to sleep, perchance to dream
two nights ago i dreamed of those infuriating brown eyes that darkly sparkle. as dreams go it was good, and welcoming. it felt like i might have something to do again. people of my generation would have named it drama.
we call all our feuds and embarrassing struggles drama, and then try to exorcise it. and it seems to me like something's going on. i never understood how drama and comedy were linked. do you think kenneth burke would approve of a comedic pentad? or lay foundation for it? it would have to be funny, whether it got serious or not.
in v for vendetta, v is obsessed with drama. of course that slides gracelessly out of the film and he just seems like a materialist. but what if v's significant dramatic bent explains him? or course it does: the mask, the costume, the music, the movie posters, the staging and ritual, the other realities, valerie. or if you turn it over, his creepy obsession with lady justice points to just another odd gender and power dynamic. i wish the movie had been better than it was.
this morning i dreamed much more elaborately. mo from dykes to watch out for, behaving nothing at all like mo from dykes to watch out for (and being, rather, not a cartoon but a humyn, and not a humyn but a dream, and being also rather like alison in some heavily lensed meta-cartoon-class-inside-a-dream), was teaching a class of which i might have been a part. the students in the cartoon in the dream always recognized the figures in the cartoon in the cartoon (of course the students in the class are not so talented as cartoon-dream students, and never will be). quite elaborate.
remarking on this moved somehow the professor, apparently, to bring me back to her house which was giant inside, soaring, like a sheath. and what for i don't know, though dr. crowley, appearing, who may have worked (or even colluded) with my host, the professor, knew too well. they left together for some class or work, i suppose, and i waited alone in this huge place where every wall at least and shelves for ages were covered with books and books. while they were gone i walked around just a single shelf, which held j.r.r. tolkien and paperbacks i didn't recognize but straightened up and set with their spines turned out.
and when they returned i had somehow extracted the promise of reading a thesis (which i did not have) and substituted with dr. crowley's sway the paper i wrote for my rhet studies class last semester. the professor was quite vocally unhappy with my bait and switch but as she and dr. crowley read i was confident, nevertheless, that my work would win out.
so you'll see how i came to quoting hamlet for a title. for in that sleep, what dreams may come.
we call all our feuds and embarrassing struggles drama, and then try to exorcise it. and it seems to me like something's going on. i never understood how drama and comedy were linked. do you think kenneth burke would approve of a comedic pentad? or lay foundation for it? it would have to be funny, whether it got serious or not.
in v for vendetta, v is obsessed with drama. of course that slides gracelessly out of the film and he just seems like a materialist. but what if v's significant dramatic bent explains him? or course it does: the mask, the costume, the music, the movie posters, the staging and ritual, the other realities, valerie. or if you turn it over, his creepy obsession with lady justice points to just another odd gender and power dynamic. i wish the movie had been better than it was.
this morning i dreamed much more elaborately. mo from dykes to watch out for, behaving nothing at all like mo from dykes to watch out for (and being, rather, not a cartoon but a humyn, and not a humyn but a dream, and being also rather like alison in some heavily lensed meta-cartoon-class-inside-a-dream), was teaching a class of which i might have been a part. the students in the cartoon in the dream always recognized the figures in the cartoon in the cartoon (of course the students in the class are not so talented as cartoon-dream students, and never will be). quite elaborate.
remarking on this moved somehow the professor, apparently, to bring me back to her house which was giant inside, soaring, like a sheath. and what for i don't know, though dr. crowley, appearing, who may have worked (or even colluded) with my host, the professor, knew too well. they left together for some class or work, i suppose, and i waited alone in this huge place where every wall at least and shelves for ages were covered with books and books. while they were gone i walked around just a single shelf, which held j.r.r. tolkien and paperbacks i didn't recognize but straightened up and set with their spines turned out.
and when they returned i had somehow extracted the promise of reading a thesis (which i did not have) and substituted with dr. crowley's sway the paper i wrote for my rhet studies class last semester. the professor was quite vocally unhappy with my bait and switch but as she and dr. crowley read i was confident, nevertheless, that my work would win out.
so you'll see how i came to quoting hamlet for a title. for in that sleep, what dreams may come.