Beautiful Dreamer.

I was just reading a post about dreams over on First Nations and as usual the thoughts went to the back of my mind and so about a day later I want to write about it, that's how I come up with some of my posts, I wish I could take the credit but it has to go to the Muses, the ancestors the spirits in the material world whatever you want to call them, it happens when I want to remember something, c'mon you've done it, you think and think but can't remember some name or fact then when you're buttering some bread for dinner or at 3 am when you're in bed it comes to you, the thought you dirty shites, buttering bread is not a euphemism for anything, or is it ?

For as long as I can remember I've tried to take control of my dreams, half way through the dream I say no! its my dream, and turn on the Bogeyman with an Uzi 9 mm and send his ass back to Bogey land in a Bogey bag, sometimes it turns out that my hand becomes the gun and my finger shoots really crap slow bullets, by then the Bogey element realises the jig is up and I sleep well after that.
The dreams about flying are really cool, they represent the ability to overcome any obstacle in life, I wish I had more of them, just don't think about crashing while you're flying or the spell is broken. Over thinking things only gives you a headache, life needs to be more simple or the joy goes.

I recently had a dream in which I was a boy on a bus that knocked doon a woman and no one noticed . I thought about sitting doon and not getting involved for an instant as fear overcame me then my usual face up to fear way of thinking kicked in and I commanded "stop the bus" and got someone to call 999 for an ambulance and I did first aid on the gurl, what a good dream, I was in control and accomplished something, usually I wake up first, oh and moments before she was hit I did check out her nice arse, she had olive coloured Capri pants on and I wonder why a lot of my dreams have one colour that sticks out.
I often have recurring dreams or dreams set the the same place and a lot of times its places I've never been.

I go for the Aboriginal way of thinking that the dream world is the real world, I suppose the film The Matrix tapped into that myth somewhat in a way that even a teenager might understand.
I believe that when you dream you enter a plane of existence where all the creatures of myth and fantasy live, a place where even the Gods live, like Cyberspace we can't live there or even touch it but we can go there.
The dreamland like anywhere else can effect your way of thinking and since your imagination opens wide when you dream, it can get you when you're awake, ever have a crap dream that bothers you all day?
Sleep is a main factor in a lot of mental and even physical health issues so my ideas are not so far out.
In times of yore, yore Ma, heroes like Cu Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster mysteriously fell asleep and in the space of an hour had dreams of adventures fighting battles and a love affair with a beautiful Fairy maiden that in the realm of the fairies (or the Dreamland) lasted months, his wife was quite pissed off when she found out as she had been frantically trying to wake him, it seems even in a dream cheating is cheating, I wonder if the stiffy he had gave him away?
In dreams we are not always thinking straight, that bloody fairy glamour I suppose, as good an excuse as any.

Fairyland where if you make a mistake you could end up in the shit.

Once a woman I knew described her father who had Alzheimers as 'being away with the fairies', maybe sometimes there is a price to pay for what you do or where you go in Dreamland as there is in this so-called real world, for instance if you die in a dream or eat some of the food there.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy, well anyway that's what I said to Horatio Hornblower as he smoked a Hamlet, the mild cigar.

Its a busy world we live in, many of the old ways have been left to the side for wacky things like Science and disposable products and even disposable people (chavs/neds/spides/white trash/gangstas/pimps,Chinese etc) dreams barely get a second thought.

Incidentally that's what I like about Blogging, people form thoughts, its refreshing in this time of reality shows and sheep herding.

I hate that on TV and films the gurl always goes to bed with a top and a bra on underneath, most of them have no tits whats there to support? I want realism in my TV and nipples poking through nighties, and when a couple on TV spend the night consentingly sexually violating eachother, er sorry 'making love' then they get up and wrap a white sheet around themselves before going to the bathroom why? though I do wish some of the gurls I shag would do that, when I have beer goggles on I become easy prey for the aesthetically challenged female, now I'm no beauty queen, I've been described as unconventionally goodlooking but when I go to bed with Kate Beckinsale and wake up with Julia Roberts, move yer shoes cos I'm gonna blow chunks.

Now this post started out well as a serious look into dreams and the unconscious, then it degraded into a shag a pig special, so to wrap it up lets talk about the act of boaking itself, vomiting to you yanks. The morning after when you feel like shit but you want to get up because if you eat and take some paracetemol you'll feel better faster and besides its Sunday and the Sunday sermon doesn't get rammed doon people's throats itself, those fuckers expect to see the Vicar.
So you get up and spend the next hour naked on the bathroom floor cos its nice and cool, its interrupted by the need to shit, so you get up and pinch off a foul metallic/ beer smelling shit, but yer body likes a wee joke so you start to throw up in your mouth, your hand catches some of the spray until you get your head doon and talk to God on the big porcelain telephone, that works for a minute but some stupid cunt had curry last night and ass juice is flowing too, so you sit back on and as you pebble dash the toilet you barf into the sink, perfect, until you want to go and use the sink, picking diced carrots out of a plug hole with a hangover is not fun.
I know there is always some dry shite Victor Mature that points out "you only have your self to blame", and thats why they are a Billy no mates.