the bad, the worse and the sleeping

Because I’m not so hot at describing myself and cute introductory posts tend to make me lie and rhyme, I’m just going to get right into and talk about whatever I’m thinking about, rite. Because that’s what a personal blog is, rite. Technically I blog in my head all the time, so just pretend I’ve always been here. : x
This actually brings me to my First Blog Goal: smilies, and their potential and strongly desired lack thereof. I’m addicted, friends. I tell myself that it really started with my insisting that sarcasm can be fun! on the interwebz, and that adding an expressive little face made it as clear as could be. Well, not so, and in the process I got into the habit of emoticonning it up everywhere.

At least I don’t put huge ASCII cats and bunnies in every paragraph.

ascii art o_o

I’ll at least give a little explanation of the title of this blog. I think it’ll be temporary, until I think of something I like better, but it does have a story/purpose. I was watching a movie the other night, in which the main character is an enormous Beatles fan. The soundtrack overall was fantastic, but there was one thing that made me think: Sarah McLachlan’s version of Blackbird starts playing at some important scene. I thought at the time that it would have made more sense to either play the original version, or omit it. So, as almost everything triggers me to do in the last month or so, I started thinking about the Catcher in the Rye and phonies and how many people have covered Beatles songs, and also how many people pretend to love the Beatles in the hope that it gives them culture. I could get more into that but it’s boring. x3

So, basically, “sing it like the Beatles” is a fancy way of saying “be real”. That’s all.

Now now now. There are a few angsty things that I could probably write about, ranging from the state of my bedroom to the state of my family. Considering there’s been a lot going on but I haven’t actually done much of anything all summer, I’ve gotten pretty good at complaining. But.. I’m going to take an easier road, and talk about sleeping~! I’ve been stumbling off to bed at midnight for the past few weeks (at which point I am EXHAUSTED… how do you do it, you night owls?), playing Pokemon for about another hour and then dozing off, often with the DS still in my hands.

(Because I live in a loft bed about four feet off the ground, I’ve proven time and time again that these Game Boys are actually way more durable than people may say. The adapter/charger, not so much.)

I then proceed to sleep through the night, and wake up around nine in the morning, after my mum has already left for work and my brothers are still sleeping. Bonus: some extra computer time for internet and Diablo. B) Bummer: zero sociality. I’m going to rewind, though, to the time that I’m actually sleeping. Right, I’ve been having some pretty kickass dreams lately. It’s both upsetting and wonderful, because I love love love dreaming but, of course, I hate waking up. The first thing I want to do after a good dream is grab my notebook and try to reproduce it. This makes me think of Twilight, of course (since it’s so widely known that her ~*fantastic story came to her in a dream*~), and as it occurred to me that the protag in my dream was a complete Gary-Stu, I thought that maybe “dream writing” is just destined to be cliché in a secretive way to the dreamer/writer. After all, dreams are often.. dreams. Fluffiness and desirability has a huge impact. Having these spectacular dreams makes me want to write write write and share these stories, but maybe it’s not the story at all that I love, but the comfort of being immersed in it, myself. Dreams always make total sense when I’m dreaming them, and almost none at all when I’m awake. Especially since I never remember as much as I want to. Thus!, I, the dreamer, find it hard to interpret these garbled memories, try to write them out, suceed a little, feel accomplished and nostalgic, and this without even realizing my story is terrible.

I tried to write about it anyway, and plan to take some sort of inspiration out of it for a short story, and this is all I could get out:

“He wept into the folds of his sister’s silk dress. Silk dress. Her wealth, her beauty. He wept into her kindness but not her love, for as the first tear fell on her she pushed him away and urged him to keep the garment clean. His composure came too late…”

Those, like.. two sentences popped into my head after I woke up. It was in some sort of Medieval setting, I think (it didn’t really matter when I was dreaming it, because of course at that time it was just a Natural setting), and there was a young man, boy who had some sort of tragic past and ends up being reunited with some long-lost friend, or relative or something. There was an element of past lives, too… ancestors and destiny.

Sound creative? Ha.

There might have been more to it than that, but I don’t know if it’s something I injected into it to make it seem more substantial. It’s something like being the only rational person in his world, which is filled with uh.. crazy people. Then there’s wondering which side is actually crazy, and blabla..

I guess the reason I don’t want to continue it is that I’m afraid of ruining it. It feels sort of untouchable (the dream, I mean).

THAT’S WHAT I’M LIKE WITH WRITING ANYTHING LATELY. Since when am I so flaky?

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Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)

• What Did Not Happen.
• Using Dreams In Your Writing
• I Love u
• Interview: ’Tron’ Director & ’Tron: Legacy’ Producer Steven Lisberger

~ by rexdecimal on August 12, 2008.