Dreams and Nightmares

January 9, 2011

Whenever I have a really cool dream, I try to recall it as I’m in the process of getting out of bed; I play it over and over again in my head in an attempt to cement it into my memory, for future analysis. This usually only works if the dream is unique, something I’ve never envisioned before.

Of course, even if I remember it for an hour after waking up, my mind will eventually wander and the dream will be lost forever, as I’m just realizing happened this morning, since I can’t remember anything about my awesome dream last night.

The only dreams that have stuck with me through the years are two nightmares I had as a kid. For some reason these were incredibly terrifying, and I guess that’s why I can still remember them vividly. Here they are: (don’t judge)

1) I was at the top of the staircase in my house, outside my bathroom door. As I looked across the hallway I saw a skeleton looking at me. Somehow I knew that this skeleton was thinking about killing me, as any reasonable skeleton would. There was no one else around, although I think my family might have been downstairs, oblivious to my plight. I couldn’t call out to my family or I’d provoke the skeleton to come towards me and attack, so I panicked and did the only thing I could think of to do: I said “You’re my best friend.” I guess I figured that if I could fool him into thinking I was his friend he wouldn’t kill me. I think it worked, because I remember walking down my stairs calmly, pretending that nothing was wrong, as the skeleton continued to stare at me. Once I made it downstairs, everything was fine.

2) I was once again at the top of the staircase in my house, though this time I was on the opposite side of the hallway (coincidentally where the skeleton had been standing in the other dream). I was facing my bedroom door which was open, when I started to hear the ticking of a clock. The ticking continued, and when I looked down the hallway I saw either my brother or my dad (I don’t remember which) walking in my direction, in slow motion. The ticking grew louder; it was beginning to drown out all other noise. At the same time my brother/dad started slowing down even more. The ticking became almost unbearable, and my brother/dad had slowed to a near standstill when all of a sudden worm-like bugs started crawling everywhere. They weren’t hurting me, but they were covering almost every surface of my house and the ticking of the clock was driving me insane. I couldn’t see my brother/dad anymore, I assumed he was dead. I don’t know how this dream ended, because at that point I probably woke up crying and ended up sleeping in my parents room.

Both of those nightmares were terrifying, but in odd ways. I don’t really know why these two were the most scarring, or why both of them took place in my upstairs hallway, but I know that after that second dream happened I always hated hearing the ticking of clocks. I’m only now getting over it.

On a somewhat lighter note, I’ve been having one recurring dream a lot recently that I thought I’d share. I don’t read into dreams that much, but if I have any readers who are fans of Sigmund Freud feel free to voice your opinion on what this could mean:

1] I’m travelling for miles across mountain ranges and valleys, in the dead of winter, in an effort to rescue someone, or retrieve some sort of object. My motivation is never too important; what matters is that this dream is always a struggle. There’s an air of despair in the snowy woods, and although my will to carry on is strong, my strength slowly fades. I always encounter a river in this dream, roughly 100 ft wide, which is too cold to swim across because of the frigid temperatures. There’s an old stone bridge that crosses the river, but it’s broken and knocked down in the middle so I can’t cross that way. I don’t remember how I usually get across; I suppose that sometimes I hop across rocks, or I find a way around it further down the river. Sometimes I’m not able to cross it at all. There’s usually a small companion with me during this dream, either a dog or a child. The companion doesn’t help me, rather it’s my duty to protect it, which becomes increasingly difficult as I’m brainstorming how to cross the river. This dream normally ends on a sad note, either with me not being able to cross the river, or with me crossing it but never reaching my goal, or with me losing track of my companion.



I Have A Dream…

September 20, 2010

I had multiple dreams last night, but as usual I only remember the last one.

I was in some sort of time-space warp which had brought me back to when I was a kid. I wasn’t any specific age, but if I had to guess I’d say I was between ten and thirteen years old. Everything was completely normal, and I was just in my house standing around. The only extraordinary element of this dream was the fact that I knew I was nineteen in reality, and I remembered everything about my real life up until age nineteen. I had simply been cast backwards in time into my pre-pubescent body.

I nostalgically observed the minor details of my house that had been changed over the years: different wallpapers, old wood floors that were now tiled, a tree outside that has since been chopped down. It was sad to re-experience these childhood memories, knowing that in time each of them would come to an end, but at the same time it was thrilling.

I wondered what I should do with my new advantage over the rest of the world, knowing how the next few years would play out. Surely I could avoid bad situations, or prevent global catastrophes. However, I quickly realized that since I was only a child I had no power to change anything. Who in their right mind would take the word of a child seriously if they told you the stock market would have a recession in 2008, or that people should watch out for the swine flu? I couldn’t change anything. To make matters worse I was once again completely dependent on my parents for everything, including food, transportation, and during what hours I would sleep. I couldn’t influence any situation, and I couldn’t decide things for myself. My age was trapping me. I had gone from feeling like a superhero to feeling like a prisoner.

Then I woke up, and was relieved to discover it had only been a dream.

Being a kid was fun when I didn’t know any other way of life, but I think to revert back to that level of dependence would be torture. Youth is something I will never let go of, but only someone at the end of their life would wish for childhood.

My Cinematics

September 17, 2010

I think it’d be a good idea to start off this post with a few lines from my Day #1 freshman orientation.

Mike: “Hi, my name is Mike, and my favorite hobby is making films.”

Girl: “What kind of films?”

Mike: “Haha why don’t you come up to my room and find out. I mean… oh shit.”


I’ve been around amateur filmmakers all my life, and when I say amateur I mean very amateur. Since I was eight years old I participated in the Video program at FCDC, in which the Video counselors would write short scripts, film campers acting the scenes out, edit the footage, then show the finished video to the entire camp. I was rarely in the videos for multiple reasons, one of them being that every group of campers had fifteen kids in it and it’s difficult to make fifteen roles for every single script, another being that I was an obnoxious child and the counselors at the time probably thought I was an annoying little shit. Which I totally understand now.

