I had a dream last night where I was some kind of cop/detective working on a space station, but it was odd (like it’s not odd already?) because the station was more like a rundown urban moon colony, with soil and plants, buildings and sun and some kind of dome keeping in stuff, yanno like atmosphere and people. Important stuff! It had gravity because at some point I was running through an alleyway with a fellow cop who looked – yes, commence to making fun – like Daryl from The Walking Dead.
Daryl, why are we space cops? Daryl, why do the ground textures look like Minecraft dirt? Daryl, why are the zombies singing? Daryl, why did I know the lyrics to the zombie song?
I’ve been trying all morning to remember those lyrics.
My subconscious is like a giggling teenager in a closet, waiting for me to go to sleep so he can come out to play, so he can unpack all my daily weirdness, experiences, scattered thoughts and fragments of idea to staple together a semi-coherent existence that lasts only as long as my eyes are shut. When I wake up, his life goes to sleep.
I dream almost every night. Vivid dreams that seem to last hours. I firmly believe that an adult dedication to playtime –not just gaming, by the way– is what makes my sleeping imagination so fertile. If it’s true that dreams are the brain trawling through and recycling your information uptake, then the kinds of information you absorb relate to your dreams. Data in, data out. You have to marvel and wonder when you’re awake to do the same when you’re not.