Thursday, 17 June 2004
A Midsummer Morning's Dream
I had a waking dream this morning (right around the time that I woke up, meaning that I could remember enough to savor the dream), involving time travel, some very familiar setting (a school? a former workplace?), a favorite band and a foreign language.
The favorite band was Bel Canto, who I haven't listened to for a while - but I assure you that I am at this very moment. Beautiful, sweeping vocals befitting the name. Odd-yet-familiar melodies. Great stuff.
The time travel element was standard sort-of-odd dream fare, the familiar setting a banal detail. The foreign language, though, was what seemed to be some Scandinavian tongue.
In my dream, I was trying very hard to give Bel Canto proof that I came from the future (our present; the dream was set in the early 80's, I think). It had to do with my needing credibility when I came up to them with a message in the future-now. Like I said, standard dream fare.
Of course, I was speaking this Scandinavian language - Norwegian, maybe? It seemed perfectly normal at the time, but in retrospect it was a little odd. You see, until literally one minute ago, I had thought that Bel Canto was Icelandic. But then, looking for a link to their biography to add to this entry, I found out that they are, in fact, Norwegian. Weird: I've listened to them for more than fifteen years, and I don't find out their true origins until now. Yet, in my dream, I knew.
Even in my dreams, I'm extremely (overly?) exacting. I could've "simply" spoken French, considering I'm immersed in it daily. Or I could've thought I was speaking pretend-Icelandic (rather than pretend-Norwegian). Instead, my brain insisted on the "right" language.
I should be a movie director: the kind who everyone praises for "artistic integrity," but who is despised for their unrelenting perfectionism. Sort of like what I do now, but with more money.