Last night, I dreamt…
Dali’s ‘Sleep’ (1937)
In a flash, I was mugged for exactly £50, I immediately find out his name from an envelope which he handed to me,I then vow that I was going to report the wastrel. Shortly after, a comet falls and annihilates the entire planet; Death Star style. Rendering the whole affair completely pointless.
Somehow, within this great mysterious, subconscious television show of my dreams, this plot unfolds and seeks to have me questioning things and naval gazing my way towards writing this blog post, which you are now not reading.
Awaking at 5am, staving off the Gin Tremens; it feels powerful, An affirmation that we shouldn’t sweat the small stuff. Does the mugger represent life itself? Death as a cosmic yob? If it functions to remind us of the stride and shuffle of our existence, then it also functions to let us know that the pursuit of money is futile, even if that seems like where all the fun and the power is.
Personally, I think money can buy happiness on some level: but it can’t always keep disease at bay, it can’t stop the tides of decay and only history will memorialize us. Money buys Absinthe, Absinthe was historically thought to have some part to play in these bizarre picture shows of sleep; What possible reason otherwise, would you have to find yourself out at 4am with people you don’t know?
A Lady before dreams of Tesco or more likely; The Absinthe Drinker by Edgar Degas (1876)
We use the word ‘Dream’ to sell lifestyles; most notably with The American Dream, which at is not simply about money, it’s about the status, respect and power that money brings;
My favourite commentary on this comes from Arther Miller’s A View From A Bridge, which bankrupts the entire concept. But American society still falls for it, even when the majority don’t actually wish to have ‘nobodies’ even trying climb the ladder of their states.
Heavy stuff, I know, I know: writing about dreams on a blog, if we dig deeper into every aspect, It’s almost as if I was handed an envelope to deliver this message to you, Whether you like it or not. We could even dive deeper in, drag out the really big fish like;
Why did the mugging take place outside Tesco on St.Helen’s Road in Swansea?
Why was the mugger a man?
The nearby presence of the mystical Indonesian eating-house might even hold weight, that Confucianism and all of its systems serve to govern the stinking plate of Rending of life, before the squirts ruin our hopefully well seasoned Ruby Murray?
We can naval gaze, we can speak utter drivel, waffle on until we are worm food, there are all sorts of systems, religions to connect to and all sorts of feelings, some of which; such as fear and anxiety which we arguably should strive to rid ourselves of.
Have you ever had a moment of self-actualisation? Wherein, you suddenly feel a mental or even a physical feeling of being alive? I have been trying to work my way through this and flush out brain fog which sometimes sets in with winter.
I am still full of energy, I am calm. This dream tells me that things are shifting significantly in life, at least in the opinion of quick Google search and years of belligerent research into the ‘Hypnologic State’ as advertised famously by Salvador Dali, that in the moment between being awake and asleep; we are at our best;
Salvador ‘Avida Dollars’ Dali’s worst nightmare was likely to have been to be parted from his money, particularly if the assailant had been a particularly vicious grasshopper.
This concept that mere day-to-day life is a costume party, a play that we don’t even know we are part of is fascinating, there are those that seek faith in Buddhism, in Transcendental Meditation (Meditation for Dentists) or even the humble Avocado.
There are ‘Hygge’ heads and Hardcore Ravers, Take it from me, as someone who occasionally has Tequila for breakfast; I haven’t found much from substances beyond a few great stories and enhancing the flavour of food. I have tried to seek out new means to explore the mind, finding Travel, Comedy and Photography as the ultimate drugs for me;
One of the most curious incidences was seeing this image in front of me before I’d even taken the shot, I could see how life worked together in the moment and knew it would make a great picture.
But are we confusing passion with spirituality?
Why is there a curious peace in Buddhist Temples or a satisfaction in the company of somebody else?
Why do a few lyrics move us?
Are these things, along with our dreams; just a chemical mess emanating from the fact we are all a race of ancient lumps of cheese?
Seriously, this is why they say ‘write what you know’
we hit a roadblock in our writing,
a roadblock of which dreams are made of.
David Lynch, There Is Nothing Here Please Go, Away, 2012