katiefoolery: (Sleep now)
It occurs to me that this journal is in serious danger of becoming a log of vlogs. Or several logs of vlogs, which could be stacked together to make a nice, toasty vlog fire. I really wouldn't mind one of those right now, given how it's all Winter-like and cold around here. Never mind the fact that I'm sitting here in short sleeves - you should be paying more attention to the warm coat draped over the back of my chair. It is COLD out there.

But considerably warmer inside.

Anyway, in order to avoid the log of vlogness, I shall break it up by talking about my dream of bizarreness. Because everyone loves to read about other people's dreams, right?

But seriously, this one was truly bizarre. And it kept company with other bizarre dreams, yet apparently out-bizarred them all, because it's the only one I remember. This is evidently what happens to my head when I a) work far too hard, b) don't get more than about six hours' sleep on weeknights, and, c) fall asleep out of desperation at ten o' clock on Friday night.

So.

I was an Assyrian living in India. I... don't even know why. Why an Assyrian? Why India? Is there some quasi-historical cultural commentary going on in my head that I don't know about? Anyway, things weren't exactly going swimmingly and my family was attempting to flee, via the intermediary of this guy who was providing us with false papers. We showed up all innocent-like, encountered this incredibly sleazy and untrustworthy-looking guy... who then SAVED OUR LIVES by lying about who we were in some script-based language I didn't understand.

Also, there was grain. Possibly in sacks.

And then my friend from China turned up. She was a princess or an empress-in-training or whatever and a thousand people followed her around. Literally. She turned up in this great procession of people in red and I could barely work out where she was amongst them all. And on top of this, her mother had died recently and her scarlet-draped coffin had become part of the procession, complete with mourners.

So, as if a thousand-strong cohort of Chinese processioners wasn't helpful enough to an Assyrian girl trying to lie low in India, I get told off by my friend as well. "Why are you running away?" was the gist of it.

Well, I can answer this question and I'll borrow that high-horse while I'm at it. "Because my friend and his family were killed last week," I explained, from said equine of great height. "And he was an Assyrian, too."

What.

I woke up from that at about 4am, wondering what on earth was going on with my brain.

Two questions immediately occur to me, though. Firstly, wtf? Secondly, if I have a friend who just happens to be a Chinese empress-in-training, why isn't she helping me and my family to escape?
katiefoolery: (Renji wasn't paying attention there)
I keep writing entries and then scrapping them in disgust.  Weirdly, I feel more like posting fiction on my LJ than actual entries.  Just beware of that in the future.

In other news: my laptop has been returned with a new, fully functional battery.

In even further news: am even more obsessed with Bleach than before.

In dream-related news, I fully blame [livejournal.com profile] linnet_101 and [livejournal.com profile] crazedturkey for the fact that I had a Stargate Atlantis themed dream this morning.  I don’t even watch the show! How can I have a dream about it?  So yes - ’tis their fault.

I’ve also been toying with the idea of creating a separate LJ account for my writing but I’m not sure if it’s worth it.  To those people on my friends list who have a separate writing account, what are the advantages?  Disadvantages?  Do you recommend it?
katiefoolery: (Sail my ship!)
Last night, or, more accurately, this morning, I had one of those dreams I actually remember, so I thought I'd write it down.  I call it Orpheus on a Bus, for reasons which will soon become clear...

Yes, I know.  ‘Odd’ doesn’t even come close, but it’s one of my dreams, right?  The only ones I ever remember are the bizarre ones.

So, in this dream, many people lived on enormous buses that traversed the country.  I really don’t know why they had such objections to living in houses that stayed right where they were, but there you go.  In this case, ‘I’ (not actually me) was waiting for my father’s bus.  I’d run away for some reason - I think I was a bit of a rebel - but I really needed my father’s help and I had some sort of loose arrangement with him that he’d be at this particular place at these particular times and if I ever needed to get back on the bus, then that was an option that was open to me.

So there I was, waiting.  I do believe there was someone with me; some sort of bodyguard.  We waited and waited... it was a bus-stop after all.  But there was no sign of my father’s bus.  Oh, did I mention that the bus contained a group of performers who travelled from town to town, putting on shows?  Well, consider it mentioned.

Just when I was about to give up hope of the bus ever arriving, it finally turned up.  I didn’t recognise it at first, because it was decorated in an entirely different fashion from the last time I’d seen it.  But there it was, with Orpheus’s Performing Whatever (yes, Orpheus) written on the side.

Time for a deep breath, me-who-isn't-me.

*deep breath*

And I go on board to stand before my father, in the full knowledge that he Doesn’t Approve of my running away and that I might be in incredibly Deep Trouble.

And that was it.  An entire dream, dedicated to waiting for a bus.

I have to admit, I had only the vaguest idea of who Orpheus actually was in mythology (unlike my subconscious, apparently).  I knew he went into the Underworld for some reason, but that was about it.  So I researched it.

Here were my favourite bits:
  • Orpheus's music was so beautiful that it charmed even inanimate objects.

  • [his] songs could charm wild beasts and coax even rocks and trees into movement.
I think it's interesting to compare this last quote with a direct quote from the original short story version of Black Fiddle, where Jeannie's grandmother is talking about an ancestor of Jeannie's, who could play the Fiddle: "He could make the hills sing and the rocks dance."

If you change the fact that Orpheus sings, whereas Jeannie (from Black Fiddle) plays a fiddle, you have some uncanny similarities there.  Although I’m the first to admit that Jeannie hasn’t gone around trying to charm wild beasts, I’m sure she could if she put her mind to it.

Essentially, my story of Jeannie is the story of Orpheus and Eurydice (except the bit where Jeannie’s trying to save her sister, rather than her lover).  At least, it had its beginnings there.  It’s changed a lot since I first wrote the original short story.  A lot.  I just wonder what my subconscious is trying to get at here.

Any suggestions?

April 2011

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