Did you ever have a dream that was so great, you not only woke up annoyed that it wasn’t finished, but sincerely hoped you could pick it up where you left off the following night? And did you then rack your brain trying to remember exactly what made it so great, only to find that it kept draining down the plughole of your memory? Well that was me this morning.
When I say “morning”, it was when I normally get up for work – at a time which, I gather, most people still refer to as “night”. But, for what seemed like the previous few hours, I had been paying a visit to someone whom I knew to be the only human being living on Venus. I didn’t know him personally, I don’t know why I got to go and visit him, and I can’t really remember why I wanted to (I’m pretending it was a journalistic assignment but it was probably curiosity/nosiness), but there I was, anyway.
Venus, I can report, was very dark and scary – hellish, in fact.
I remember flying across its surface and finding that its atmosphere was charged, troubled, unsettling and forbidding, to say the least – I didn’t fancy being outside among the dark, looming mountains, black shadows and constant thunderstorms. So I soon found myself indoors.
The man (whoever he was) had a very nice house. Perhaps influenced by The Time Machine, or similar, it was a throwback to plush Victoriana, including mahogany wall panelling, elaborate chandeliers, deep red soft furnishings, and a large, dark library of rare books. In fact, the most annoying part of not being able to remember the dream very well is that I found a book I didn’t know existed. At the very point my alarm went off, I was surprised, fascinated and thrilled by my discovery – of all the places to find this priceless item, the only house on the surface of Venus!
On my way into work (in real life), I thought a lot about that tome; I could almost see it in front of me, but the lettering was blurred and soon it just faded away. Then, my subconscious slipped back into the shadows and the realities of the working day kicked in.
I don’t know how I ended up on Venus. Normally, if I find myself anywhere strange, it’s a weird combination of New York, Kilmarnock and my home town of West Kilbride. But Venus? Any dream interpreters out there are more than welcome to have a go at explaining this one to me.
2 thoughts on “I’m your Venus (in blurs)”
Venus envy? Fascinating JC
Yes, Alan, one of my more fascinating musings. I don’t just make it up as I go along, you know.