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Sometimes having a healthy ego sucks.
Like when your subconscious takes War of the Worlds as a challenge. "Scary?" She asks. "You want to be scared? Oh, we can do much, much better than Spielberg. A lot better."
"Hey," I started to tell my subconscious as I entered into REM, "I don't think I really want..."
"Oh, no, no, no. You paid $9.50 last night to be scared, honey. I'll scare you much better, and for free!"
"No, seriously," I tried to explain. "I've had enough thrills for the night. I totally don't need anymore."
"Pshaw! You needs weren't fulfilled, and that's the kind of thing I'm supposed to do, right? Fulfill secret need and desires? I sent you that dream about House a couple of days ago, didn't I?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"Right-o! So, let's see, we've got aliens, but since you were more scared of the Signs aliens than the War of the Worlds aliens, we'll use those."
"Hey! Not fair! I didn't dream about the Signs aliens when the movie came out, why now?"
"Because I'm a subconscious, and I don't care about things like relevancy or the passage of time. Now I'm also going to put you in a place we've never really been, but it will seem maddeningly familiar. Not enough to navigate around, but just enough to feel like you should be able to."
"Dude, I hate that. You used to only set dreams in houses I've lived in before."
"Do you even read your own LJ entries? Just last night you made a big stink about how art evolves and matures and stuff. Do you think that doesn't include me?"
"Well, I never really thought about it."
"Exactly. I'm under-appreciated. Now, in this dream, we're going to include a lot of desperate running and hiding. But no matter how fast you run, or where you hide, the aliens are always going to be a little bit closer."
"Fucking A! I hate that, too!"
"We'll throw in that you run out of ammo, so you can't even shoot yourself..."
"God damn it!"
"And we'll throw in that almost all of your friends and family die..."
"Oh, yeah, that's reeeeal nice, subconscious."
"We'll throw in a little boy you've made friends with accidentally gets hit in the head with a golf club intended for an alien, and is going to die. You try to keep him conscious by asking him to recite numbers with you, but he's toast."
"That seems unnecessarily random..."
"Yeah, well. I try to go that extra mile for tragedy. While we're at it, the aliens don't just blast people, they keep them alive to suffer and harvest their blood and internal organs, like in Signs and that book, Under the Skin."
"Peachy."
"And we'll throw in an ironic little twist that everybody knows there's a deadline of when the aliens are going to die, so you just have to wait them out..."
"Actually, that doesn't sound too bad."
"Yeah. Wait until you're crouching on a roof, trying to hide against the angle of one of the window-overhangs, with an alien skittering up behind you and the knowledge that if you'd held them off another hour you'd have been fine."
"Ooooooh."
"And what's more...now this'll really, really freak you out. Oooh, boy, do I have some scary shit for you. This is one of the scariest things I've ever done."
"Jesus Christ, what are you going to do?"
"Man, you're going to wake up gasping, glad you're safe in bed, far, far away from this..."
"Holy shit, what is it?!"
"I'm putting...Tom Cruise in your dream!"
"No! NO! NOOOOOOO!!!"
"Yes!"
"No! Fuck. You're not going to make me kiss him, are you?"
"Are you kidding me? I'm sadistic, but I'm not a monster. I have to live in here too, remember. I mean, I don't want to scar myself."
"Whew. Well, that's a relief. No Tom Cruise kissing. I can handle being chased by aliens with the knowledge that if they catch me, I'll suffer a gruesome, torturous death. I can handle a little boy dying in my arms. I can handle the frustration and fear. But I cannot handle kissing Tom Cruise."
"Believe me, nobody's asking you to."
"All right then, lay it on me."
"Yeah, don't worry. You'll wake up in a cold sweat, but at least you'll have something to write about in your LJ tomorrow morning."
Like when your subconscious takes War of the Worlds as a challenge. "Scary?" She asks. "You want to be scared? Oh, we can do much, much better than Spielberg. A lot better."
"Hey," I started to tell my subconscious as I entered into REM, "I don't think I really want..."
"Oh, no, no, no. You paid $9.50 last night to be scared, honey. I'll scare you much better, and for free!"
"No, seriously," I tried to explain. "I've had enough thrills for the night. I totally don't need anymore."
"Pshaw! You needs weren't fulfilled, and that's the kind of thing I'm supposed to do, right? Fulfill secret need and desires? I sent you that dream about House a couple of days ago, didn't I?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"Right-o! So, let's see, we've got aliens, but since you were more scared of the Signs aliens than the War of the Worlds aliens, we'll use those."
"Hey! Not fair! I didn't dream about the Signs aliens when the movie came out, why now?"
"Because I'm a subconscious, and I don't care about things like relevancy or the passage of time. Now I'm also going to put you in a place we've never really been, but it will seem maddeningly familiar. Not enough to navigate around, but just enough to feel like you should be able to."
"Dude, I hate that. You used to only set dreams in houses I've lived in before."
"Do you even read your own LJ entries? Just last night you made a big stink about how art evolves and matures and stuff. Do you think that doesn't include me?"
"Well, I never really thought about it."
"Exactly. I'm under-appreciated. Now, in this dream, we're going to include a lot of desperate running and hiding. But no matter how fast you run, or where you hide, the aliens are always going to be a little bit closer."
"Fucking A! I hate that, too!"
"We'll throw in that you run out of ammo, so you can't even shoot yourself..."
"God damn it!"
"And we'll throw in that almost all of your friends and family die..."
"Oh, yeah, that's reeeeal nice, subconscious."
"We'll throw in a little boy you've made friends with accidentally gets hit in the head with a golf club intended for an alien, and is going to die. You try to keep him conscious by asking him to recite numbers with you, but he's toast."
"That seems unnecessarily random..."
"Yeah, well. I try to go that extra mile for tragedy. While we're at it, the aliens don't just blast people, they keep them alive to suffer and harvest their blood and internal organs, like in Signs and that book, Under the Skin."
"Peachy."
"And we'll throw in an ironic little twist that everybody knows there's a deadline of when the aliens are going to die, so you just have to wait them out..."
"Actually, that doesn't sound too bad."
"Yeah. Wait until you're crouching on a roof, trying to hide against the angle of one of the window-overhangs, with an alien skittering up behind you and the knowledge that if you'd held them off another hour you'd have been fine."
"Ooooooh."
"And what's more...now this'll really, really freak you out. Oooh, boy, do I have some scary shit for you. This is one of the scariest things I've ever done."
"Jesus Christ, what are you going to do?"
"Man, you're going to wake up gasping, glad you're safe in bed, far, far away from this..."
"Holy shit, what is it?!"
"I'm putting...Tom Cruise in your dream!"
"No! NO! NOOOOOOO!!!"
"Yes!"
"No! Fuck. You're not going to make me kiss him, are you?"
"Are you kidding me? I'm sadistic, but I'm not a monster. I have to live in here too, remember. I mean, I don't want to scar myself."
"Whew. Well, that's a relief. No Tom Cruise kissing. I can handle being chased by aliens with the knowledge that if they catch me, I'll suffer a gruesome, torturous death. I can handle a little boy dying in my arms. I can handle the frustration and fear. But I cannot handle kissing Tom Cruise."
"Believe me, nobody's asking you to."
"All right then, lay it on me."
"Yeah, don't worry. You'll wake up in a cold sweat, but at least you'll have something to write about in your LJ tomorrow morning."
