The Dream Project looks like it has some potential. As near as I can tell, people write about and even narrate their dreams. These “tellings” serve as inspiration for artists who create images to go along with it.
The goal is to create a map of our collective unconscious in what must be some sort of Jungian, archetypal kind of thing.
I rarely remember my own dreams. I remember actually remembering a dream maybe a half dozen times, and most of those have faded with time. The few I do remember always seem to involve snakes. Any Freudians in my audience are free to make of that what they will.
Coincidentally enough though, a few weeks ago, I was drifting off in that boarder between sleep and waking, and I was startled back into awareness by a dream in which I was eating the brains of human babies.
Sick, I know, and as you might expect, they tasted gross and very unpleasant. It was sort of a green, bitter flavor. I’m pretty sure this is because that night I had stuffed myself at dinner, and although I was thoroughly full and even slightly sick, I still ordered and ate an ice cream sunday.
I think I must have been feeling guilty about giving in to my inner sweet tooth when I so obviously didn’t need any extra calories, so my brain took something delicious like ice cream and made it something disgusting like little tiny baby brains. Come to think of it, maybe it’s a good thing I don’t remember most of my dreams. My subconscious must be a remarkably dark and foreboding place to hang out.
Leave a Reply