Dream Catcher

First blog then. Excuse the grammar and spelling and sentence structure and that, I'm pretty terrible. But I'm giving it a go anyway. I'd been wondering where to start really, a good point where I could have an opinion, when all of a sudden Friday night became blog night, just like that. Fuck you, Glasgow party town!

I saw Inception last week. Inception is not what this is about so calm down- although I did enjoy it just like 300 other people you know on Facebook, and yes I'm pretty sure it would benefit from a second viewing, and also I would recommend going to the 10am showing on a Saturday after about 3 hours sleep as I kept nodding off for the first half which added to the whole shebang a treat (although I did keep thinking Juno should be pregnant).

But, without giving too much of the plot(!) away if you've not seen it, Inception is about dreams.

Now lets cut to this evening. I was sitting talking to my flatmate in a perfectly innocent manner earlier. It was the usual muso chat that pings off the walls of a flat home to an indier than thou wank and a math rock psych wizard- I'm sure you can picture the scene in your head perfectly. All was fine until I committed one of my own cardinal sins. It was only for a second, I caught on pretty quick and its bud was nipped quicker than a 13 year old girl's from castlemilk, but it still happened: I committed Dream Chat. I started talking about a dream I had last night. Dream Chat.

As I talked his face fell. I began to enthusiastically explain the 'crazy' scene that had happened in my head the night before and bing! He made the distracted 'hahaha' laugh, and I knew I'd done a wrong. The kind of distracted laugh you make if you work in a shop and some old dear makes a joke and all you can think is 'I you hope you leave before you piss yourself again'. The 'your chats gone bad, get away from me' laugh.

I of course apologised profusely as soon as I grasped my error, but by then the damage was done. I hope in time he'll forgive me; I'll understand if not.

Dream Chat is bad. Dream Chat is the most boring thing ever. Listening to Dream Chat slows down time impossibly- Inception is factually bang on with this. Dream Chat tends to be long, drawn out, blustery, self indulgent and devoid of any real meaning. Dream Chat will be the name of the next Muse album.

Y'know what I think a dream is? I think a dream is where your brain files all the the things that you didn't need to understand during your waking day but your brain takes in anyway; something to do with us using some tiny percentage of our actual brain power. You brain takes in every detail and then filters it down to what you actually need to know to exist and survive from day to day, much like Heat magazine does for tanorexic cunts that populate your high street. What does this mean? It means dreams are crap. Useless information that you don't need to know. Information so nonsensical that your subconscious protects you from it so you do not need to experience it first hand- instead subconscious sneaks it up on you while you are asleep, so it can get everything nice and sorted for you waking up in the morning.

So why in the name of fuck would you want to tell someone else about it? Dear dear Dream Chatter, if it's something your little pea mind feels it shouldn't let you know, do you think I want to hear about it?

“I was in a house in a field with no windows but the roof was the sky”- another spoon of coffee goes in.

“I know its a cliché but my teeth were falling out which means I'm insecure but the funny thing is I really really don't think I am, am I?”- unless we are having sex soon there is no way I am listening to more of this this.

“You were in my dream, well you didn't have a face but I knew it was you”- FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK off.

What is happening here, some kind of shitty game of hell's role-play, you being transcendental vego- whore Trudie Styler and me Psychiatrist? No. White people with dreadlocks talk about dreams. Don't really need to say much more than that, do we?

The only dreams I like to hear about are nightmares. I have a bit more time for them, if only because as the story begins, and my eyes glaze over, and Dream Chatter expands on something that's not even remotely scary “but just was”, I day dream (this is okay, this is escapism), visualising myself waiting in their bedroom cupboard dressed as the guy in Wolf Creek, ready to jump out and shout “that's not a knife, this is a knife!” just as DC has awoken, lathered in sweat from their tedious micro- horror. Boo! Now that would be genuinely scary, fucko. I've not tried this yet.

Maybe I'm just jealous. I'm a very light sleeper, don't sleep for long, and I rarely dream anything I can remember. If I do it tends to be fairly mundane factual things, like standing in a queue, or making food, or watching tramp sex. I don't have nightmares, no thanks to Crimewatch. As I'm typing this now I'm starting to think that maybe this means my brain is more powerful than that of the Dreamers - that it understands everything and so has nothing to sort out overnight to make things better in the morning. So I had a dream last night- Thursday must've been a stupid day. On the whole dreams dont happen in my skull bits.

So, to sum up: if you dream at night, I'm smarter than you, If you tell me about it, you're a boring cunt. That's it. That wasn't originally what I had intended as a conclusion but I'm happy enough with it. I had originally intended to close with: 'Gabrielle sung “dreams can come true”. If that was the case then you, Dream Chatter, you would have a collection of friends with no faces, and I would have a fucking big knife'. That's a bit Patrick Bateman isn't it? So lets just leave it at 'If you dream at night, I'm smarter than you, if you tell me about it, you're a boring cunt'.

Evenin' all.