I had a dream that I was having tea with an old colleague of mine, Sonya. We were wedged in an alcove at the QVB sitting at what looked like a Baroque style wrought iron garden set painted cream with the appropriate floral flourishes. Then George Michael came by - he was an acquaintance of Sonya's. I tried not to fall out of my seat. Instead I shook his hand and we chatted briefly and I tried to be cool around him. I asked him why he hadn't toured in Australia for a long time and he laughed.
Then I was at the swimming pool downstairs (for those of you who aren't familiar with the Queen Victoria Building, it certainly does not have a swimming pool) getting told off for indecent exposure. Apparently some time in the past I had appeared naked in front of everyone before diving into the pool.
So there you go. George Michael and skinny-dipping at the QVB as part of the same dream.
Showing posts with label dream. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dream. Show all posts
12 November, 2007
13 August, 2007
Leonard Cohen Land
I had a dream I went to Newcastle for the This Is Not Art Festival with Sir G and Ass. We were at a park I know well (as it is near the YHA Hostel there) except it had a white wrought iron rollercoaster track around it.
We were at the 'hospital end' and stepped into a lift where the buttons were all (seemingly) random letters. I pressed 'F' and the lift started to move only it turned into a rollercoaster cart. Ass and I were sitting knees to knees with Sir G kind of sitting on Ass' lap with her legs on me. So the cart rolled around the track for a while, going up and back some 'dead ends', until it finally came to rest in front of a dark covered stage with mannequin musicians playing.
We were just about to walk away when I heard a familiar song and turned towards the stage and realised they were playing covers of Leonard Cohen songs. One of the mannequins was definitely dressed in one of those black jackets with the white strips across that looks like ribs, the kind that Gerard Way wears.
Anyway, it was getting dark so we walked up to the hostel with Hugo (old work friend) meeting us partway there. Except I couldn't quite find the hostel and we were afraid that it was full because we hadn't pre-booked. Eventually we found a hole-in-the-wall room, which served as a reception area.
An Asian woman took our details and I asked whether it was okay if we had a four-bed dorm with one male occupant and she said it was okay. I gave her my YHA membership card and she booted out four British backpackers in the room behind the reception and told us that was our room.
There was also a tangent that involved a film being made on the site of some ruins involving the sad life of two brothers who had to bring themselves up because their single father was an abusive alcoholic. The brothers return to the site of their former home to reflect on their father's recent death.
The usual kind of dream. Except for maybe Hugo's appearance, that was a bit random. Might ask him if he's interested in coming up to Newcastle for TINA - never thought of that before!
We were at the 'hospital end' and stepped into a lift where the buttons were all (seemingly) random letters. I pressed 'F' and the lift started to move only it turned into a rollercoaster cart. Ass and I were sitting knees to knees with Sir G kind of sitting on Ass' lap with her legs on me. So the cart rolled around the track for a while, going up and back some 'dead ends', until it finally came to rest in front of a dark covered stage with mannequin musicians playing.
We were just about to walk away when I heard a familiar song and turned towards the stage and realised they were playing covers of Leonard Cohen songs. One of the mannequins was definitely dressed in one of those black jackets with the white strips across that looks like ribs, the kind that Gerard Way wears.
Anyway, it was getting dark so we walked up to the hostel with Hugo (old work friend) meeting us partway there. Except I couldn't quite find the hostel and we were afraid that it was full because we hadn't pre-booked. Eventually we found a hole-in-the-wall room, which served as a reception area.
An Asian woman took our details and I asked whether it was okay if we had a four-bed dorm with one male occupant and she said it was okay. I gave her my YHA membership card and she booted out four British backpackers in the room behind the reception and told us that was our room.
There was also a tangent that involved a film being made on the site of some ruins involving the sad life of two brothers who had to bring themselves up because their single father was an abusive alcoholic. The brothers return to the site of their former home to reflect on their father's recent death.
The usual kind of dream. Except for maybe Hugo's appearance, that was a bit random. Might ask him if he's interested in coming up to Newcastle for TINA - never thought of that before!
