Do you ever think that perhaps our dreams take place in some legitimate reality separate from our waking lives? Certainly not all of them, mind you, as some dreams pretty clearly issue from the subconscious thoughts of the user, but then there are others (at least with me) that seem too real and "normal" to stem from the dreamer's unconscious mind -- for example, dreams in which the dreamer explores distant locales or experiences things for which he/she has no extensive frame of reference, or dreams in which the dreamer meets with people he/she has never met in real life and who do not have appropriate waking counterparts. I'm fairly sure that Omni has written about this at some point or another. (And if you happen to read this, Omni, do link us to those specific posts. Thanks!)

I think about this often, but I was thinking about it again because I just woke up from another dream featuring three characters that -- I think -- have appeared several times in my recent dreams. I write "I think" because they may just as well have only appeared in this one dream (though I semi-distinctly remember dreaming about them on one other occasion), but upon meeting them I recalled multiple instances during which I had encountered them before. I have memories of events in my dreams that elude me in real life.

In these particular dreams, I encounter three characters. All of the dreams begin with me visiting Mark (also known as Marco/Marke/Mael) in his home. I do not know Mark in real life, nor can I think of anyone for whom Mark might be an analogue, but he appears to be a good friend in my dreams -- or at least a good enough friend for me to visit him on a regular basis. However, I hardly ever speak to Mark, as most of my dialogue is carried out with his personal "physician", who is always present and answers my questions to Mark in greater detail. For example, if I ask how Mark is feeling, he might respond, "Much better," whereupon the woman tending to him will launch into a detailed explanation of his physical progress over the past week. (more...)

Just thought I'd post about it over here too -- I posted three new pieces tonight on Scary-Crayon. There's the fourth segment of my batshit insane 2004 NaNoWriMo novel, The Absolute Strangest Christmas Story Ever Told, Dusty Plastic HELL: Hot Flash #86, and (gasp!) a review of the La Tasca Spanish Tapas Bar & Restaurant in Baltimore, MD. I despise the official culinary critiques found in print media -- to say nothing of the dreadfully dull restaurant reviews (or reviews of anything, really) that litter the blogosphere -- so this one is different. Hopefully it's also interesting and/or insightful and/or thought-provoking. It might even be a little creepy. Which I guess would make sense, considering who wrote it.

Later, then.

Something really strange and sad happened on Friday that I want to write about shortly, but in the meantime I thought I'd note that part 3 of The Absolute Strangest Christmas Story Ever Told is up on Scary-Crayon. Here's my favorite excerpt:

Be careful down there! I hear that there are ill-tempered spiders in the darkness... black, richly furred creatures as big as cats and that scurry about heavily on legs as thick as the poles of street signs, which they never have cause to obey because there are no roads, paved or unpaved, that run through the lowermost sections of old library buildings. The eyes of these fearsome spiders glow red with menace and bloodlust, but I hear that, if you bring them jack-o-lantern shaped pails filled to the brim with sugar, they will cease their demonic machinations long enough to allow you to pet them (I hear their fur, though evil, as it grows from their fat, vicious arachnid bodies, is quite soft and pleasing to the touch). Then they will hiss and rip your limbs off. So again, I warn you -- be careful! Bring lots of cloth bandages and a cell phone, for you'll have to call someone by pressing the keys with your tongue after the spiders thoroughly feasted on your severed appendages. Having a friend with a wheelbarrow on the speed dial wouldn't hurt -- which is good, because you'll be in enough pain as it is.

I've also been pretty into paper crafts lately following my ongoing Dalek-making project, so here's a semi-neat one I came across involving an optical illusion dragon. I made two. The reality doesn't fool me at all (though it is a cool model), but the interesting thing is that when I filmed it with my digicam, the illusion totally works in the video. But then, I can't see magic eye puzzles either. Note that while this page attempts to provide an explanation -- not for this particular problem, but for Spy Kids 3D and 3D-type stuff in general -- that the illusion works when viewed by the camera's monocular lense seems to debunk it. It's also worth noting that the illusion failed for me even when I wore my glasses.

