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progOh no, a dream happened. Usually I don't want to share my dreams -- lord knows I usually back away from other people's dream descriptions -- but this was unusually cinematic.
I was in the very typical (for me) dream-setting of a classroom. I felt familiarity and friendliness towards the teacher and my classmates, though the only person I recognized was![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cthulhia. (She didn't have a speaking role, unfortunately, and just acted bored and cynical. Sorry, C. I'll try to get you in better with casting next time.) I had, in my hand, a thick pile of notes for a big full-class project about movies, and it so happens that the movies my dream-self researched were the same ones that waking-self saw at February's sci fi marathon. Today was our big presentation day, and the teacher called me first, to talk about "The Omega Man", that Charleton Heston classic. (Note: Beyond mentioning CH's name, nothing else in the dream has anything to do with the actual movie.)
Riffling through my notes, I again found myself in a typical dream-situation: oh no, my notes on this particular film were gone. Unlike a typical dream, though, it didn't worry me, because I knew I was familiar enough with the story to just wing it. So, I drew three big squares on the chalkboard. Then I instructed the students to roll 3d6. We were going to play the lottery, which was a centerpiece of the action in this movie. I'd roll some dice of my own and write the results in the squares, then we'd see how people matched it. When I turned by back on the other students to face the chalkboard again, everyone rolled their dice simultaneously, and one die at a time, making a noise like TRAMP TRUMP TRAMP. I smiled and remarked that it sounded like marching soldiers.
With that, the scene shifted, apparently to a dramatic enactment of the presentation I started to give. Some people, adult men and women all dressed in the same brown monastic robes (recalling the uniforms humans wore in that old "Manhunter" game from Sierra) and gathered in a conspirational knot in what looked like a streetcorner somewhere on upper Hammond Street in Bangor... pavement and occasional small, one-story office buildings. One of these, with a bright blue awning, was some sort of government center, and the little crowd was waiting for it to announce the day's lottery numbers. Out they came, as a loud announcement from a speaker attached to the building, and when the camera panned back to the people, we see that to of them have won the prize for getting one or two of the numbers right: a big cookie, saran-wrapped, like you might find in a convenience store's coffee service island. The winners hold out their cookies and look humbly proud, and their smiling friends congratulate them in the traditional fashion, tapping the victory-cookies with their fingers.
One of the winners, though, is not pleased with his cookie: he thinks he sees a flaw in it. Maybe a piece of grass, or something. He announces that he's going to enter the building and try to make an exchange for a better cookie. His companions, not wanting a scene, try to discourage him, but he and his little child (as before unseen, also dressed in a brown robe) start towards the door.
There was actually more dream than this, but nothing so rational. Something about the winner of the lottery, and a conspiracy of living Playmobil men who were actually dupes of orbital flying-saucer men. The dream ended with tragic/comic scene of a Playmobil guy who had been ejected from a saucer by his cruel bosses and thought about his family as he fell to certain death. But lo: he fell into an open shaft of some sort in the earth, and who should rescue him from his deadly plummet but his young son, a full-sized human boy, living in their underground home? The little boy saw nothing amiss about the way his father came home (to say nothing of the fact his father was three inches tall and plastic) and began to babble about what he did that day. The Playmobil guy silently came to realize that his whole family would soon be wiped out by the saucer-men. At first felt resigned to this, and figured that death would at least come quickly for them all, so he just wouldn't say anything. But, despite himself, he started to mentally map out possible escape routes they could take. I think I awoke just as hope started to dawn on him.
I was in the very typical (for me) dream-setting of a classroom. I felt familiarity and friendliness towards the teacher and my classmates, though the only person I recognized was
cthulhia. (She didn't have a speaking role, unfortunately, and just acted bored and cynical. Sorry, C. I'll try to get you in better with casting next time.) I had, in my hand, a thick pile of notes for a big full-class project about movies, and it so happens that the movies my dream-self researched were the same ones that waking-self saw at February's sci fi marathon. Today was our big presentation day, and the teacher called me first, to talk about "The Omega Man", that Charleton Heston classic. (Note: Beyond mentioning CH's name, nothing else in the dream has anything to do with the actual movie.)Riffling through my notes, I again found myself in a typical dream-situation: oh no, my notes on this particular film were gone. Unlike a typical dream, though, it didn't worry me, because I knew I was familiar enough with the story to just wing it. So, I drew three big squares on the chalkboard. Then I instructed the students to roll 3d6. We were going to play the lottery, which was a centerpiece of the action in this movie. I'd roll some dice of my own and write the results in the squares, then we'd see how people matched it. When I turned by back on the other students to face the chalkboard again, everyone rolled their dice simultaneously, and one die at a time, making a noise like TRAMP TRUMP TRAMP. I smiled and remarked that it sounded like marching soldiers.
With that, the scene shifted, apparently to a dramatic enactment of the presentation I started to give. Some people, adult men and women all dressed in the same brown monastic robes (recalling the uniforms humans wore in that old "Manhunter" game from Sierra) and gathered in a conspirational knot in what looked like a streetcorner somewhere on upper Hammond Street in Bangor... pavement and occasional small, one-story office buildings. One of these, with a bright blue awning, was some sort of government center, and the little crowd was waiting for it to announce the day's lottery numbers. Out they came, as a loud announcement from a speaker attached to the building, and when the camera panned back to the people, we see that to of them have won the prize for getting one or two of the numbers right: a big cookie, saran-wrapped, like you might find in a convenience store's coffee service island. The winners hold out their cookies and look humbly proud, and their smiling friends congratulate them in the traditional fashion, tapping the victory-cookies with their fingers.
One of the winners, though, is not pleased with his cookie: he thinks he sees a flaw in it. Maybe a piece of grass, or something. He announces that he's going to enter the building and try to make an exchange for a better cookie. His companions, not wanting a scene, try to discourage him, but he and his little child (as before unseen, also dressed in a brown robe) start towards the door.
There was actually more dream than this, but nothing so rational. Something about the winner of the lottery, and a conspiracy of living Playmobil men who were actually dupes of orbital flying-saucer men. The dream ended with tragic/comic scene of a Playmobil guy who had been ejected from a saucer by his cruel bosses and thought about his family as he fell to certain death. But lo: he fell into an open shaft of some sort in the earth, and who should rescue him from his deadly plummet but his young son, a full-sized human boy, living in their underground home? The little boy saw nothing amiss about the way his father came home (to say nothing of the fact his father was three inches tall and plastic) and began to babble about what he did that day. The Playmobil guy silently came to realize that his whole family would soon be wiped out by the saucer-men. At first felt resigned to this, and figured that death would at least come quickly for them all, so he just wouldn't say anything. But, despite himself, he started to mentally map out possible escape routes they could take. I think I awoke just as hope started to dawn on him.