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save me from my subconscious
Last night my dreams involved an art gallery in a prison; some kind of tax fraud scandal involving the prison somehow; the father of a friend of mine, who is a minister, being lifted to the window of a prison in a forklift; wrecking balls smashing walls of a prison; Jay Leno introducing Britney Spears at a concert taking place in my mother's bedroom (they standing in front of the dresser, my mother and I sitting on the bed, and a crowded stadium between us); Jay Leno exposing Britney Spears's nipple; Britney Spears crying, running out of the room, down the stairs, out of the house and driving away in a black SUV; and some people in my parents' kitchen laughing about how much they hate Britney Spears. And those are only the parts I remember vividly. I woke up this morning with the desire to break open my skull and beat my brain to mush.
Today I saw Hukkle. I really hope I don't remember my dreams tomorrow morning.
Watching Hukkle made me tired, because of the lack of dialogue and the constant close-ups of the "guess what this is!" genre. I was paying so much attention because I kept thinking the big important event that explained everything would happen if I closed my eyes.
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"The mind of the thoroughly well informed [person] is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, and everything priced above its proper value."
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