Sunday, February 10, 2013

Mourning for my Towel: The Dream

I know there is a bunch of regulars following this blog, and like all introverts, I get really excited when someone pays attention to what I say; specially because I don't say much. Anyway, I get easily excited about pretty much anything, so for those who know me this wasn't a big revelation. But, thank you.

I wanted to get you all sentimental because I won't probably get many comments on this one, and if I do they will probably be to tell me how lame I am.

Anyway, this was a sad week to me (someone please put the sarcasm sign up). I left a (pink) towel in the bathroom -which I share with another two people- and the next morning it wasn't there. I have discussed this with my flatmates and none of us has been able to give a reasonable explanation. Many theories were made: the wind, a possible ghost, a pervert, or me never having a towel, as if this was a crappy version of the Sixth Sense where I sometimes see towels when they're not there.

Anyway, that is the kind of thing that annoys me a lot. Not in the getting mad way, not even for the fact of losing a poor quality towel, but for the fact that I can't explain what happened. I don't care if it was stolen or if it spontaneously bursted into flames. I just can't live with uncertainty, it bugs me so much. And why am I telling you all this? Because of course, I dreamed with it. My subconscious mind tried to solve my problem by giving the towel back to me.

The thing is that, my subconscious mind has a weird concept of solving problems, so when I dream about getting my towel back, it couldn't have been in a normal way. In the dream I am in a park, with white sky and yellow grass, and there is an incredibly beautiful light. I am there, standing, and suddenly a big group of pink rabbits surrounds me and one of them -I assume it was the leader- hands me back my towel in what seems almost like a biblical ceremony. 

Unfortunately, I haven't received the visit of any rabbit so far in real life, so I'm betting on the Spontaneous (Towel) Combustion theory. Any other theories you might want to share with me? You know what to do.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Scary dead ladies and my wonderful new bed

The dreamer's block is officialy over!

I was having the most interesting dream today, a bit little the Gangster Dream I posted before, but I woke up right in the middle of the story -had to go pee, sorry!- and then I wasn't able to get back on the dreaming mood. But it was so incredibly vivid, and I remember a scared brunette hiding in a corner.

Anyway. As I promised, here is Kym's recurrent dream. It's not a long story, but definitely a creepy one, and I tried to reflect that in my drawing. It probably doesn't look like the one in the dream, but it's also interesting how I could build a story around her, making it my own; with her ruby earrings (her favorites) and amber, evil eyes.

Since it is recurring, some theories might suggest that there's some issue that is bothering you from a long time ago, maybe has to do with something from the past more than something that can relate to yourself, and that you feel constrained by. There are also some interesting facts, like the one where she is only in that room, and gone when you enter. But since I'm no dream interpreter (yet), and don't want to sound like a tarotist, I'll just copy Kym's story here as well as the drawing I did for it.

P.s: as you can see, if your dreams are interesting enough, please, please share them with me (and the rest of the readers) and maybe I'll get some inspiration from them!

Kym's Recurrent Dream

 It is so hard to explain...I am in an old house, which is always a seven story old home, with many rooms and floors, really big. The very top floor and tiny room above has an old dead scary woman inside of it, which is always the same one.

I am the only one in the home who knows she is there. She is always calling to me in my  head and I can sneak peeks of her. She is dead, but can move around only in that room. Most times I'm afraid of entering the room, when I do she's usually gone, but prior to entering the room she is moving around.

Nobody believes me in my dream that there is a dead woman up in the room in this home.Same dream over and over.

Once again....share your dreams, comments and suggestions below! 

Monday, February 4, 2013

Dreamer's Block

It's been a while. 

You know that feeling when you have something to tell, but you can’t remember? That’s what’s happening to me right now. Not that I haven’t dreamed, but I just can’t remember anything but a big, white blank in my head. I think it might be because all the stress I've been having lately, or a punishment from my brain for actually listening to Nicki Minaj’s “Pound the Alarm” before going to sleep, and actually liking it a bit. Of course, not in the way that I like Aerosmith, Jeff Buckley , Stone Temple Pilots or my dear Smashing Pumpkins (and, yes, I’m proud to be from the 90s generation), but in the way that I’m really craving out some good night out with some half-drunken crazy dances with my lady friends. This sentence was way too long and not well written, but sometimes verborreic days happen, where I have too many thoughts crossing my mind so I need to write fast while I hyperventilate, just like Nicki Minaj in most of her songs.

But because I want to have some crazy dream to tell you, my dear little followers and the rest of cybernetic acquaintances –that word is not easy-  that might end up here reading this chaotic article full of arrogant words, I’m going to try to put my book about dreaming and its interpretations, and try several methods that appear there, most of which have to do with emptying your mind before sleeping. I am really jealous of all those girls doing hair tutorials, make up tutorials, nail art tutorials, outfit tutorials and tutorials of all kinds that I like watching when I want to feel a bit feminine.  And I say “a bit” because I’m not interested in putting them to practice, but just to remember myself that I have a girlie side sometimes too.

