Spreading fear and mayhem in the visual arts.

The Dream 001

by Suzanne on September 25th, 2006




© Gregory Crewdson¹ - click to enlarge/view details (even though it's terribly sacrilegious to offer Crewdson's images in a size smaller than 1.6 x 2.4 meters...)

I often get rather peculiar dreams. And I can remember (at least the outlines of) my dreams every single morning. So I thought that it's maybe about time to report some of the weirder cases in good old ShanMonster dream blogging tradition. Please note that I'm not writing them down to entertain all the little Sigmunds out there. Believe me that it's healthier for all of us if you stay out of my brains. Thank you.

Anyhow, last night, I dreamt about being kidnapped by the guerilla troops of London's underground system.

It happened at Angel. I was waiting for Damien, Corran & Arran who left me alone at the platform to have a look at some of the filthy pr0n nerdy cineast magazines at the newsagent.

Naturally, I got bored after a while and - without thinking twice - decided to jump down the platform to follow one of the rats into the western tunnel. To my big suprise, the tunnel opened up into a huge architectural cyberpunk landscape once I entered the narrow portal. There were not only trains, but also mirrored cars, people on supersonic rickshaws and hybrid bicycles - each on separate lanes. I was totally hypnotised by all the buzzing activity and futuristic noises down there and I soon got lost and found myself trapped in a dark alleyway.

I licked some of the cold water that was dripping on my face as I was very thirsty. It tasted of charcoal. I whispered 'Kaltes Klares Wasser' half to myself, half to the rat that sniffed at my boots. Obviously, it didn't bother me at all that it wore glasses, a fake moustache, French bottines and a Sufic hat.

The guerillas must have come from above as I didn't hear them walking towards me. One of them hit me on the head with a metal object and I passed out.

When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a tall room that looked very much like David Lynch's Red Room in 'Twin Peaks'. There was a Roman marble statue, black fauteuils, the most disgusting zig-zag carpet on earth and a heavy velvet curtain that devided the room into two parts. Curious as I am, I looked behind it. What I saw there amazed me.

They didn't lock me up in a cell, but in a luxurious media center. LCD-screens, beamers, cameras, telephones, fax machines, monitoring desks, laptops... there was even a morse telegraph, the machine that goes PING! as well as a WWII Enigma machine (I think it was the same model that I tried to steal from the Imperial War Museum the other week). I even detected an unprotected wireless network on one of the laptops. I quietly said to myself: 'Isn't it amazing the things terrorists provide their prisoners with these days?'

I decided to send my mum an email to tell her that I've been kidnapped but otherwise fine, that the wireless connection is incredibly fast and that she should call the police to trace back the telephone number of the guerillas. But before I actually sent the email, I downloaded my feeds (the total of unread posts was 567) and read the latest posts by PopNutten, Das Hermetische Café, Hugo Strikes Back and Armchair Aquarium Annex (there must be something terribly supernatural about your blogs that they even turn up in my dreams. Chapeau!). I chuckled at some of the things I had just read, when I got suddenly hit on the head again by a petite girl wearing a balaclava and blazing red lipstick. (Yes, I woke up terribly exhausted with a sharp headache this morning from all the pain inflicted on my cranium.)

While I was recovering, the troop leaders had all assembled in the red room and they seemed to have a huge row about what to do with me next. I made good use of their distraction, freed myself, dashed to the prison door and locked them in with the key they had forgotten in the lock. Much screaming and shouting followed.

However, after a cigarette and a short time of consideration, I decided to open the door and ask them whether I could join their organisation. The leader agreed, congratulated me on my bravery and decorated me with a medal of honour that had Saparmurat Niyazov's golden bust on it. Which seemed only logical to me. They all sang "We're Knights of the Round Table" in my honour. I was deeply moved, sobbed and said something that appeared to be extremely smart at the time (why do we always think that we're so terribly wise in our dreams?!?):

'There's no way to win. The game itself is pointless'.

And then I woke up.

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¹ GREGORY CREWDSON LINKS

Portfolio @ Luhring Augustine Gallery

Interview with Kultureflash

Audio interview with NPR