Skip to main content

A dream of Wes Anderson-like aesthetics

I had a dream.

A dream in medias res. The last five-minutes before fully awakening actually, so it's not technically medias. We were in a mall-like place, a grand Victoria Plaza, with beautiful girls, sisters, and some guys in this universe that I somehow knew, but all were faceless. Just people. A vivid dream with no clarity beyond the shapes and sizes. But I liked them, and they happened to like me back, and one of them appreciated me more than the others.

"It's nine," she said, referring to the time. We still have time. I have a gut instinct this one is calling for the movies. I could not for the life of me remember what film it was.

And so we hurried off to the back, running the roundabout until we reached it, and sadly there wasn't a lift to be found. It was just a huge leafy gazebo that are normally found in dreams, totally fake and pretentious. And so all of them ran again, towards the higher steps, the Wonderland-esque escalators and other snakey bits of transportation. I woke up never finding these people again.

Isn't that sad? A fact of life a fact as old as life in fact itself. It felt very detached. I felt detached from everything. Like I am now. And on that same moment I somehow felt that it wasn't the first trip of mine into this mall-like place. My peripheries recognise a lot of obscure stalls from my subconscious. I knew, somehow, the heavy burden has returned. How? This time I have a suitcase out of the blue. As if I've been carrying it the whole time. But dreams normally work like that. Rationalising these would never amount to anything substantial. I took my first step to following the others with great pride and without question. That is just how life is.

I climbed a few steps towards the grotto, not too high. Dan was there. Fucking Dan. Reading some sort of Bible to cure his social awkwardness, maybe. The irony of it was in real life I was the socially awkward one. He nodded and winked and moved along, and as I turn my back, I found myself a thousand miles high on a cliff, and someone there to help me lift my suitcase up. Fucking odd. Kevin Love.

People were swinging on vines like Tarzan. I knew this wasn't the mall anymore. Everything is barren now, and the air all moist and fickle. It made my skin all itchy. And I realise I'm standing on a thousand miles high worth of suitcases. Other people's suitcases. I'm trying to go down but this asshole hanging by a vine threw my suitcase to the ground. The certain kindness of strangers. Fucking hell. He was Joe Johnson or someone.

Other people were waiting in queue, but I jumped on top of him, and we glided down flawlessly. Despite his earlier actions, that trip down was soothing. Soothing but anticlimactic. Like that feeling when you cycle up a hill and suffer an hour of agony trying to push higher and higher, and once you reach the top you have no other option but down, so you cycle down the elevation and discover it only takes two minutes worth of exhilaration to end what is a relaxing autopilot mode.

What is two minutes of joy compared to an hour of pain? Everything.

I woke up then. My mother's legs were untangling, twitchy. All I wanted to think about were the women and why I couldn't put their faces in place. It was just a feeling, I concluded, perhaps a subconscious desire, and I woke up to nothing at all.

Popular posts from this blog

Strange Fruit

I had recently adorned a vow of silence for myself with Miriam for no apparent reason whatsoever other than to suit my whim, and, regardless of the pettiness associated with this misdemeanour, I pray this will only strengthen us both in spirit for the coming days. The coming days are definitely not meant for one such as me.
In the next few hours, not shortly before I am done with this piece, this vow will be disavowed. Miriam is sleeping soundly in my right, broken by the exhaustion that seemed to catch her unaware. This was not what she had prepared for when coming to London. This was not what I meant for her when I asked her to come. In order to alleviate the guilt of me making it more difficult for us both, I do what it is that I do best, and that is to love her hungrily and wildly. And some little bit of swag on the side to cure her state of frustration albeit temporarily.
My days are long and yet wields very little. For now I do and take whatever I can, whenever I can. A grand f…

Snippet: In her darkest days, Elaine (worldbuilding), unfinished

Voices of strange busybodies could be heard on the other side of the edifice. Elaine reckoned she recognised one of them. An old friend. Perhaps not necessarily a friend, or not technically a friend. A friend is a rare commodity for her these days. She could walk right past them and not blink an eye, but Elaine waited for a little bit more until the lot toned down. Having a group of opposites around her, poking her skin through their eyes, meticulously making sure she was an enabler who to them an abundant source of entertainment, was all the reason needed to convince herself to back away from the complexity of it all. Home is an awful lot more awful than this place though, Elaine thought, as she gripped her handbag tightly, hoping the ray of darkness from the moon would envelope her and shield her from the attention of the lonesome trail.
"This would not have happened had you only listened to me, Elaine," complained Darco. "Half the people out there would skin us both…

True Blue

Bits and pieces of things long lost have started appearing out of nowhere all of a sudden. Memories of people, places, and thoughts associated with my belongings knock at the door waiting to be let in, never to be left on its own accord. I am to be the master puppeteer of this cerebral construct, of nightmares I wish were forgotten, of people I wish to rid all manner of associations with.
Mother had surprised Miriam with a message for me. Of a very far-fetched idea on how to maximise my potential to become something which I totally am not. A preacher for a religion I have absolutely no faith of of all things. Perhaps as a way to once again fuck up and atone for the totality of my insufferable existence. Fortunately for me I now have total control of my destiny. Something of which has never brought me much satisfaction, in fairness, true, but still the freedom to be a clueless and monumental buffoon is much more satisfying than to be a scholar trapped in the confines of virility, prej…