Ps: Leave Star Wars alone!! It’s not geeky anymore thanks to the latest hipster trends and all those dreadful so-called “fashion addicts” who have no idea of the importance of Qui-Gonn Jinn. Let’s hope H&M won’t print out Saruman t-shirts.

Ps.II: As some of you know, this week I moved to Denmark and have been busy settling in and being with my boyfriend, who came to visit, so no new drawings this week. However, I wanted to share some pics of my new (and pretty nice) room to immortalize it before it gets messy. I hope I will go back to my normal dreaming routine soon, anyway, if my dreams keep blocked I still have some time to draw two other guest dreams I've saved in case of emergency.

Ps III: I couldn't bring my pro- camera or my color pencils, so I'll just be drawing in watercolor for some time and uploading crappy pictures. Sorry for that, but it will just have to be an "eco" blog, as Jamie would say.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Nina's Dream and other Short Stories

I have been dreaming so much this week. In the car (I wasn't driving), in the bus, in the sofa, just anytime I fell asleep. I dreamed about a lot of stuff, even about making a crossword, but nothing worth posting, I think, even though there was a dream in which I realized I was dreaming, really weird stuff. Many of them were about my friends, mostly because I've been spending a big part of the week saying goodbye to everyone I should (and okay, also shopping). The funniest dream was about me putting money into my friend Jesus's shirt -and yes, this is a common name in Spain, I have been asked that many times-. In the dream, the money came out glowing if it was fake. Okay, it sounded funnier in my mind.

But apart from goodbye parties, jagerbombs, shopping, and eating all the yummy food I can eat before I go to Denmark, I have also been drawing a lot of weird things like this totem:

Anyway, some time ago -more than I would have liked-, my fellow blogger and good follower of this blog Nina (read her blog here), emailed me a "Weird Dream" she had, and which is one of the coolest I've ever heard of, so I had to draw it and finally, here it is!

Nina's Weird Dream

"I was in a flat (which I happened to own), on the 2nd floor of a 10 floor complex, along with one friend of mine and a very famous tall actor (I just know he is a famous actor but can't recall who). We were sitting in our balcony (which overlooks the road) enjoying a cup of tea, when suddenly we see small silvery things filling the roads completely (the road can hardly be seen). At another look we realize they are silver fishes jumping around (all in the same direction though).

I somehow think that the fishes are running for their lives from the ocean! I pull the other 2 and say we have to lock ourselves in the rooms. and through the window, we see a big beast (human like beast) killing everything in its sight. we are horrified. I say we have to relocate to some other place while the actor is adamant that we have to stay in the flat. we have a heated argument and stomp away to our rooms (all forgetting about the beast or the fishes).

Next day morning we get up and for some unknown reason, my friend and I think are climbing down the drainage pipe behind the flat. when we finally reach the front of the complex, we see a huge crack on the window leading to the actors room.

And then I woke up wondering what in Lord's name was that all about! I really should stop eating noodles for dinner".

Hope you enjoyed this post. If you have a cool dream like this, please share it here!

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Kluk Kluk! A tribute to Andersen and my Expatriation

Nine days until I leave Spain. I have weird feelings about this, and there are many reasons why I want to leave this country, and one of it is that, I love Spain so much that I hate being here and seeing what some people are doing with my country, and to see that no one does anything. Us Spaniards consent to the lies of politicians and nationalists. We consent and reward terrorism and corruption, and for that, we are guilty too.

I don't want to live in Spain any more, and I need to leave to save my love for my country.

I am moving to Odense, H.C Andersen's hometown, and I thought I wanted to make a special post about him. I thought about doing something more interactive, like making a video and read one of his stories, or a V-log, or even sing you a lullaby. Yeah, I know. It was too late, and I guess I was just wishing that someone would sing a lullaby to tired me.

ANYWAY. I found this awesome page some days ago, and I have been reading all these kid's stories, that I hadn't heard since I was a little girl, and re-discovered them. I couldn't resist drawing one of Andersen's stories about dreaming and Denmark. It just fitted this blog :)


