A dream…


I am one of those people who don’t usually recall their dreams.  Last night was an exception.  It wasn’t surreal, nor was it particularly dream-like… it was very bland and mundane, with a wee twist.

If any of you have been reading my Bookshelf series of book reviews, you will know that I’m interested in a wide range of media and styles… you will also know that I often grab a comic or goofy novel in between more heady fare.  After slogging through Infinite Jest, I quickly began reading DFW’s latest, The Pale King, and equally as quickly set it down in favor of a few comic series.

After being blown away by issue #83 of The Walking Dead, I reread that series… which I then went into rereading the Preacher series (I’m sure I’ll review that eventually)… and most recently, I dug back into Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series for the fourth time.  That is a series I will most certainly be reviewing as it is one of my favorite for a multitude of reasons, not least of which is it’s interweaving of mythology, horror, classic storytelling, religion and most importantly, dreams (the series is about Dream of the Endless… aka Morpheus… aka Sandman).

On a completely tangential track is the fact that I follow Neil Gaiman on both Facebook and Twitter.  Last night before I went to bed I happened to look at a picture he had posted of himself in a shirt with some design on it… I don’t know what it was, so it didn’t leave an impact on me (or so I thought)… but I thought the look on his face was, for lack of a better word, a bit dopey (he is not dopey in the least, I think he is an incredible author with an even greater sense of imagination and depth).  At that point I headed off to slumber.

In this dream of mine, I was at my parent’s house, specifically on their driveway chatting with someone near my dad’s boat trailer when I look over and here comes Neil Gaiman in his normal black pants and black shirt.  Coincidentally the house next door to my parents is in fact for sale… though not in a neighborhood I would imagine he would be very interested to move into.  My first thought when I saw him, and I said this to him, was, “why aren’t you in the shirt you just posted the picture of?”

He responded saying simply, “I changed.  I guess you follow me on Twitter then?”

“Yup… I’m a fan.  Did you recently move in?”

“Great… yeah, I bought the house a few days ago and I’m just getting settled in.”

“Is Amanda with you?”

“No… she’s still on tour in Europe”

Now… at this point, I’m shocked at the fact that I’m in the midst of a lucid dream.  It was very real… and I found myself having an internal debate regarding how much do I gush over the fact that I’m having a conversation with an author I not only admire but am currently rereading.  Do I mention my adoration of Good Omens?  American Gods?  Do I chat about how he represented the Norse gods in many of his works versus how it was shown to be in Thor?  Or do I play it cool as though meeting famous people I know too much about considering the fact I don’t know them is completely normal for me?

That was ultimately the extent of my dream.  Like Morpheus, he appeared with little fanfare, yet left an odd sensation when all was said and done.  As though something significant had occurred, when all I had done was dream.  Is this more representative of the power of seeing something before going to sleep or more about the fact I’ve been reading his books of dream?  Is this a case of a cigar being a cigar or is there something more to this?

I don’t believe there is any significance to any of it… but it’s good to know I can still have a dream.

Mr. Sandman give me a dream,
Cornelius J. Blahg

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