Wha fu?!

Mar. 6th, 2007 09:45 pm
leynos: (Cooking Mama)
I had a dream last night where my cat had learned to talk. Not in a Salem Saberhagen kind of way, but as you'd imagine a cat attempting to speak would sound. She didn't seem to have much in the way of practical wisdom to impart tho.

The whole thing freaked me out. Especially when, upon waking, I was still in that half dreaming stage where one is willing to believe anything. A tad phased, I fired up Google and set about looking for cases of cats having been taught to vocalize English phrases. The reality isn't nearly as impressive as that conjured up by my mind.

Also today, I spent £200 on a pair of prescription sunglasses with ballistic lenses. They should do fine for the airsoft, hillwalking and snowboarding, so hopefully that'll be money well spent.

And I've booked a couple of days off work for seeing Lostprophets in Glasgow with Afroduck (reciprocity for him having gone to see Placebo with me, I guess).

Dead Anyway

Aug. 1st, 2006 11:58 pm
leynos: (Default)
I remembered a dream for a change.

I've had dreams where windows onto reality (eg, television screens) suddenly become the reality, but dreams told in 2nd person don't happen to me very often.

It starts looking through what appears to be the sights of a bomber. It's all in green night vision. I'm looking down at a city. The city is dark. People are running through the alley ways and across bridges over canals etc. Then it cuts to cross-sections of the city, highlighting the structure of the drainage system. Info tags appear next to the fleeing denizens of the city, outlining their medical condition. They're dying of radiation sickness.

Now I see through the eyes of one of these poor people. I can't feel any pain as best as I can tell. But the place is horrible. Open sewers, rats everywhere, rotting corpses, the like. It reminds me a little of Syndicate crossed with Dark City.

After running for a time, I come to a gate in a chainlink fence that appears to be walling off part of the city. The gate is open, and rats are running through in their hundreds. There is a guard standing next to the gate in green cammo. I complain to him about the rats. The guard is me (the me telling this story, not the me seeing this scene). He says, "Never mind, they're dead anyway. Just like you."

Unperturbed, I headed on into the compound. The one thing I remember, before waking up was a couple of tattered posters, plastered with yellowing selotape. One advertising "antique" Pokémon figurines, starting at US$2000 each. Another selling videotapes of old TV shows. A recording of Howard Stern interviewing Suze Randall was selling for US$4000. God knows why.

The place looked like some form of refugee community, but I didn't get any chance to explore, as my alarm went off at this point.

If Fashion Is Your Trade...

Then when you're naked, I guess you must be unemployed, yeah.

I listened to Different Class for the first time through in years. It still shines with vibrancy. What I forget about are the tracks like Pencil Skirt and Live Bed Show that whilst not anthems, are still fantastic songs. There aren't any bad songs on that album.

I've changed a lot in the past two years. The way I understand these songs tells me this more than anything. I know what F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E. really means now. I know what the sensations described in Sorted Out For Es and Whizz are like in reality. Life lived through Pulp songs as an eighteen year old isn't all that far removed from the truth.

The rainbow coloured harmony between Korg and guitar will never die.

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