(no subject)
Smoked-out air is severely tangling my week. Words come out tangled and thoughts come out warped. It tangles my capacity to sleep, too.
There's always a silver lining (I shall dance Judy Garlandishly in a moment if I don't take care) and the silver lining today is that my dreams are teaching me narrative tension.
Or should I say my nightmares are teaching me narrative tension? If I wasn't a lucid dreamer I would be dead three times within a short afternoon nap. Since I *am* a lucid dreamer, I saved myself and put the clock back and narrowly escaped death three different times. Each time the tension mounted until the phone woke me and I emerged to this warped reality where I can't roll time back to the moment before the afternoon aches began.
It makes me wonder, though. Is fiction-writing merely tamed lucid dreaming?
PS I'm not actually miserable. Just heat-tangled.
There's always a silver lining (I shall dance Judy Garlandishly in a moment if I don't take care) and the silver lining today is that my dreams are teaching me narrative tension.
Or should I say my nightmares are teaching me narrative tension? If I wasn't a lucid dreamer I would be dead three times within a short afternoon nap. Since I *am* a lucid dreamer, I saved myself and put the clock back and narrowly escaped death three different times. Each time the tension mounted until the phone woke me and I emerged to this warped reality where I can't roll time back to the moment before the afternoon aches began.
It makes me wonder, though. Is fiction-writing merely tamed lucid dreaming?
PS I'm not actually miserable. Just heat-tangled.
