Last night/this morning, I was emerged in one of the more exciting and addicting dreams I've ever had.
There were amusement park like twists and turns (this seems to be a common thread in these late morning/noon adventures), dinosaurs, a water goddess-monster with electrical pink sparks and flowers on her elbows, the sea, a half taped doorway that led to all of this...
It was one of those dreams I didn't want to wake up from. Not entirely pleasant, but vivid and new, a complete different dimension. It seemed so much more fun than anything reality could offer.
Reality--this repetitive, hopeless thing. Of getting up at noon every day, scrambling lunch/breakfast, self hatred for this hopeless pigging out. Wasting time until 2:40 or 3:40 or whenever it is that I have to walk to work, and rotting away with the never ending offer/question of whether the customer has a membership? Coming home, waiting to hang out with friends and movies and coming home at twelve to be tired and listen to music and try to fall asleep and not be able to...
It's not horrible. Of course not. I'm comfortable and content, most of the time. But is it not something else when I'd rather sleep and live in this fantasy dream world than appreciate the little things real life has to offer?
For the past few days I've had Sunset Rubdown's "Us Ones in Between" stuck in my head, and it seems fitting. The underlying melancholy and beauty in the song, the disorienting lyrics. It feels like a soundtrack, it feels like a part of that other world with fatal beasts and ethereal water creatures that kill. I never thought I'd like Sunset Rubdown...or at least wanted to refuse to. Spencer Krug's voice doesn't do it for me, and he is forever associated with that brand of cliche Wolf Parade every indie rock band ever sound. But this is something else. This is something tragic and fragile, and grand and terrible all at once.
And I’ve heard of pious men
And I’ve heard of dirty fiends
But you don’t often hear
Of us ones in between...