to class I was worrying about the performance. I was taking notes and sketching out diagrams for the stage, seeing if I could make it any better. It occurred to me that I wasn't in the play; I'd been happy to only be the writer and director, but I wondered if maybe I should give myself a part.

When I started writing this post I had no idea what the dream meant. Now I have a few ideas, though nothing's solid. Part of it definitely has to do with the way I construct realities within my own mind. I think all people do this to some degree, but probably more than most I have a tendency to turn the world and my life into a story, projecting motivation and design where there probably is none. In the same way, I think, it's probably significant that in my dream I can't interact with high school memories as they occurred, I need to create a narrative to place people inside.

Another possibility is that the dream is showing my unease at my creative drought. Part of the reason I started this blog was despair over how long it had been since I had written anything besides emails and code; I would much rather be writing fiction, but I've felt it's better for me to write something, even if only rambling reflection on random events, than risk whatever skill I might have had slipping entirely away. I can't say I'm that pleased with the results here, but it is making me confront my desire for creation. Back to the dream: a lot (not all, but probably most) of my dreams are driven by anxiety, and my creativity or lack thereof is therefore a worthy topic.

A darker interpretation has more to do with relationships. The people I'm closest to in my life are now far away from me. I try to keep in touch as best I can, but I'm naturally reticent (well, when it comes to actually talking, anyways) and I worry I'm slipping away from them. I try to keep appraised of what's happening in their lives, but as time goes on, the reality of who they are will slip further and further away from my memories of who they were. Can I maintain true friendships in these circumstances? Or will my interactions with them be surface-level only, "acting" out our connection instead of actually having it?

Of course, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes a dream is just that polish sausage you ate in the airport. Either way, it's interesting, and I like to think about it.