Alrighty then. Ja ne!

I want to go back in time and tell myself that someday Joey Potter will have Lestat's baby just to gauge my reaction.

Been working on a couple of writing projects lately. The problem with these longer works is that they take too long to finish. The good thing about short stories is that they're done in a week or two, allowing one to begin work on something new fairly quickly, but the bad thing about them (or at least my short stories) is that nobody likes them and I can't sell them for the world so I pretty much end up just having them sit there and collect virtual dust on my hard drive. Hell, I think I'm going to post one on Scary-Crayon -- should give readers something to look over while I spend more time focusing on these pieces. Trimming will probably make them significantly shorter once I've finished the initial drafts (and continuity correction and the addition of stuff I think is missing will likely prompt me to make additions here and there), but I've got 12,500 words on the one and 1000 words on the other. The other, you see, I started during a period of inactivity on the first -- which would've simply been a period of FREEDOM had it been a short story. I think even my longest short story barely tops 6000 words.

The joke here is that I'll probably be unable to sell the longer pieces too, but at least I can request that they be read in full during my funeral proceedings. I don't want to be embalmed or anything either and I want the casket open, goddamnit, so all in attendance can watch me rot in the sun as the books are read aloud. Pay attention, children, and ignore the buzzing of the flies.

(Update: "Hazel Wheatkettle's Dying Wish" is up on Scary-Crayon if anyone is interested in reading. It is kinda sad.)

Yesterday I finished reading Pilgrim by Timothy Findley. Interesting book -- I'm not sure what else to say about it. I could summarize it, but I believe I've done that previously, and in any case the linked review does that well enough. It is odd and rare, though, that the main character's ultimate triumph -- especially in a book in which psychiatry plays so significant a role -- is not that he is "cured" of his affliction (if we call it an affliction -- there is, naturally, given his institutionalization, the suggestion that perhaps Pilgrim was not truly an immortal), but that his final suicide attempt is, well, final and successful. Make of that what you will.

This evening I finished writing yet another short story that -- save the acquaintances who ask to see it and the editors who reject it -- no one will ever read. It is approximately 2,280 words and is titled "The Lion That Wore Glasses". It is rather strange.

All for now. Ja ne, minna-san.

There's still more to be said about my latest exploits in NYC, but I'm still not quite up to discussing the particulars -- so for the time being I'm simply going to paste from an e-mail I wrote that gets the message across (though it's fairly similar to what I wrote in the previous entry):

So right now I'm trying to hash out my options and my next move -- I want to be somewhere where I could be happy, or something resembling it. I'm not happy here, but also I don't think I could be in a place where everyone talks fast to try to confuse you so they can swindle you out of your money or your place in line or whatever. I want to be someplace where people don't scowl at you when you smile and say, "Hello," as you pass -- someplace where people are moving slowly enough that you can actually pause to do that without being bowled over by the person sprinting along the sidewalk at your back. Someplace where the politicians don't strike me as obviously being gangsters. (But maybe that's just their accents.) Someplace where the concept of "speed dating" seems as ludicrous to everyone else as it does to me. I held the door open at Port Authority for the person behind me and was stuck standing there while fourteen people pushed through without a second glance in my direction.

I did finally get my hands on a copy of the Cutie Honey live action film -- the 2-disc Collector's Edition, no less! -- so the trip wasn't a total drag. Eriko Sato is bloody hot, dontchaknow.

(more...)

So here's that other fiction piece I mentioned -- a dialogue of sorts that has been more/less repeated multiple times in the course of my life. People say they'll come back, that we'll remain in contact, but no one ever does. Why would they? I am not welcome or pleasant company. Anyway, enjoy...

Incapability and Inevitability
(perhaps to spawn The Catacombs?)

"I would tell you that I love you," he snorted, "if I were capable of the emotion."

"What are you saying? You are capable of anything that you believe you are capable of," she told him.

"Then I do not believe that I am capable of 'love.'"

(more...)