Dreamlog: Teleporting
There was much business occurring in my dreams last night but the following fragment is the only one that sticks in the mind:
I am walking along a suburban road by a river, much like Christchurch. I am practicing teleporting, because I am aware how it works: you close your eyes, visualise where you want to go, open them, and you get there. But it's difficult, because like most conscious movement in dreams, you have to visualise just so, otherwise you sort of stutter around in place - the dream-fabric tends to want to repeat the same pattern so consciously changing the pattern requires a sort of delicate application of will.
I take a couple of teleports and almost get the hang of it. As I approach a bridge I am aware that I have a companion. He seems quite disturbed by my strange belief in mental teleportation. "This is all a delusion, you know, and I'm quite worried for you. You should get professional help." I try to teleport and demonstrate how it works to him but nothing happens; I've lost my touch. I realise that to him I look just like I'm closing my eyes and squinting hard. The idea of teleportation suddenly seems very silly. I realise that I am just making it all up and go and check myself into a mental hospital.
I wake up and suddenly realise "Hey, that was all happening inside a dream, it wasn't real, so I *was* actually able to teleport, if I'd only known I was dreaming. That would have really shown him!"
But then I think about it some more and figure he still wouldn't have believed me; after all, he was just a dream-character and doing his job.
Dreamlog: The Quality of Tigers
A random fragment from a dream last night:
I am watching a movie or playing a FPS which centres around combat and military honour. A central plot point is the idea that the noble warrior must display not only valour but mercy.
The phrase which recurs throughout the story, to reinforce the theme of knowing when not to fight is: The Quality of Tigers.
Apparently tigers are merciful. I did not know that.
... and somehow my brain has gone on blend mode and mixed:
* A double dose of Shakespeare: Merchant of Venice: 'The quality of mercy is not strain'd, / It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven'
* and Henry V: 'In peace there ’s nothing so becomes a man / As modest stillness and humility; / But when the blast of war blows in our ears, / Then imitate the action of the tiger:'
* not to mention Survivor, 'Eye of the Tiger'
* and Wing Commander III, 'Heart of the Tiger'
Dreamlog: Designated Leader
"You have to take charge!" she says, anxiously. "You're the Designated Leader (tm)." He knows, but he's not happy about it. The Tribe doesn't go in for authority - that's why they invented that self-mocking term. The DL is chosen at random, or by roster. It's not really an important role. The Tribe is part twentysomething urban neohippie art-gang, part alternate-reality game, part street theatre and they've all got real jobs elsewhere.
But this weekend, something is wrong. There's only the three of them - two now - left, and they're running around the wintry city from church socials to farmers' markets, looking for the rest of their members and for a clue to dark, ominous happenings just offstage. There's an invasion underway, and the skies rumble. It could be robots. It could be aliens. It could be a foreign military power.
Or it could be the pumpkins. There's so many of them, so ripe, and so _green_, and should they be clustering on the pavement like that?
