For the life of me, even as I claw desperately at the walls of my brain, CANNOT remember my dreams last night. They keep slipping away, like a bar of soap in my hands. (Yeah, how's that for a metaphor. I'm a wizard with words!)

So here's an older one from a particularly Vicodin-induced stupor after my wisdom tooth operation.

February 2009
Ever have a dream that at the time seems like a great idea for a movie, and then on second though hours later you realize how stupid that idea was? Well, this is one of those instances.

The dream started with me having one of the nostalgic, super-8-like moments of remembering an instance in your childhood. I was riding a bike and mom was playing with me outside. We were racing through a forest of tall trees, and as they were going by I could see my mom slicing through the air with a sharp object as if the air itself were made of plastic panes.

It was such a happy moment, and at the time seemed to make so much sense and deliver so much emotion, that the next scene seemed brilliant in juxtaposition: towards the end of the film, in a moment of sadness, I (or the character) would be walking through this forest in the rain, thwacking against the panes of plastic morosely.

It seemed so poignant at the time I dreamed it, and I was convinced that I should make it into an actual film; upon closer examination, I have no idea what the hell I was thinking.

Labels: bike, childhood, dreams, film

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