31 July, 2007
Poor kitty
I had a horrible dream about a grey tabby kitten who was incredibly small, small enough to fit inside one of those resealable sandwich bags. The kitten was in the sandwich bag (which had holes punched in it) in a shoulder bag placed beside me on the floor. I was watching some kind of performance below from a balcony or mezzanine position as I played with a rat.
I decided to forego the rat and took the kitten out of the resealable sandwich bag. I let it play on the rails that separated the mezzanine from the performance pit below. As the kitten jumped from the rails into my hands, its (obviously fragile) neck broke and it died. I put it back in the sandwich bag, felt kind of guilty but didn't seem too concerned about it.
Then Mae Mae drew me a pencil sketch of Snape in a cobblestone square hunched over a cauldron. I thought this was impossible as she had never read or seen the Harry Potter series and woke up.
I decided to forego the rat and took the kitten out of the resealable sandwich bag. I let it play on the rails that separated the mezzanine from the performance pit below. As the kitten jumped from the rails into my hands, its (obviously fragile) neck broke and it died. I put it back in the sandwich bag, felt kind of guilty but didn't seem too concerned about it.
Then Mae Mae drew me a pencil sketch of Snape in a cobblestone square hunched over a cauldron. I thought this was impossible as she had never read or seen the Harry Potter series and woke up.
24 November, 2006
The Original
I had a go at Soccer Chief earlier this week for his attempt at a Tropfest script. If you know that Douglas Adams story about the packet of biscuits, that was basically the same plot he had but it was a girl on a train. Actually, I think there is also a Jeffrey Archer story that was rather similar ('Broken Routine' in his collection of short stories 'A Quiver Full of Arrows'). Basically I told him flat out that it was unoriginal.
Then I felt really mean so I conceded that he writes well (which he does, not just lip service on my part), but it was just that the punchline was obvious for half of us who knew the story and it follows that if we made a film of it, it would feel unoriginal to some of the audience. Then I felt like I was patronising him, like I was the authority on good writing and he was there to soak up whatever praise he could get from me (which is NOT the case at all - I don't think he really rates my opinion either way).
*Sigh* I can't seem to get it right with him. I either inadvertently insult him and feel the need to apologise afterwards, which further insults him because it seems like I see him as not being able to take a joke or I tiptoe around him trying not to tip the apple cart. At the same time I don't want to come across as treating him any differently from anyone else.
It seems that a lot of people reckon I have a crush on him, too, which is also not the case. When I first met him I didn't even notice what he looked like, I just knew him as a little bit quiet. It wasn't until about a month later, when a bunch of us caught the train together after a few drinks at the pub after work, that I realised he was gorgeous. He's also very nice, intelligent and cool. Unfortunately I also saw him pashing his girlfriend in front of the coffee kiosk outside work one morning and since she was almost completely opposite to me (long blonde hair, petite, fashionably dressed) it killed all romance for me. But it doesn't stop me from admiring his pinchable, bedimpled cheeks and gorgeous green eyes.
Anyway, this entry is not about Soccer Chief, it's about originality. My flatmate and I went to see 'The Prestige' on Tuesday (excellent film, by the way) and there was a concept in the film that ruined any thought that my current novel is 100% original.
*** here be spoilers ***
Okay, so 'The Prestige' is about a pair of rival magicians in 19th century London and their sacrifice for their art. Christian Bale's character, The Professor, is the better magician but not much of a showman, whereas Hugh Jackman's The Great Danton has panache but not the nous to invent. The Professor invents a magic trick called The Transported Man whereby he bounces a ball across the room gets into a cupboard on one end of the stage, then comes out of another cupboard at the other end of the stage and catches the ball. Danton can't figure out how he does it, which obsesses him for the rest of his life (several years - until he gets killed, anyway).
