It is weird (my dreams that is). I have very weird dreams. Yes, everyone has weird dreams (though some perhaps not as fucked up as mine, but weird nonetheless). But I am not talking about the content of my dreams, but the way I dream. Some say that you dream in black and white, but I find that complete jargon. I am pretty sure I dream in color, unless my memory supplies color automatically in remembrance. At the very least, if it is in black and white, I may know that even though the color of a girl's hair is grey in my dream that I actually think and believe while I am dreaming it is actually strawberry blonde.
Yet, this is not the weird aspect of my dreams. I believe everyone dreams in color, or at least believe that they do. What’s weird about when I dream is that the people, including myself, who are represented in my dream, never reflect their true images. For instance, last night, while I slept so comfortably on Goob’s loveseat couch (he he he) I had a dream where I was an everyday-agent. This is much like a show business agent, except I represented the everyday Joe in ordinary experiences and situations (this is not an actual occupation mind you). To top it off, I wasn’t a very good one and most people just seemed to not like me. But all of my friends felt bad for me and still kept me on as their agent even though I befuddled everything I did for them. My friends, of course, didn’t let me take on anything to serious, but paid me to do remedial stuff like talk to the grocer and talk to their mother-in-laws when they called. It was remedial everyday stuff like that.
This is a funny notion and is why I decided to share it, but I need to get back on point; and that is that all of my friends were not imaged as themselves in my dream, but as other people and other faces along with their names and personalities. I myself wasn’t even myself. I forget now who I may have looked like, or what the other’s (Chris, the Earls, Steve, Isaac, Josh, etc.) looked like. I believe it was no one famous, because the faces are never famous. They are just random faces. Faces that may or may not exist, chances are they do, but what does it matter? They are not the faces which belong to their rightful owners.
Now if it were just I that had a different image, this would be quite easy to psychoanalyze. It would probably mean that I had an identity issue with myself. As it is all faces and not just in one dream, but all of them, this becomes a little bit trickier to understand. Frankly, I have nothing except if one is one, why not all? And by that I mean that I have a problem identifying everyone, including myself? Upon asking this, I asked myself what on earth it could mean. What does it exactly mean to identify them? I really couldn’t begin to answer that question and now I am stuck once again. At the furthest reaches of my mind, where my mind usually hides, I thought perhaps it led down to trust. Where I could identify people by how I trust them, perhaps? I don’t know, either way, when you analyze that statement, I trust no one, especially myself. Which honestly could be true, but I would hate to think it.
Anyway, I think someone really smart once said not to put too much faith in the interpretation of dreams. Or perhaps that was a dream and I made that up. Either way, perhaps I should follow that advice and think about happier topics such as war, pestilence, death, and bunny rabbits! At the very least, I know one thing. It is weird.