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Varieties of Oneiric Experience

...is what tomsdisch labelled these investigations, and he held that hearing (in this case reading) others' dreams is as amusing as hearing any story can be, which I agree with completely, whether creepy and unheimlich or goofy and dadaist.  There's just no doubt that it all means something, and something important, but what or why can't be said, just as with stories themselves.  Teaching a lesson (or learning one) just won't do.

Anyway, after carefully grooming the data I seem to arrive at no conclusion -- most people don;t have those kinds of dreams and of the few who do there seem to be as many women as men -- so forget it.

It does suggest though the need for a real taxonomy of dreams:  not an analytic mode or method, we are far from that pace Freud and others, but a simple taxonomy, like the meme structure of folktales.  SO you can wake up and say oh one of those.  We do that anyway of course, but this would be science, like.

The Forgotten Errand.
The Big Nice House  (this one is cognate to the New Apartment, which in my dreams is always a wonderful refuge, sometimes with free meals or similar).
The Big Nice Elaborately Produced City.
The Big Guy who makes me Guilty/Nervous/Anxious
The Rock Band that Needs my Help (this can't, at least in this form, be a permanent fixture of mentality, though it might have earlier cognates. e.g.  The Shaman who Neeeds me to Beat the Drum.  In my case it was auditioning to replace the bassist in the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, a band I never even listened to much.)
Meeting Dead People who Act Alive
Being Dead but Still Alive
Meeting Famous Dead People who Act Alive

... well I seem to be drifitng into inconsequence, like the Chinese Encyclopedia. 


Jan. 23rd, 2007 03:23 am (UTC)
I've dreamed stories.

In fact I dreamed a really irritating pomo one that started out as an I-have-super-powers-and-can-fly dream, except that then little continuity and evidentiary cracks kept showing up in the superpoweriness, and I was somehow both starring in and narrating the book (and I looked more like Spider Robinson than me). Then it became increasingly evident that the narrator was increasingly unreliable (yeah, yeah, I was reading Pale Fire at the time), and the last scene was a set piece where the narrator believed he was breaking into a Seekrit Govt Lab to steal a McGuffin but he was actually being manipulated by his erstwhile friends, preying on his delusions, into stealing a big TV from Best Buy. It ended with his/my arrest and the unresolved question of whether the author's portrait on the last page, all by itself, was the lamest "About the Author" page ever, or a mugshot cropped just above the numbers.

As a novel, I'd give it about a 3/10. I mean, I *have* read worse, but not lots worse. For improvisation while asleep it was a little better, I suppose. But as I told my subconscious, I better not quit my day job.

Jan. 23rd, 2007 01:42 pm (UTC)
It sounds, actually, a delight to dream, though maybe not to recount.

Dreams where you are engaged in desperate or romantic adventures and unable to decide if you are doing them or acting in the movie or reading about them in a book -- defintiely a type.
Jan. 23rd, 2007 09:26 pm (UTC)
.. or if you're writing the book/film yourself? Diping into and out of being a character in the story or the creator of the story. I've done that. It's sort of conscious dreaming, but not quite. Separate type from acting.
Jan. 23rd, 2007 10:56 pm (UTC)
I always think those are fun dreams too. Though I'm always a little annoyed when I realize that what I thought was a really ripping yarn while I was engaged in it leaves a lot of room for improvement in the daylight.
Jan. 23rd, 2007 11:39 pm (UTC)
heh. Writer.
Jan. 23rd, 2007 11:53 pm (UTC)
Guilty as charged.