Tag Archives: nightmares

I’m a dreamer

Has watching anything, or playing a game or reading a book or anything like that ever given you nightmares? I don’t mean watching your loved ones die in a horrible, gory explosion right in front of your face – that’s going to give you some fucked up dreams, no doubt. I just mean something ostensibly made for entertainment – has it ever got in your head to the point you have woken up in a cold sweat?

It’s a common thing for people to say ‘it’ll give me nightmares’, but what I’ve found is that it’s the anticipation that’s worse, then the way your mind plays tricks on you – especially when tired, drunk, hungover or otherwise in a less-than-perky condition. Nightmares? No.

Except for once. Night Breed. The Amiga. I was six years old. There was a section in the game where you had to run away from snake-hair man in a graveyard by tapping the mouse buttons as fast as you could. If you didn’t taptaptap fast enough, he caught you and bit you in a delightfully bloody fashion.

So naturally you want to taptaptap fast enough, right? Well, no. See, if you get away the police would corner you and shoot you dead.

You couldn’t win. You literally couldn’t escape. I mean, that was the point – I think you were meant to be bitten so you could be infected and blah de blah. But I was six, for eff’s sake. I gave up when I realised I’d die no matter what I did. Then I had a bad dream about it.

But other than that slight misstep I’ve never had a bad dream as a result of a film, TV show, game, book, comic, musical, stage show, street performance, dance troupe, contemporary artfag play – nothing.

I still see Martians from the corner of my eye, peering at me through the doorway in my room whenever I watch War Of The Worlds though. I’m both awake and 28. This shit shouldn’t scare me anymore.

Now nightmares about real things – oh those I can tell you some stories about. Those are the things that never fucking stop. Sigh.

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D:Ream

Dreams can come true, or so it was said by Gabrielle. I believe this to be a fact. I also believe, however, that the kind of dreams that come true are the kind of dreams you shouldn’t tell people you’re having, lest they think you are a seriously boring person. “I dreamt I bought a new hammock!” isn’t the kind of thing to set the world on fire, after all. In fact, you’re better off just dreaming that you set the world on fire. It’s more interesting that way.

But “interesting” is a matter of personal taste, especially when it comes to dreams. I cannot count the number of times a friend, colleague, random moron or enemy has decided it would be a good idea to let me in on what their brain made them think the night before. In some cases I don’t actually mind, as some dreams are genuinely funny (for example, the one where a friend dreamt I was a pimp in full-on pimp gear) and I suppose there’s a duty of care to listen to someone recalling a nightmare they’ve just woken up from in a state of shock. Even if they are boring.  I mean, it’s shockingly unoriginal for you to be dying – again – in a dream. Come up with something more novel.

Anyway, my main problem lies with the fact that re-telling a dream to someone is about as interesting as it can get when you’re telling someone something that your brain imagined, in hazy detail and while trying to attach some kind of meaning to it all. Your brain is sorting through the day’s events, it’s a perfectly natural occurrence: get over it. I don’t tell you every time my heart beats. Actually, it would be kind of interesting to tell people that, as they’d be able to work out just how unhealthy and close to death I am right now. But listening to a story about your friend imagining they could fly, or they bought more beans than normal or some other mind-numbing shit needs to stop. Why is it accepted as pretty normal for people to recount their dreams to others, when if I come up with a complete flight of fancy off the top of my head I am often admonished for being ‘weird’?

I don’t like being told about dreams in the most part. They’re a bit too much like blogs, to be honest. In summation: fuck you, dream-talkers.

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