In which I ramble about dreams.
Apr. 28th, 2006 07:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nayelaDid you know that trolls--craggy, lumbering, living-rock Pratchettian trolls--have rollercoasters? No? I didn't, either. Until a few nights ago, that is, when I dreamed one.
I have no idea why it was there. I have no idea why I was there, for that matter, but in retrospet I think it must have been one of those instances when other worlds leak through and strange things simply happen. At any rate, there was this rollercoaster. Not any old rollercoaster, of course. In the middle of a vast gravel field up in the mountains, it loomed. I had no idea trolls build anything, but they had unmistakeably built that thing. It had a troll feel to it, and a troll look; there were a few trolls hanging around it, watching in their incurious way, and besides, who else would build something out of whole tree trunks broken off above the ground? It was quite the impossible construction. Dead trees had been piled and wedged against each other, branches criss-crossing wildly, worn bark peeling off in great chunks to reveal patches of bare wood, weathered white. It looked like it had been there for a decade, at least, so for the trolls it probably had great novelty value.
From close up, the smell--like sawdust and stacked firewood, dull and comforting--was overwhelming. The wagon I found myself seated in was made from a hollowed log, with big crude handles on either side of the seat as the only concession to security. Nevertheless, I wasn't very much afraid when the wagon began to move. Except for vaguely wondering what the heck had compelled me to ride this thing, I found everything perfectly natural.
The wagon rattled along the tracks, not with geological slowness, but not very fast either. I let my eyes wander over the Ramtop panorama during the slow rises and gripped the handles tightly during the clattering rushes downward as I spiralled closer to the towering center. Idly I wondered whether the rollercoaster had been built in the image of the mountains themselves, and dismissed the thought. Nothing about it was nearly steep and deadly enough. Then I looked ahead, and saw the looping.
There was a moment of sheer blind panic, which turned to nausea as the wagon picked up speed. I got glimpses of the ground, flashing by impossibly far below, and I knew there was no way I could possibly survive this, and I hung on to the handles as I was swept into the looping.
For a split second, the wagon slowed almost to a halt at the high point. I knew I was going to fall any moment now. I couldn't stop craning my neck to stare at the ground. Then, it came rapidly closer in a teeth-rattling descent, the wagon impossibly still on the track, and me still in the wagon. I started breathing again.
I'd be more baffled at a dream like this usually, but this time I can pretty much trace it back to its origins. It was one of these early morning dreams, when you're hovering just below the surface of sleep and your subconscious is having a rowdy party with whatever images are available. The trolls, for instance, were clearly due to my recent re-read of The Fifth Elephant. The rollercoaster was from Final Destination III, which I saw last week. (You shouldn't, by the way. It is both boring and gruesome, with less plot than your average fanfic, and noteable only for its stereotypical portrayal of US youth culture stereotypes.) I know exactly which scene my brain lifted the 'aaaaarghImgonnadie' moment from. Thanks, brain.
I wonder if it would be possible to figure out recipes for dreams. Feed your subconscious certain things, provide suitable circumstances, and see what happens. Might be worth a try.
I have no idea why it was there. I have no idea why I was there, for that matter, but in retrospet I think it must have been one of those instances when other worlds leak through and strange things simply happen. At any rate, there was this rollercoaster. Not any old rollercoaster, of course. In the middle of a vast gravel field up in the mountains, it loomed. I had no idea trolls build anything, but they had unmistakeably built that thing. It had a troll feel to it, and a troll look; there were a few trolls hanging around it, watching in their incurious way, and besides, who else would build something out of whole tree trunks broken off above the ground? It was quite the impossible construction. Dead trees had been piled and wedged against each other, branches criss-crossing wildly, worn bark peeling off in great chunks to reveal patches of bare wood, weathered white. It looked like it had been there for a decade, at least, so for the trolls it probably had great novelty value.
From close up, the smell--like sawdust and stacked firewood, dull and comforting--was overwhelming. The wagon I found myself seated in was made from a hollowed log, with big crude handles on either side of the seat as the only concession to security. Nevertheless, I wasn't very much afraid when the wagon began to move. Except for vaguely wondering what the heck had compelled me to ride this thing, I found everything perfectly natural.
The wagon rattled along the tracks, not with geological slowness, but not very fast either. I let my eyes wander over the Ramtop panorama during the slow rises and gripped the handles tightly during the clattering rushes downward as I spiralled closer to the towering center. Idly I wondered whether the rollercoaster had been built in the image of the mountains themselves, and dismissed the thought. Nothing about it was nearly steep and deadly enough. Then I looked ahead, and saw the looping.
There was a moment of sheer blind panic, which turned to nausea as the wagon picked up speed. I got glimpses of the ground, flashing by impossibly far below, and I knew there was no way I could possibly survive this, and I hung on to the handles as I was swept into the looping.
For a split second, the wagon slowed almost to a halt at the high point. I knew I was going to fall any moment now. I couldn't stop craning my neck to stare at the ground. Then, it came rapidly closer in a teeth-rattling descent, the wagon impossibly still on the track, and me still in the wagon. I started breathing again.
I'd be more baffled at a dream like this usually, but this time I can pretty much trace it back to its origins. It was one of these early morning dreams, when you're hovering just below the surface of sleep and your subconscious is having a rowdy party with whatever images are available. The trolls, for instance, were clearly due to my recent re-read of The Fifth Elephant. The rollercoaster was from Final Destination III, which I saw last week. (You shouldn't, by the way. It is both boring and gruesome, with less plot than your average fanfic, and noteable only for its stereotypical portrayal of US youth culture stereotypes.) I know exactly which scene my brain lifted the 'aaaaarghImgonnadie' moment from. Thanks, brain.
I wonder if it would be possible to figure out recipes for dreams. Feed your subconscious certain things, provide suitable circumstances, and see what happens. Might be worth a try.
