September 23, 2012
In my mind, I remembered the moment. My naked body, coated in a bright blue paint, pressing against the wooden box, trying to coat every last inch of it. Picasso watching on, giving precise instructions, as he’d done previously with other women and other boxes.
“There were definitely blue boxes. I know there were. BRIGHT blue, like that blue over there,” I said, pointing toward the wall painted a brilliant sky blue.
“There were green, and black. Nine green boxes total, 3 black, and then there were the rocks.”
“Yes, I know there were green and black. Nine green boxes, with around 20 green rocks, 3 black boxes and 5 black rocks. But there were also 3 blue boxes and 7 blue rocks.” I couldn’t understand why this art historian was arguing with me; I’d helped create the boxes.
October 22, 2008
Lately, when I start to wake, instead of remembering part of a dream, I have a novel running through my head as I come into consciousness. Crazy stories, just like I’m reading it from a book.
This morning’s was something out of science fiction. A person, in the future, doing some schleppy IT-related work because he wants to slack off. Only he realizes the work he does fuels what he hates about society and aids in lining the pockets of his enemies. There were spaceships involved – a la Futurama, but more grown up and realistic and grimy.
It just always strikes me as odd when I wake up and there are these well-formed sentences running through my head, and I’m not the center of the dream or even watching it – someone is narrating it. I find it even more odd that I have some sort of science fiction brewing in my unconscious; I don’t even like science fiction. But that can mainly be blamed on Star Trek.
It’s time to pick up work on the pod series again.