Kevin's Watch

Last night I dreamed I met Michael Moorcock, but he didn't look anything like Michael Moorcock. He lived in a small flat in what may have been London, with a young boy who was apparently his son. He had a bit of an attitude about his writing, and insisted he didn't write "literary" stuff. I read over his shoulder as he typed out a very short story about the Metatemporal Detective on the strangest typewriter I've ever seen (the small room was full of them). I wondered at first at his ability to produce such a clean first draft, then I decided he was typing up an existing story from memory. He gave me the typed out pages to keep.

(There was more: the father and son were, I think, doing some sort of performance in the street when I met them, and the dream ended when the son wanted to leave the flat and get back to that--but I can't for the life of me remember what it was.)

You, sir. You have vanquished me.

That is quite possibly the strangest dream I have ever heard related, simply because it involves Michael Moorcock.

Strangely, it seems quite a believable characterisation of Moorcock, even down to the arrogance over not producing 'literary stuff'.

One of these days, I will have a collection of his various versions of that paper about how much he hates Tolkien.

Epic Pooh? It's not so much about him hating Tolkien as his disliking consolatory fantasy. A good read, too.

Murrin wrote:Epic Pooh? It's not so much about him hating Tolkien as his disliking consolatory fantasy. A good read, too.

Come now. Who doesn't, deep down inside, hate Tolkien after having to actually read those books?

The Silmarillion itself is a torture device.

Epic Pooh is quite entertaining, though I've always thought some of the points to be a bit banal. It aso reads a little like Moorcock has a chip on his shoulder. But - hats off to him for writing it.

And, if the Silmarillion is torture, it's torture I will gladly strap myself onto the rack to endure many times more.

It's the same with China Miéville, when he said Tolkien was "the wen on the arse of fantasy"--making pretty much the same arguments Moorcock did.

My dream pales in comparison with Murrin's.

I dreamed that I rode a horse to go visit my godmother, who is the mother of one of my closest friends Sarah. Both are celebrating birthdays in the next few weeks, and I wanted to show my godmother what I had gotten for Sarah. The strangeness lies in the fact that they live more than 35 miles away. I rode the horse to their home, and as I arrived there was a beautiful show of lights in the sky--like the aurora borealis, but sparkling as though there were motes of gold in it, dancing among the stars. I let myself into the workshop, but no one was there. I could all the recent projects that they had been making--things with herbs, dried flowers, soaps curing, piles of raw wool, piles of spun wool, and beautiful woven and knitted items. Then I went to the house, and let myself in with my key. The entire house was bathed in a golden light--soft and welcoming. I found my godmother, and greeted her with kisses on both cheeks (our custom). Then I related that I had come to show her the wonderful gift I had found for Sarah. I opened the box, and pulled back the tissue paper. A bright golden light shone forth, and my godmother murmured her approval of what I had found. I looked into the box, and could see nothing but golden light shining forth. The end.


I still have to find something for her birthday. . . why couldn't I have seen what was in the box?

Wyldewode wrote:Then I related that I had come to show her the wonderful gift I had found for Sarah. I opened the box, and pulled back the tissue paper. A bright golden light shone forth, and my godmother murmured her approval of what I had found. I looked into the box, and could see nothing but golden light shining forth. The end.


I still have to find something for her birthday. . . why couldn't I have seen what was in the box?

Because no matter what you find,
it will be perfect.

Lyr, according to this site, it means you have a gift for spiritual healing.

www.dream-analysis.com/dreams/colour-meaning.htm

There's a link on that page to another page with more info. An excerpt:

In dreams the color gold, the color of the sun, indicates a healer. All symbols of energy sources, such as the sun, power generator, electricity generation station, gas station, oil tanker, etc. also indicate the dreamer is a healer. Gold or gold coins indicate it because they have the color of the sun. Powerful horses, powerful motorbikes or cars indicate it because of their emphasis on power. You are a healer if your dreams refer to hands or feature a spiritual healer as a guide. Remember, whatever ability a guide has in your dream you have in reality. Rheumatic healing is indicated by copper or copper coins. A crystal healer is indicated by dreams of diamonds and other crystals.

Not sure how much of this stuff I buy into, but I thought I'd pass it along anyhow.

Wow. . . thanks, guys!

I had a dream that George Michael and Michael Jackson went into a very small milk-bar and ordered milkshakes. George Michael looked like he did from the '80s, and Michael Jackson looked like a very old, bald, white man. Why must my dreams be polluted with such visions of horror?

...that's worse than my Sisterhood dream, Montresor.

*shudder*

Last night, I had a dream about my mom and dad, who have been dead now for 7 and 8 years, respectively. I dreamed I was driving and my mom was in the passenger seat. We were happy b/c we were going to hire a singer for my dad's birthday. I didn't get to see Dad in the dream though. I haven't had a dream about them in forever.

I'm glad it was a good dream and not like the freaky dream I had right after Mom died. In that dream, my sister and I were standing in the back yard of where we grew up, and Dad came to tell us that Mom would be there (for some reason in my dream Dad was still alive). My sister and I were so happy to get to see Mom. Mom ran up to us and all three of us hugged and cried and jumped up and down. Mom said, "This will be the last time you see me for a while, but we'll be together again in 2009." That was within a month of Mom dying. 2009! Why would I dream that?!

I'd like to know what the girlfriend was dreaming about, but she couldn't tell me. I woke up at some point with her rubbing my head roughly (In the 70's we called it a Noogie or Nookie). I said "stop it" and she said, "I'll stop it when you eat it!" rather loudly.
I have no idea what she meant. Then I asked if I was snoring or something, and she woke up enough to ask what I was talking about. It was then that I figured out she was sleep-noogie-ing.

Cagliostro wrote:I'd like to know what the girlfriend was dreaming about, but she couldn't tell me. I woke up at some point with her rubbing my head roughly (In the 70's we called it a Noogie or Nookie). I said "stop it" and she said, "I'll stop it when you eat it!" rather loudly.
I have no idea what she meant. Then I asked if I was snoring or something, and she woke up enough to ask what I was talking about. It was then that I figured out she was sleep-noogie-ing.

I once sat up in bed and, much to my girlfriend's chagrin, sleep-shouted "What are you doing here?"

I can just imagine!

I had a dream that Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama came to blows during a debate. Hillary was hiding a bat behind her back and moved to give Obama a congratulationary pat on the back, but then hit him over the head. Dazed but still upright, Obama responded with a mean right cross that sparked her out.

It was a day or two before I realised it hadn't actually happened.

Nav wrote:I had a dream that Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama came to blows during a debate. Hillary was hiding a bat behind her back and moved to give Obama a congratulationary pat on the back, but then hit him over the head. Dazed but still upright, Obama responded with a mean right cross that sparked her out.

It was a day or two before I realised it hadn't actually happened.

That sneaky biatch!