Tuesday, 22 June 2010

Wisps and feathers

Dreams are really an unrealistic expectation. Through popular sayings, refrains and the different idioms we are regularly told that this night time hallucination is one of the most important things in our lives. "Dare to Dream" shouts out the television with the latest advertising jargon. “Drive the car of your dreams”, “dreams will come true”, “a dream is a wish your heart makes”. All of this sold to us through one hundred thousand different ideas and concepts to make us think that this supposed substance which runs through our heads, this stream of consciousness, perhaps the closest anyone ever has to a religious experience these days, is something that can be attained and held on to, some sort of tangible cloud that we can skip on to and get down from at will.

Perhaps with time I'm becoming nihilistic, a sociopathic disgruntled misanthropist, and thus the reason for the making of this move towards the destruction of one of the more beautiful things that happens to us all. Though again, writing this I find myself torn between the imagery and the basic fact that this is no great unifying experience, because the entire human race has blood, skin and bones, but this has never stopped anyone going for an all out annihilation of their friends, Romans and countrymen after their ears have metaphorically been lent to whomsoever should be speaking.

There is no unifying force in a dream; a dream is just that, a dream. A late night trip through the brain's murkier areas, where the small ray of hope says 'just maybe'. Though, the barriers are ever changing and ever moving. I once hoped to be taken seriously as a musician or a writer. These days it would be nice just to be taken seriously; and so the dream moves on.

As the barriers move, so does the expectation of the person at the other end of it all. So their thoughts and feelings are continually expressed through what they have in their head, or at least the four cheese pizza leads them to believe that there are talking snails riding the backs of unicorns and all of them conveniently living under the office photocopier.

Mine left a long time ago and I don't dream any more, though perhaps that may change again, given the nature of the beast at hand. Don't expect anything from a confessional other than a confession, a dream is a wisp of smoke and no matter how hard you try to keep it, the smoke dissipates even in the smallest of glass bottles.

Goodnight everyone. Sweet dreams