Monday, March 04, 2013

Mélange.

My dream last night had a musical score that I totally don't recognize. That's never happened before. I had no idea that there was a composer lurking in my subconscious.

The tune is earworming me pretty badly right now, and I'm trying to keep it from getting all mashed up with the Trentemøller tune that's stuck in there as well, although I have no idea how I can get it out and into a store-able format; I haven't touched a musical instrument since the cello in, like, sixth grade and I can't carry a tune well enough to hum it to someone who can transcribe it. It's like having a snippet of a strange xenomorphic speech trapped in your head that you don't know the alphabet for and your human mouth can't form the alien sounds.

But anyhow, on to the dream for which this particular piece of music served as the score...

So, as I noted earlier, I was recently up in New Hampshire, and then last night before bed I got together for a couple hours with a bunch of people in World of Warcraft, and so once my head hit the pillow...

...there was a Blogmeet up in a suspiciously online-video-game-looking version of New Hamster, like Manchester but with lots more large and spiky architecture and incongruous palm trees, and getting to the tavern where it was being held, you had to be careful as you circled in on your flying mount, because if you flew a little off course and got too low over Massachusetts you'd draw aggro from the Massachusetts State Police who would cast Felony on you. This would pretty much knock you off your mount and kill you with one zap, and when you resurrected at the graveyard, all your weapons would be gone.

I swear to you on a stack of John Ross and R.A. Salvatore novels I really dreamed this.

11 comments:

Sklutch said...

I've had to turn off all video/audio and sit in candlelight until my brain dumps its buffers enough not to trigger dreams like that one.

I did however dream one night of black pirate ships with shimmering sails rising from tanker spills to raze/pillage oil rigs as part of the reproduction of their species.

I contend that strong dreams with plotlines and soundtracks are a sign of superior intelligence insufficiently challenged by our crappy jobs.

Sklutch

Scott J said...

The last dream I had I could remember involved me buying an early 90's vintage Accord as a gas sipping alternative to the 14mpg Dodge.

It had a leaky sunroof and most of the dream focused on dealing with that.

It was also crimson red which I would have only bought if the car was close to free as I avoid the color otherwise being an Auburn alum.

The dream was so real I almost got out of bed when I woke up and went down to the garage to check for it.

Peter said...

As long as you didn't circle too low over Boston, where they'd cast beans and cod at you . . .

;-)

NAVIGATOR said...

COULD NOT YOUR NOBLE STEED PROVIDE
"COUNTER BATTERY FIRE" WHILST ON FINAL
AND EDITORIAL COMMENT AS WELL ?

Robin said...

Good to hear you didn't dream of sleeping in a barracks and being woken by Robb ...

Ted N said...

I don't know what you're taking, but please please please send some to me in Egypt. Please.

JohninMd.(HELP!) said...

SELL THE MOVIE RIGHTS!!! Damn if I wouldn't pay good money ta see THAT one...and don't let 'em F-up your screen-play!

GuardDuck said...

SELL THE MOVIE RIGHTS!!! ..and don't let 'em F-up your screen-play!

Yeah, keep creative control. Otherwise H-wood would come out with a movie that was about an angst ridden teen confronting her parental issues, comforted by her sexually conflicted friend. Her paramour is alternately a troubled but moral bad boy or a popular boy coming to terms with his shallowness.

All set with a minor backdrop of a vaguely post-apocalyptic Los Angeles (to save on out of state filming costs....)

All labeled 'based on a true story'...

Agent Trask said...

Nasty corpse run from those Masshole graveyards.

Casey M. said...

Ah, yes. Our lovely stateys. Reason #837 why I am dying to move out of Massive-two-s**ts into the Live Free or Die State. Reasons #1 through 836 would be our gun laws. Number 838 is the roads.

I'm not sure if it's better living just a few minutes south of the border or a curse knowing that it's so close and yet so far.

Heh. Fun fact. R. A. Salvatore is from Leominster, MA. Just one town over from Lunenburg where I've lived my whole life. And likewise abutting Fitchburg, former home of Iver Johnson.

markm said...

Guardduck: "All set with a minor backdrop of a vaguely post-apocalyptic Los Angeles (to save on out of state filming costs....)"

And soon they won't even need props for the "post-apocalyptic" part.