The OFFICIAL Unofficial Achewood Message Board
Trivial Pursuits => Wild Card => Topic started by: Mantonio on November 20, 2005, 08:29:47 am
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So about 8 years ago I had a dream I was in this concrete pit. In this pit was all manner of rusted and broken down old industrial equipment. Naturally, I wasn't happy to be in such a place. I certainly wasn't put at ease when the disembodied voice of Marilyn Manson began to wail Now You're In The Toxic Waaaaaste! I had to learn from the worlds stupidest goth that I was in the middle of a Superfund site. I think I began to itch right about the time he began to sing.
There really isn't any point to this story except to point out I once wrote a Marilyn Manson song in my sleep. I guess I might as well make a poll out of this while I'm at it.
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I once had a dream in the format of a musical. I remember there was a protest-rallying song of some kind that formed the thematic backbone, and that at the end of it the protest song became through context a love song, but I don't remember lyrical specifics.
I also once woke up in midverse of singing "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend" in a super phony French accent. I didn't remember anything about the dream that had prompted me to be singing it as I woke up, though.
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I'm not usually one to remember my dreams, but here goes. About 14 years ago, I fell asleep listening to Oingo Boingo's Dark at the End of the Tunnel When I awoke, the tape was over and I really wanted to hear one of the songs again, the one that was stuck in my head. Except that it didn't exist.
I'm not sure if my semi-conscious brain just jumbled the lyrics to a different song, or what. But I like to believe that I composed an Oingo Boingo song in my sleep.
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I once wrote a short story in my sleep, and it took me days to write it out on paper.
Also, I made a drawing in my sleep, and it is one of the coolest drawings I have ever made. I should find a scanner.
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I'm working on a short story right now which is just a continuation of a dream I had. Basically, it involved an old Salman Rushdie-looking guy, who is a famous retired animator, tripping on mescaline while sitting a white tile floor. He is sitting against a wall, and the walls of the entire, very well-lit floor, are covered with scrawled descriptions of his sexual affairs and paintings of Jung, Freud and Einstrein. He has a wife who is 20 years younger than him, who is well aware of his maritial infidelities, and a small, slight 7 year old son, who watches his father from the dumbwaiter.