Among the weirder shit that’s been going on with me is naps in the morning. I don’t even have a good working theory. I have a bad one though. I have dreams during naps. I probably have dreams during regular sleep too I just haven’t remembered having them in … years; maybe years as in double digits. It’s not like I remember the dreams during naps, but I wake up and I know I’ve been dreaming.
I don’t put much stock in dreams being predictive or worthy of dissecting for deep seated psychoanalytic stuff, but I’ve thought more about them since I stopped having them. Most of this year I’ve taken naps and most of them have dreams and whatever dreams contribute to the well being of the host could be the simple reason I’ve been napping. It’s the ‘whatever’ piece that makes it a less than simple answer.
Some dream I had in a morning nap today had something to do with owning an art gallery. I forgot it as I awoke fully so I filled in the blanks. It wasn’t a successful gallery, but I got to meet artists and I got to fill blank walls with my own tastes and people talked to me about art. It seemed pleasant, too pleasant to be one of my dreams. Curious enough to be an idle fantasy.
I don’t really know much about other peoples taste in art; I know a lot about my own. I mean I could be the sort of douchebag who says ‘I don’t know art but I know what I like’, I’m basing that on my just having typed that. Like the person who says ‘Some of my best friends are (fill in the blank with whatever group or type of person the sayer is about to say some horrible shit about)’ we make certain assumptions about the sayer of clichés and file them under cliché type. Ok, fuck we, I do, you might, we are us and us includes them.
I have pretty refined tastes in art, I have a clear grasp of baseball and love the sport. I no longer know all the stats of all the players in the game and that’s sort of where I am with painters. Yes, I remember major figures in major art movements, and yes, I remember everything about the 68 Tigers and the Red Sox and Yankees pre-depression. I would go to a gallery or a ball game without knowing or caring about the teams or painters because I like the activity, I like it well enough even to appreciate when it’s done badly.
I have never dreamed or fantasized about owning a ball club, and, to the best of my knowledge, I have never dreamed of owning an art gallery, especially one that wasn’t very successful. If I were asked to make a choice based on the first thing that came into my head between ball club and art gallery, I’m thinking it would be ball club 98 times out of 100 and one of the two times I’d say art gallery just because the question had been asked 97 times already.
It might also have to do with being in a creative slump. I can’t seem to think in a creative manner. I’m suree that there are some who would suggest I never have, and not only are they welcome to their own douche-y opinions but they may also be douche-y accurate. My notion, however, is not that I come out with a good end product but that the neural pathways that lead to the end product spark up in a way that interests me. I could, if pressed, come up with ten stories ideas within five minutes. It’s been months since I’ve come up with a single one that I like or that sparks.
I watched this movie the other day; ex-machina. I won’t do any sort of spoiler, except to say that I guessed at something in it and turned out to be wrong and found myself re-writing it in my head with a variation of my mis-guess. I almost liked that idea, but it wasn’t really mine. On one hand it doesn’t matter; there are no original plot ideas. If you think of time as non linear then yes of course all plot ideas are original, just not at this fixed point in time and space, if you can fix the fixedness then everything is new and ancient. Again, that isn’t a spoiler, just snarkiness.
I liked the movie. If you like that sort of thing I’ll recommend it. If you know what a turing test is you’ll like the movie. If you just googled turing and thought ‘cool’ you’ll like the movie. Not spoilers. I haven’t seen the trailer but I’m sure the trailer gives away more than I just did.
I am a fan of Sci Fi the way I am of Baseball and Art. All three are load bearing beams in the architecture of culture as far as I’m concerned. I have a broad definition, though, of art and sci fi, and a narrow definition of baseball; I barely accept the designated hitter as legal let alone moral or ethical. I don’t like art that needs an explanation as to why it’s good. I don’t like sci fi that is all about the tech. A decade or two back sci fi authors insisted that was a stupid name for the genre and tried to insist on Speculative Fiction. I thought that was redundant. Fiction by definition is shit-someone-made-up (ok, maybe not an OED definition, but websters, I’m sure, qualifys most nouns with shit, e,g, House; shit someone built, or done builted, to live in and shit or Noun; shit that’s a person place or thing kind of shit). I just mean why would anyone read fiction that wasn’t speculative? Otherwise it’s just lying about shit that never happened and ain’t a’gonna.
Ok, I’m adding a song and I’m out. This song has nothing to do with nothing except like the dream I don’t really remember it was in my head at some point during the day.
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