It’s not uncommon that many of these dreams cross the hypothetical border into nightmarish realms. Issues that are a catalyst for my anxiety often litter my dreams with sobering realities and self-doubt. There’s nothing worse than having a visual of a made-for-dreamland sloppy porn-patented brunette cottage romper than a brief notion of your unflattering credit score or irresponsible career choices. These brief moments of self-awareness during a whimsical slumber usually result in minutes of pacing and volume adjustment for the am sports radio program and the BCS Bowl bias controversy. If this sort of redundant and pointless conversation can’t put one to sleep – what can?
When I smoked earlier in my 20’s, if I awoke from a bad dream stressed over its all-to-clear revelations, I would have a smoke and some water, sometimes crushing cans of coke at 4 am to quench the pasties au lieu to having a black coffee, red bull or line of Charlie. Actually, I have never been a fan of coke, the drug, but the drink yes, preferably the aspartame-rich version in the gray can. There’s not much more I could do to sub-consciously avoid the imminent sleep and the continuation of unwanted self-introspection.
The light was absolutely paralyzing, a solar eclipse with a side of epileptic stroke-inducing strobe lights that shook rhythmically in a vertical fashion. I soon realized I was running towards this blinding light. It was the sun, and at no point was it mistaken for the ‘white-light’ many have reportedly faced, only to revive miraculously for a second shot at death. Sorry, life. What the fuck does this mean?
In theory, escapism is man’s explanation for finding comfort and solace through entertainment. We momentarily forget of all the problems of real life by enveloping ourselves in a good book, movie or television program. Perhaps my most brilliant, surreal dreams act as a means of escapism for me, only to be awoken in the morning by the harshness of reality and the discomfort of sleeping on a futon for the last five years of my life. Inversely, perhaps my dreams act as a fuel for the proverbial fire which can be found in the bellies of all great men. Like Dizzee Rascal said ‘if you don’t have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?” Maybe they are a bit of both.
In Thomas Hardy’s quintessential work “Jude the Obscure”, we meet Jude Fawley as a young, impressionable boy from working-class Marygreen who has aspirations to be a great academic and leave the confines of his rural hamlet. His small English town is littered with those who have long ago given up on the outside world, and choose to focus not on their now deceased dreams, but on their limitations. From a young age, Jude is an idealist with lofty aspirations of experiencing the academic institutions at the University of Christminster. He attempts to teach himself both Greek and Latin by reading outdated texts in hopes of one day attending said university. One of my favorite moments of the book comes early on, when on one of his many lengthy walks outside of Marygreen, Jude finds a large home with two men perched upon its roof working on the shingles. Jude notices the massive ladder used to climb to such a height, and politely asks the two men if in the distance they can see Christminster. The one man replies that at the moment, the afternoon mist was too dense to see much of anything in the distance, but that there are times when a vague silhouette of the city can be seen on the horizon line. The same man asks Jude what he could possibly want with a town like Christminster, to which Jude replies with his academic aspirations. The man snickers and mentions something about the people of a town like Marygreen and how they lack the pedigree of an academic town like Christminster. Jude walks along, before hiding in a bush or grove of trees until the men leave, only to courageously climb the ladder himself. As the dense fog begins to rise and the night air becomes thin, Jude squints in the distance to see the lights of Christminster. For the first time, his notions have a physical representation, and his dream has grown that much bigger.
As he grows into his teens, he begins apprenticing as a stonemason in Marygreen, and soon realizes that his frustration with poverty and the indifference of the academic institutions in Christminster are too much to handle. Jude’s dreams have now become a catalyst for his desperation. Hardy’s portrait of Jude Fawley is of an idealist and a dreamer who becomes a desperate prisoner of his own limitations. This is not a synopsis of Hardy’s genius work, and if you really want to read a story that becomes darker, yet more compassionate with each page I suggest picking-up a copy for yourself.
The point I am trying to make is that whether our dreams are an extension of our subconscious or that of our waking lives as it is for Jude Fawley, they are essential for not only our well-being, but our sanity. My utopian visions of mounting Beyonce from the rear on a $5000 King Size Sealy Posturepedic being clouded by thoughts of the struggles of a freelance writer or my Ontario Student Loans payments are a necessity for making my dreams a reality. For Jude to continue to aspire for greatness despite the narrow minded and judgmental ways of the world around him and his increasingly prevalent thoughts of himself as a social outcast are equally as necessary.
If much of this doesn’t make sense or lacks continuity, you must excuse me, I wrote much of it while I was asleep.
Okay wardies, now that i've posted one Dizzee video and spent the last half-hour watching others on youtube, thought I'd post a few more though they don't have much relevance, if any to today's post. Dizzee needs to get grimey again ya. Enjoy.
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