narrative
When I'm not pensive, I find myself narrating everything I do or see happening. I start to form descriptive narrative of people I study on the bus or the escalator. I can't stop myself from reading text if my eyes come in contact with it. My life is textual. I need to learn more about semiotics, I think, because I read the world.
Anyway, this was all leading to a point. A dumb one. I woke up from a dream that was not only entirely text-on-paper narrative, but asinine. I transcribed it as well as memory would allow.
--
“No, no, no! This very error here: drought, not trout! Nobody would ever die because of widespread trout.”
“It might happen,” he glared reproachfully at the editor’s chair, which was as close to glaring at the editor as he could come without experiencing an untimely termination.
“Why would they starve when they could just eat trout?”
“I don’t like trout.”
“If you were starving you might.”
“That I very much doubt.”
“You are an imbecile. Rewrite this about the drought in Zimbabwe, not trout. Now go on, get out!”
As the crumpled journalistic rout hit the back of his head he began to pout. What a loathsome lout, he thought to himself. Bet he loves trout.
--
As you can see, my subconscious has a poor idea of what humor might be. Similar dream attempts at humor include:
-Lord Byron changing his name to Lord Bison and wandering the world over to update this, in pencil, in every copy of his works.
-The large-sword-crazy-hair JRPG archetypal hero Cloud Strife distraught over a missing sandwich. This was in fact the plot of the dream.
Those are the most notable offenses. My dreams are usually ultimately depressing or revolting, or both.
Do you narrate? Is that why you keep a journal? Or is that a byproduct of keeping a journal? As for the latter two, I may never know. I learned to read and write very young, and have been keeping some sort of journal since, but I don't feel like the basics have deviated much from "I hate my sister, I dreamt a lot, and I still want a dog."
Everything else is conjecture.
Anyway, this was all leading to a point. A dumb one. I woke up from a dream that was not only entirely text-on-paper narrative, but asinine. I transcribed it as well as memory would allow.
--
“No, no, no! This very error here: drought, not trout! Nobody would ever die because of widespread trout.”
“It might happen,” he glared reproachfully at the editor’s chair, which was as close to glaring at the editor as he could come without experiencing an untimely termination.
“Why would they starve when they could just eat trout?”
“I don’t like trout.”
“If you were starving you might.”
“That I very much doubt.”
“You are an imbecile. Rewrite this about the drought in Zimbabwe, not trout. Now go on, get out!”
As the crumpled journalistic rout hit the back of his head he began to pout. What a loathsome lout, he thought to himself. Bet he loves trout.
--
As you can see, my subconscious has a poor idea of what humor might be. Similar dream attempts at humor include:
-Lord Byron changing his name to Lord Bison and wandering the world over to update this, in pencil, in every copy of his works.
-The large-sword-crazy-hair JRPG archetypal hero Cloud Strife distraught over a missing sandwich. This was in fact the plot of the dream.
Those are the most notable offenses. My dreams are usually ultimately depressing or revolting, or both.
Do you narrate? Is that why you keep a journal? Or is that a byproduct of keeping a journal? As for the latter two, I may never know. I learned to read and write very young, and have been keeping some sort of journal since, but I don't feel like the basics have deviated much from "I hate my sister, I dreamt a lot, and I still want a dog."
Everything else is conjecture.