The videos weren’t Spielberg’s work, just funny little skits about monsters attacking the camp, or about how the counselors ate too much Taco Bell (a recurring theme throughout the years.) The important part wasn’t the story, it was the thrill of seeing yourself on a big screen in front of the whole camp, and knowing for just a brief moment that you’re a star.

My dad was the program director of my camp, so at the end of the summer he’d get a master copy of each year’s complete camp video. Since I had them all in my house, I’d watch them endlessly throughout my childhood. They were my fascination, these simple little skits. They were a nostalgic reminder of the innocence I felt at that camp. I won’t go into detail, because I know it would do no good trying to explain it, but for a lot of young kids FCDC is like a heaven on Earth; free of judgement, stress, and expectation. I always craved more.

When I was old enough to be a CIT (counselor in training, basically an intern) I was stationed in Video for a week, and witnessed for the first time what it was like to be on the other side of the camera. The job wasn’t as glamorous as I’d built it up to be in my head, but I loved every second of it. I enjoyed it so much that I decided to buy a video camera and try to make my own movies, just like my childhood heroes. Aw.

The first product of my film-making career was a video of myself solving a Rubik’s cube, a task that seems to get less and less incredible as time goes on. It didn’t require much editing since all I did was add a song in the background, so it was a good first video. But I wasn’t happy with just that, I wanted something with a script, something funny and crazy.

And so in my sophomore year of high school, The Sam Conner Movie was born. A crazy three-minute movie-trailer spoof of classic bad-ass cop movies. Again, it wasn’t Spielberg, but it was fun. The movie gained a lot of attention throughout my school, and people wanted more. So when I found the time and resources, I gave them more, with Imaginary (More Than) Friend, the story of a young man who encounters delusional people and finds himself engaged in wacky confrontations. More videos would follow over the next few years, including a highly anticipated sequel to The Sam Conner Movie, which can also be found on my YouTube channel.

No one in Bellingham that I’d ever met had been interested in film before, and despite my amateur status I started to become known for it. Everyone kept telling me how someday I’d be a famous director. There were times when I believed them, but usually I’d just shrug it off as a hobby. That’s all it really was anyways. I reveled in the thrill of bringing my friends together, turning them into people they weren’t, and then editing the footage into a work of art (because no matter the quality, art is art.) It made me feel alive; it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

That’s why it seemed so perfect when in the summer before I went off to college, a special opportunity opened up. There was a spot open for a Video counselor at FCDC, and I was finally at the age where I could take a head counselor position. I took the job in an instant, and me and my co-head Kyle spent that whole summer making the skits I’d adored all my life that had inspired me to pick up film in the first place.

If that isn’t the perfect example of a story coming full circle, I don’t know what is.

Speak: (v.) to utter words or articulate sounds with the ordinary voice; to express thoughts, opinions, or feelings orally.

[“So I had this uh, this dream the other night. Not last night, but, the night before that, I think. Or was it last night? No, wait, no, I don’t know, I think it was last night. But anyways haha, uh, yea I mean it was like, I mean, well, I don’t know, it was really cool, friggin’ awesome, it was like, uhhh, I’m not sure how to say this. Like, imagine you’re, like, I don’t know flying, cause you have powers, and like, you see a guy, and like you fly over him, but I mean, not over him just, around him? I don’t know but, in my dream I was flying and I did that, and that was my dream. It was so awesome.”]

 Write: (v.) to form characters or symbols on a surface with an instrument in order to express language in literary form.

[I was having had a dream last night. It was really cool, but I and I wanted to share<it>with you. In my dream I had <super>powers, and I was flying in my dream over this guy a person, and he called out to me, but I coudlntf couldn’t hear him. It was weird a peculiar dream indeed.]

Type: (v.) to mechanically produce characters or documents using a keyboard for a typewriter or computer.

[Do you ever have strange dreams where you’re doing something amazing, but you don’t even realize how amazing it is, because you’re in the dream? I experienced this the other night, when I dreamed that I had superpowers and was flying around my town saving lives, as well as testing my powers by setting off nuclear bombs and playing happily within the blast, completely unharmed. Oddly enough, it didn’t even register that such a situation was out of the ordinary, and so I thought nothing of it when a man on the street yelled to me as a flew around him, telling me to stop setting off nuclear bombs. I couldn’t hear him, yet somehow I knew what he was saying, so I stopped. “Whatever,” I said, “they’re just bombs.” That guy was a buzz kill.]

Despite the drawbacks involved with text, such as loss of emotional cues and difficulty with sarcasm, typing is my favorite way of getting my point across. Unlike with speaking, I have all the time in the world to think about what I’m going to say. Writing has a more personal touch, but the fact that I can’t backspace makes things way more stressful. Sure I can erase pencil marks, but that makes me look like a stupid mistake-making idiot. When I type I can create the illusion of flawless grammar and spelling, as well as go back and change my phrasing later if something looks awkward.

I think that’s the reason I enjoy having this blog so much. It’s the easiest way to get out what I’m really thinking. And I can do this: (>0_0)>

The List

June 1, 2010

1. I would love to be able to play the guitar.

2. I would love to go on a really long road trip with my friends.

3. I would love to never have to pay for anything.

4. I would love to party with Ke$ha.

5. I would love to go to classes and learn without the risk of failure, and just absorb as much as I could.

6. I would love to get famous via YouTube viral video.

7. I would love to hear everyone’s life story.

8. I would love to be able to use the force.

9. I would love to witness a tornado. From far away.

10. I would love to be remembered fondly by everyone I meet.