ANYWAY, it turns out that all along The Professor is two people, a pair of twins, who share one life - one family, a mistress and a profession. The Professor's assistant is also The Professor sometimes etc etc. SO I'M ANNOYED because I'm currently writing a novel about a pair of 16 year old twins who, because their parents are in a cult that is paranoid about the erosion of freedom, have been brought up as one person so that if one of them got caught, the other would still be able to live freely. It's hard to explain, but the point is that I came up with the 'twins brought up as one person' concept independently and now everyone is going to think that I stole it off 'The Prestige' seeing as in film format it is more accessible than the book (which my flatmate has read but I have not - she thought the film was excellent too, by the way). Gaah!
*** here ends spoilers ***
Apart from that, I've had a few weird days, let me tell you. I don't even think I could point exactly what was weird about it but there has been an atmosphere of oddity over my daily activities this whole week. I also had a strange flash fantasy (maybe fantasy isn't the right word because that implies purposefulness, let's call it flash daydream) about pashing a guy at work, better known as Punk Pirate. He smokes, so no way. But there it is. Strange days.
Then I felt really mean so I conceded that he writes well (which he does, not just lip service on my part), but it was just that the punchline was obvious for half of us who knew the story and it follows that if we made a film of it, it would feel unoriginal to some of the audience. Then I felt like I was patronising him, like I was the authority on good writing and he was there to soak up whatever praise he could get from me (which is NOT the case at all - I don't think he really rates my opinion either way).
*Sigh* I can't seem to get it right with him. I either inadvertently insult him and feel the need to apologise afterwards, which further insults him because it seems like I see him as not being able to take a joke or I tiptoe around him trying not to tip the apple cart. At the same time I don't want to come across as treating him any differently from anyone else.
It seems that a lot of people reckon I have a crush on him, too, which is also not the case. When I first met him I didn't even notice what he looked like, I just knew him as a little bit quiet. It wasn't until about a month later, when a bunch of us caught the train together after a few drinks at the pub after work, that I realised he was gorgeous. He's also very nice, intelligent and cool. Unfortunately I also saw him pashing his girlfriend in front of the coffee kiosk outside work one morning and since she was almost completely opposite to me (long blonde hair, petite, fashionably dressed) it killed all romance for me. But it doesn't stop me from admiring his pinchable, bedimpled cheeks and gorgeous green eyes.
Anyway, this entry is not about Soccer Chief, it's about originality. My flatmate and I went to see 'The Prestige' on Tuesday (excellent film, by the way) and there was a concept in the film that ruined any thought that my current novel is 100% original.
Okay, so 'The Prestige' is about a pair of rival magicians in 19th century London and their sacrifice for their art. Christian Bale's character, The Professor, is the better magician but not much of a showman, whereas Hugh Jackman's The Great Danton has panache but not the nous to invent. The Professor invents a magic trick called The Transported Man whereby he bounces a ball across the room gets into a cupboard on one end of the stage, then comes out of another cupboard at the other end of the stage and catches the ball. Danton can't figure out how he does it, which obsesses him for the rest of his life (several years - until he gets killed, anyway).
ANYWAY, it turns out that all along The Professor is two people, a pair of twins, who share one life - one family, a mistress and a profession. The Professor's assistant is also The Professor sometimes etc etc. SO I'M ANNOYED because I'm currently writing a novel about a pair of 16 year old twins who, because their parents are in a cult that is paranoid about the erosion of freedom, have been brought up as one person so that if one of them got caught, the other would still be able to live freely. It's hard to explain, but the point is that I came up with the 'twins brought up as one person' concept independently and now everyone is going to think that I stole it off 'The Prestige' seeing as in film format it is more accessible than the book (which my flatmate has read but I have not - she thought the film was excellent too, by the way). Gaah!
Apart from that, I've had a few weird days, let me tell you. I don't even think I could point exactly what was weird about it but there has been an atmosphere of oddity over my daily activities this whole week. I also had a strange flash fantasy (maybe fantasy isn't the right word because that implies purposefulness, let's call it flash daydream) about pashing a guy at work, better known as Punk Pirate. He smokes, so no way. But there it is. Strange days.
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