I really don't know about other people but my dreams assume different formats. It's almost always audio-visual but sometimes it's so real I can nearly swear I had some tactile experience of sorts. And then some!
This morning I woke up with James Hetfield's voice rumbling about Turning the Page. I had to shake my head twice, vigorously to make him stop the chorus bit.
Now I may need to be medicated, but wasn't last night. I didn't sleep much again and have a head cold and am cantankerous to boot but the song came right at me...almost like a bat out of hell one might say.
I finally stumbled out of bed to find placid and disorganized domesticity scattered all around me. A more discordant image there couldn't be. Or could it?
My BFF1 or as someone once labelled us " emotional Siamese twins"; always believed strongly in Freudy boy's regurgitations on the Unconscious and Repression. And I too believe in them to a large extent, but only because it's happened often enough for me to know that the mind holds onto things with a scary adhesive quality and seldom lets things sieve through. Associations can be sparked within seconds and the even the most tenuous of links can lead to a chain reaction of thoughts, memories and result in a Technicolor explosion up in the ol' noggin.
But I do remember very clearly what I thought of when I first heard the song a while back- it seemed to just build up from a rumble to a full-throaty proclamation of simply turning the page. And what is the act of turning the page but moving onto something new, moving ahead? And a lot of moving on and sifting through clutter is required for periodical renewal of the self methinks.
I suppose our own preferred wiring lets the voice within range from metaphorical abstraction to literally the writing on the wall. Or in this case- Mr. Hetfield. But boy! Whatta way to wake up.
I don't want to repeat this one...but I guess it beats the 3 Tenors doing a jugalbandi and conveying the same message.
That would've landed me in the nut house for sure!
Salut!
This morning I woke up with James Hetfield's voice rumbling about Turning the Page. I had to shake my head twice, vigorously to make him stop the chorus bit.
Now I may need to be medicated, but wasn't last night. I didn't sleep much again and have a head cold and am cantankerous to boot but the song came right at me...almost like a bat out of hell one might say.
I finally stumbled out of bed to find placid and disorganized domesticity scattered all around me. A more discordant image there couldn't be. Or could it?
My BFF1 or as someone once labelled us " emotional Siamese twins"; always believed strongly in Freudy boy's regurgitations on the Unconscious and Repression. And I too believe in them to a large extent, but only because it's happened often enough for me to know that the mind holds onto things with a scary adhesive quality and seldom lets things sieve through. Associations can be sparked within seconds and the even the most tenuous of links can lead to a chain reaction of thoughts, memories and result in a Technicolor explosion up in the ol' noggin.
But I do remember very clearly what I thought of when I first heard the song a while back- it seemed to just build up from a rumble to a full-throaty proclamation of simply turning the page. And what is the act of turning the page but moving onto something new, moving ahead? And a lot of moving on and sifting through clutter is required for periodical renewal of the self methinks.
I suppose our own preferred wiring lets the voice within range from metaphorical abstraction to literally the writing on the wall. Or in this case- Mr. Hetfield. But boy! Whatta way to wake up.
I don't want to repeat this one...but I guess it beats the 3 Tenors doing a jugalbandi and conveying the same message.
That would've landed me in the nut house for sure!
Salut!
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