|By Mr. Wormwood on Monday, August 14, 2000 - 04:10 am: Edit|
In his book A Pirate Looks at Fifty, Jimmy Buffet discribes his first experiance with absinthe. Yes, from his discription it appears to have been real stuff from a 100 year old bottle.
I don't know if it was the absinthe or not, but that night I had the most vivid dreams. Beautiful naked women that smelled and tasted of orange blossoms and giant crabs that chased me down the road screaming that they only wanted to eat my toes.
|By Anatomist1 on Sunday, August 13, 2000 - 10:01 pm: Edit|
Yeah, I know what you're talking about. Probably the "worst" dreams that I have are the kind where I'm way, way behind on important studies, or scheduled to be executed... hopeless. That seems more like worry than fear. I want to hear about horror. Freaky, shit-your-pants horror... a la E.A. Poe.
Thanks for the positive comments on my site.
|By Marc on Sunday, August 13, 2000 - 08:21 pm: Edit|
"since of dread" should have read "sense of dread". Oops.
|By Marc on Sunday, August 13, 2000 - 08:18 pm: Edit|
Your nightmare sounds like a scene out of the movie REANIMATOR. My nightmares generally are about loss, either the loss of my wife or my home.
I always wake up from these nightmares with a since of dread, not exhiliration. Of course, I am relieved when I awake and see my wife still there
and a roof over my head. I occasionally have ultra-violent dreams involving scenes of extreme gore. The violent dreams usually come after the rare occasion of my eating meat. Perhaps the meat still carries some of the energy and agony of it's dying and in dreams these dark energies find an exit.
I enjoyed your website. A striking use of black and white. Your photographs and sculptures are
|By Anatomist1 on Sunday, August 13, 2000 - 08:02 pm: Edit|
I know I have read comments on the forum about the association of absinthe consumption and vivid dreams. After drinking it a few times, I have had a few very clear dreams, but one stands out... and it was a classic nightmare.
As you may or may not know, depending upon whether you have visited my website, I have had a lifelong interest in anatomy. A pre-teen obsession with bodybuilding took me through various physical and philosophical preoccupations, and eventually landed me in an anatomy laboratory class, on my way to a Physical Therapy degree. There the die was cast, and I began to build anatomical structures as seen in my imagination by whatever means were available to me. Anyway, the point is that I have had some experience with cadavers, but never like this...
I found myself in an apartment that was mine, yet not my current apartment. There was much more space, and much of that space was filled with things that should only be in a lab: stainless steel cadaver tanks with geared levers, disecting instruments, blue towels, and, most distressingly, cadavers and large pieces of cadavers.
I began to wonder why I had thought it necessary to keep these things in my apartment. There was a torso with its head still attached, mounted vertically on a pedestal. It was partially covered with only a one soaked rag: thoroughly inadequate protection against dessication. In fact, all of the specimens in this large room were improperly exposed.
I began to speculate about how to dispose of these bodies. Why the hell did I put these things in my apartment? Some were too cumbersome to move by myself. Tossing the pieces into Hefty bags and placing them on the curb didn't seem wise.
One relatively intact body was positioned face-down on a platform at the far end of the long room. As I approached it, I knew something was wrong. It did not look like an ordinary research specimen. Although the body was partially skinned and dissected, it looked as though it had succumbed to rot, and what remained of its skin was tight and shriveled. I bent down to get a look at the face, and did a double-take when I imagined I saw a twitch of a smile tug at the corner of its mouth.
I did not imagine the twitch. As I looked more closely, its puckered mouth curled into a distinct smile, and it began to open its eyes. I didn't wait to see more. I bolted to the front door, and began to fumble with the deadbolt. My consciousness was filled primarily with the sound of my own breathing, labored, more frequent, and more intense. I heard a voice behind me speaking in soothing tones, yet distorted and low... beckoning me to stay.
By the time I got outside I was sure I was dreaming, and I forced myself to wake up. It took tremendous effort to drag myself out of bed. I knew that if I remained lying there, I would fall back asleep and into the clutches of... whatever it was.
I don't know if anyone else has had this experience, but when I have a truly terrifying nightmare, I feel kind of giddy afterwards. Standing at the kitchen sink, at four in the morning, I was laughing out loud, pouring myself a glass of water, feeling completely alive.
I know this seems presumptous coming from a newcomer, but I'd like to see this forum go beyond discussion of the nuts and bolts of thujone and brands and who's a poseur, and get into some of the real shit... like how being scared senseless makes you feel alive.
Let's hear about some nightmares!
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