Janet (j4) wrote,

What dreams may come

Such complicated dreams last night that I was barely awake enough to say goodbye to addedentry before he had to run out into the chilly rain to catch the 0815. I buried my face in his jumper and tried not to be asleep, but everything just felt too dark and weary. I dreamed that I was at some sort of party, some sort of big sleepover, with lots of people sleeping in bunkbeds in one big dormitory, and... oh, it's all gone hazy now, but we were storing our stuff in separate cupboards and there was some kind of argument about whose stuff was where, one of those arguments full of words that make me feel I'm still trying to hang onto the words when I wake up; and then we all went over to some kind of cocktail party, and everybody had cocktail sticks whose points were tipped with some kind of drug, and they were using them to make a small cut in their arm which would get the drug into the bloodstream; and I didn't want to do this, and I wondered if I could just put a plaster on my arm and pretend I'd made the cut -- in the dream I thought this might work, like in The Trouble With Lichen where she's actually taken the implant out, but then I started imagining the other people asking me to show them the cut, so I thought maybe I'd better just make a cut myself with an un-drugged cocktail stick ... but then one of the other guys started shouting at me and saying I was just being a tourist, and I had to actually take part, and I was arguing that I didn't need the drugs, I could still join in; and then a couple of people started trying to grab me and a girl called Kate (not actually any of the Kates I know) tried to slice at me with something, and suddenly there was blood everywhere, I was wearing white and I couldn't stop the blood going all over my white sleeves, though I didn't feel hurt, and ... I can't really remember how the struggle ended, but suddenly everybody was filing out in silence, and the sound-system from the party was being dismantled, and all the statues that had been in the room were being taken away, and the man in charge was saying "It's over," and it was obvious that the party would have to end after all the blood, but I was still surprised that it was all over, and even more surprised when he told me that it was all over, that they'd never do a party like this anywhere again, not just here, because the evil had been purged now.

So anyway, I blame watching The Blair Witch Project just before going to bed, though it was really quite disappointingly rubbish and not actually very scary, even as the psychological horror story that it was obviously trying so gut-wrenchingly and camera-wobblingly hard to be. Eddie Izzard has had this rant better and funnier, but it does annoy me that the people in horror films never seem to have watched a horror film in their life ("Hey, why doesn't one of us go and explore the big spooky house full of dead bodies, while the other one goes to see what's making the unearthly blood-curdling screams out there in the dark and treacherous woods?" NO! Are you MENTAL? Don't do it!), particularly when they're supposed to be just ordinary people (if particularly irritating and stupid examples of such) and we're not supposed to be suspending disbelief, we're supposed to be believing in it because it's "real" (at least in the sense of "reality TV" -- "reality" is just another genre, but it's very hard to do convincingly). The total lack of awareness of context didn't sit well with all the obvious signposts to Scary Stuff About To Happen, and I ended up just watching the video timer and thinking "well, there's only 17 minutes of the film left to run, one of these idiots has got to die soon." I'd recommend Stephen King's The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon to anybody who wants a better example of the "lost in the woods and driven slowly insane by what is actually just your own paranoid imagination OR IS IT ARGH ARGH ARGH" horror story.

Meanwhile, I'm reading A Severed Head by Iris Murdoch. I've not yet found a Murdoch novel I haven't enjoyed, though they're all claustrophobic like the feeling you get when you've been inside all day with the lights on, and all you've seen outside is shades of dusk that are finally gathering into darkness. This morning I thought that reading would dispel the shreds of dreams that were still clinging to me, but instead it just made me feel heavy and confused and darkening behind the eyes. Then I had a cycle ride into work that I hoped would be bracing and instead just felt like waterlogged wool, except when I saw somebody who reminded me of somebody else and the memories made me feel all hollow and scratchy, like I'm still having the same argument with somebody in my head long after we've all died. If ghosts exist I'm sure I'll end up haunting somebody, just because I don't know how to stop, even when I've nothing left to say and

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