I'm banging my head along to next-door's music, trying to make sense of last night's long, haphazard string of nightmares. Are you in the habit of ascribing importance to your dreams? Because I am, and mine seem mired in unease lately. Hands reaching out from the dark to grab me, attackers, anger, fire, crouch, then begin again.
One I remember quite vividly is going exploring across a rundown field, thinking it would be a good idea to walk among abandoned cars on a plain that could've easily been ripped out of one of the Mad Max movies. And no wonder, when a strange-clad figure came bounding towards us. Last night's parade, this morning's nightmare. Oversized stuffed head - a bunny or some kind of cartoon character - smiling frantic, wielding a machete and a chainsaw (why be selective when you can have it all?).
I remember panic setting in, the sense that my feet wouldn't be fast enough, that none of the cars would work, that there was nobody around because no one else had thought to go exploring this damn field. How did we end up alone here?
Do you remember how to run when your feet don't know where? What matters isn't where you're running towards, but what you run from, to quote a dear-deer Sir. After a while, you accept your fate. Swivel on your feet, and roar, not because you want to, but because you have to, and in a way, being brave doesn't feel brave. It feels like relief, because at least you don't have to keep running knowing you don't know where you're going.
Stay so that the others can run, except people that love you don't run when you're in danger. Stupid stuff, the mind. And lunge at the Mad Max Mickey, and topple, and find...
... the realization that monsters are really just people who one day decided to rot.
It sticks with me, the baffled sense of looking down at somebody who'd harm strangers for no other reason than their shared existence on this planet, compounded by the shock that this things happen on the outskirts of every village. Evil lurks inside your own backyard. Run, and why? Stay and keep asking, but it'll get you nowhere, and they'll get up in a second. Take advantage while they're down, don't matter if that also turns you to some kind of monster.
Grin grin grin
Then stir-beside, enough to wake you from your nightmare. I thought here, this is nothing but a bad dream. We can leave it now. And didn't, for a while. Remember resistance to coming out of my nightmare, for fear another would follow. It's been a long night of bad dreams, and it seems strange, but is at its core a good question,
~we wake up at 4 not to wake up, but to hope the next one will be a proper dream, and not a terrifying trek down your own subconscious. But what if they all are?
~~
Nightmares can be extremely fruitful, creativity-wise. And psychologically-wise. Only a fool chalks them down to accident and awkward backstory. This is me trying to make sense of some.
And this is me, showing you some music, since it's already Tuesday, and we say hi to 
Few songs have made me feel like they were written specifically for me. This one, though.
I love these guys so much. Unfortunately, the song isn't available on YouTube yet (premieres in a few hours, though). Every now and again, Brent stops to give you hope you'll land somewhere, even if you don't exactly know where yet. They go back to much earlier themes here, explored previously in songs like "Second Chance" (my interpretation, at least).
This band really is a delight to watch, as they've evolved from dark, edgy youths to something so much more robust and nuanced (and in a way, much more full of hope).
I guess today it's a #threetunetuesday of progression. Watching the way artists change through time, as I wrote about Jack White the other week, really is a delight.
