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Eternal Sunshine Of The Dangerous Mind
By TI3GIB @ Monday, February 16, 2009
[16 Comments][Permalink]

There was me. Holding a guitar, strumming along and mouthing the words horribly while "others" looked and bobbed their heads to the music.

Then there was me. Looking at me. Listening to me and enjoying it, until the last few chords were strung out and the guitar was placed on the floor.

"That's pretty good ... What is that ?"

"Ohh, this little band from Leeds called .. erm, Pick Them Up ... song's called Propper Daddy"


I woke up the same way people wake up in the movies when they think they have great ideas. The eyes first, without moving anything else, and then a sudden jolt up. I stood up, still half asleep, looking around the room for a second before I located the nearest writing pad and pen in sight. Zombishly walked towards it and wrote down carelessly a line words, set (threw) the pad next to the bed and went back to sleep.


There are some of you who know me well enough to know that I very rarely remember anything I dream. I haven't really pursued why that is, but I'm sure it's no more than my dreams being extremely uneventful to the extent that it would silly to bother remembering them, or maybe just a subconcious extention to my notoriously poor (I call it selective) memory. But I certainly remember this.

Now, I have made my best effort in my previous blog posts to perhaps dress up just how deeply twisted, and emotionally unexpected I am for the prupose of passing off as "interesting" rather than the formers, but I'm here today in shock of myself.

I took the words off the notepad "Pick Them Up - Propper Daddy" and googled it hoping to download the song I was "reminded" of in my dream, but came up with no results of such. Tried MySpace, hoping for better luck, to no avail. The song Propper Daddy doesn't exist, because the band Pick Them Up doesn't. I made them up.

The movies have taught us that the majority of psycological illnesses are reactions to deeply intense experiences from the past, present or future. The child whose seen his dad murder his mother later becomes a serial killer. The survivor of a drowning accident develops aquaphobia. But if I fabricated (composed) a piece of music, put a name to it and a band that played it (or was it me ?), what is that a reaction too ? Bad music ? ... Surely, the entirety of mainstream radio is sonic garbage, but does that suffice to qualify as a deeply intense experience ?

I honestly don't know what to say, but I will state the two following things.

I have a newly found fear of myself, not to the extent of having trouble dissasocating reality with subconciousness and vice versa. Surely not the extent that of expressing my "quirk" in any manner that would hurt myself or others, but to that which comes with the realization of the power of the human mind.

and the second being .. Man, does my subconcious write amazing music.

Yours thoughts, please

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