Gods, vampires, and Bakhtinian dreaming11 Dec 2006
There was a liquid of sorts. It was an excellent liquid, but at the same time feared and potent. It occupied a small bottle that must have the entirety of its contents sprayed upon someone by a given moment, or explode dangerously.
It came to be that there was a room filled with people, panicking about the necessity of the use of this bottle, and a holder of the bottle who must direct it at someone. The holder only came into possession of the bottle in the last seconds, and poured out its contents on one person standing opposite (seemingly chosen at random). Upon doing this, the person was transformed.
He (it was a he) became god-like. He was, someone remarked, in every aspect identical to God, though not good. At once he launched upon the city he resided within, embarking on all manner of deeds terrible and wonderful (that is, deeds which inspired wonderment, admired for their audacity more than their essence). And this man had one after whom he lusted greatly; the one loved by the holder (and unintended creator of this being). In vampiric guise, he could also turn her into one as powerful as himself, as dreaded. And he did.
The two of them began to turn more and more people as they tired of one another and sought to increase the destruction they wrought. Slowly, more were brought into the fold, then their numbers grew increasingly rapidly.
The holder encountered the two of them departing a theatre, implored his lover to return, but she looked back at him emptily, with a vague hostility (apathy was closer the mark). The first created god took her by the arm violently and she hissed at him, but they departed together. The holder was left standing in a cavernous interior; he became aware that more and more of those around him had been brought under their mark, they had all an empty power. It struck him as empty for what is power if not above that of others? Surely with an increase in the commonness of such a thing its scarcity decreased, and with that, its value.
So he became one of them, infected with this illusory power, and extracted his own blood. In a room in some pumping plant more defined by shadows than the light which surrounded them he analysed it, looking, searching. The others once in that room when the holder let this man have such power unwittingly cried at him in mocking voices, that he had fallen himself into their fold. But he was searching. And discovered an antidote, some way to return power to that God which is good as well as powerful; a means of return.
It spread through the water. Eventually, it reached the first-created god and his paramour. Eventually, the holder’s love was freed.
Another dream I remembered. This one was particularly strange. I have recorded it here with an altered ending but as little flourish or complex language as possible; it was visually rich and would take too long to describe. Any attempts to read this as strongly allegorical would probably render me a heretic — suffice to say, I am aware it does not stand up to scrutiny in this manner.
The essential idea of the dream was actually the opposite: if the main (anonymous) female were to have embraced the created antagonist because of his promise of distinction, the male protagonist would win her back by making everyone the same as her (by becoming ‘infected’ himself & spreading this to the entire populace), hoping then that she would return to him. So it’s a quest-romance narrative of sorts with attached very twisted theology. The whole dream felt so empty, like there was a goal towards which everyone was working but there was no actual reason for them doing so. Bizarre. A little scary. Hadn’t even watched any vampire movies in the last couple of days… there is a strong undercurrent of dialogic thinking that is perplexing to say the least.
Yes. Anyway. Seeing as I remembered a dream or two I thought I’d indulge myself in gratuitous (albeit vague) musings about it all.