I like to imagine that at the end of every other YouTube video when the person leans in and reaches towards me to turn off the webcam, that they're doing something else. Like, what if they were going in for a kiss, or what if they were going to try to punch through the 4th wall and choke me? Did they want to pinch my cheek? Cup my face in their hand? Push the stop button on MY computer? Where they suddenly filled with zombie hunger for human flesh, and I was the first person they saw? It's lucky the video ended just in time to stop them.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Bill, Lord of Nightmares
This post is pretty much just for me. As the topic is primarily dreams, it won't mean anything to any of you, likely. Other people's dreams are the least interesting things to listen to. I don't blame you if you don't read this.
Last night, I think the theme was borrowed from that movie The Cell starring J Lo and Vince Vaughn. It's actually a stupendous movie. It has great philosophical issues (although their complexity is whitewashed by the mediocre "big names" they brought in to illuminate them, and the directors - for whatever reason - seemed to have taken a film that could have been hugely successful and made the last minute decision to try to sell it to teenagers instead of adults, resulting in a very adult move with adult level sophistication with this weird veneer of teenage angst and flash-bangery). The cinematography is the best I've ever seen in a movie, ever. Anyway, the thing that was so scary about this one is that it happened in the morning after Barbara's alarm had gone off once. I was sort of in that space between sleeping and being awake, and when the dream set in, the transition was seamless. I was still in bed, Barbara was still next to me, nothing had changed except we and the bed had been shrunk had moved from next to the staircase to under the staircase. I was kind of dozing when this banging started coming from the side of the staircase. It looked like there was a gate under the stairs that was, I rationalized, banging in the wind. I thought this was annoying and thought to point it out to Barbara, but suddenly it started getting more insistent. That's when I noticed that the whole cabin was starting to shake and heave. I rolled and looked up through the crack in the floorboards of the staircase above me into the blackness beyond. I saw a glimmer of light, and then a huge, pulsing drone shook the cabin. It seemed to close on me, pressing on me like thousands of tiny hands on my chest, neck, arms, and pinning me to the bed. The cabin groaned and the glimmer of light throbbed brighter, deepened into a menacing orange and seemed to peer through the crack in the floorboards at me, settling its enormous and infinitely malevolent presence on me. I couldn't hear anything but the horrible, bone conducting palpitations that shook the entire bed and held me firmly in place. It was very much like that scene from Close Encounters with the little boy at the door, except the aliens aren't friendly. I stopped being able to breath, and so I started yelling for Barbara. I guess I must have actually said something because she shook me awake. The weird thing was that nothing changed about where I was. I was in exactly the same position as I had been in the dream, and Barbara moved the same in real life as she did in the dream. The whole alien business clapped shut like a thunderstorm getting shut up behind a door, but it took me a few minutes to find my breath again. You win this time, Bill.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Music Awards
I decided today that Beck wins the prize for best use of the tambourine. Cake wins the prize for best use of yelling random sex noises to their own music. For about two months I have been twiddling my thumbs in response to unemployment. This is not entirely unenjoyable, but America is a nation founded on DOING things, and so when people ask me what I've been DOING and I tell them I've been enjoying the pleasant company of books and good music in the comfort of a nice little cabin, carefully burning my hard-earned capital on rent and utilities, I know their first impulse is to feel a little disgusted. Like Whats-his-face in As You Like It, I like this place and would willingly waste my time in it.
One of the chickens is looking at me like I surprised it, but I haven't moved in probably ten minutes. This happens a lot with the chickens.
The song Seven Bridges Road by The Eagles is meaning a lot to me right now (not the lyrics, just the standing wave pattern that is that song and my brain aligning). The song Loco Wit The Cake by Ace Hood is meaning a lot to me also, but for very different reasons.
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