The Dream of Little Tuk

Ah! yes, that was little Tuk: in reality his name was not Tuk, but that was what he called himself before he could speak plain: he meant it for Charles, and it is all well enough if one does but know it. He had now to take care of his little sister Augusta, who was much younger than himself, and he was, besides, to learn his lesson at the same time; but these two things would not do together at all. There sat the poor little fellow, with his sister on his lap, and he sang to her all the songs he knew; and he glanced the while from time to time into the geography-book that lay open before him. By the next morning he was to have learnt all the towns in Zealand by heart, and to know about them all that is possible to be known.
His mother now came home, for she had been out, and took little Augusta on her arm. Tuk ran quickly to the window, and read so eagerly that he pretty nearly read his eyes out; for it got darker and darker, but his mother had no money to buy a candle.
“There goes the old washerwoman over the way,” said his mother, as she looked out of the window. “The poor woman can hardly drag herself along, and she must now drag the pail home from the fountain. Be a good boy, Tukey, and run across and help the old woman, won’t you?”
So Tuk ran over quickly and helped her; but when he came back again into the room it was quite dark, and as to a light, there was no thought of such a thing. He was now to go to bed; that was an old turn-up bedstead; in it he lay and thought about his geography lesson, and of Zealand, and of all that his master had told him. He ought, to be sure, to have read over his lesson again, but that, you know, he could not do. He therefore put his geography-book under his pillow, because he had heard that was a very good thing to do when one wants to learn one’s lesson; but one cannot, however, rely upon it entirely. Well, there he lay, and thought and thought, and all at once it was just as if someone kissed his eyes and mouth: he slept, and yet he did not sleep; it was as though the old washerwoman gazed on him with her mild eyes and said, “It were a great sin if you were not to know your lesson tomorrow morning. You have aided me, I therefore will now help you; and the loving God will do so at all times.” And all of a sudden the book under Tuk’s pillow began scraping and scratching.
“Kickery-ki! kluk! kluk! kluk!”–that was an old hen who came creeping along, and she was from Kjoge. “I am a Kjoger hen,” said she, and then she related how many inhabitants there were there, and about the battle that had taken place, and which, after all, was hardly worth talking about.
“Kribledy, krabledy–plump!” down fell somebody: it was a wooden bird, the popinjay used at the shooting-matches at Prastoe. Now he said that there were just as many inhabitants as he had nails in his body; and he was very proud. “Thorwaldsen lived almost next door to me. Plump! Here I lie capitally.”
But little Tuk was no longer lying down: all at once he was on horseback. On he went at full gallop, still galloping on and on. A knight with a gleaming plume, and most magnificently dressed, held him before him on the horse, and thus they rode through the wood to the old town of Bordingborg, and that was a large and very lively town. High towers rose from the castle of the king, and the brightness of many candles streamed from all the windows; within was dance and song, and King Waldemar and the young, richly-attired maids of honor danced together. The morn now came; and as soon as the sun appeared, the whole town and the king’s palace crumbled together, and one tower after the other; and at last only a single one remained standing where the castle had been before, and the town was so small and poor, and the school boys came along with their books under their arms, and said, “2000 inhabitants!” but that was not true, for there were not so many.
And little Tukey lay in his bed: it seemed to him as if he dreamed, and yet as if he were not dreaming; however, somebody was close beside him.
“Little Tukey! Little Tukey!” cried someone near. It was a seaman, quite a little personage, so little as if he were a midshipman; but a midshipman it was not.
“Many remembrances from Corsor. That is a town that is just rising into importance; a lively town that has steam-boats and stagecoaches: formerly people called it ugly, but that is no longer true. I lie on the sea,” said Corsor; “I have high roads and gardens, and I have given birth to a poet who was witty and amusing, which all poets are not. I once intended to equip a ship that was to sail all round the earth; but I did not do it, although I could have done so: and then, too, I smell so deliciously, for close before the gate bloom the most beautiful roses.”
Little Tuk looked, and all was red and green before his eyes; but as soon as the confusion of colors was somewhat over, all of a sudden there appeared a wooded slope close to the bay, and high up above stood a magnificent old church, with two high pointed towers. From out the hill-side spouted fountains in thick streams of water, so that there was a continual splashing; and close beside them sat an old king with a golden crown upon his white head: that was King Hroar, near the fountains, close to the town of Roeskilde, as it is now called. And up the slope into the old church went all the kings and queens of Denmark, hand in hand, all with their golden crowns; and the organ played and the fountains rustled. Little Tuk saw all, heard all. “Do not forget the diet,” said King Hroar.
Again all suddenly disappeared. Yes, and whither? It seemed to him just as if one turned over a leaf in a book. And now stood there an old peasant-woman, who came from Soroe, where grass grows in the market-place. She had an old grey linen apron hanging over her head and back: it was so wet, it certainly must have been raining. “Yes, that it has,” said she; and she now related many pretty things out of Holberg’s comedies, and about Waldemar and Absalon; but all at once she cowered together, and her head began shaking backwards and forwards, and she looked as she were going to make a spring. “Croak! croak!” said she. “It is wet, it is wet; there is such a pleasant deathlike stillness in Sorbe!” She was now suddenly a frog, “Croak”; and now she was an old woman. “One must dress according to the weather,” said she. “It is wet; it is wet. My town is just like a bottle; and one gets in by the neck, and by the neck one must get out again! In former times I had the finest fish, and now I have fresh rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of the bottle, who learn wisdom, Hebrew, Greek–Croak!”
When she spoke it sounded just like the noise of frogs, or as if one walked with great boots over a moor; always the same tone, so uniform and so tiring that little Tuk fell into a good sound sleep, which, by the bye, could not do him any harm.
But even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever else it was: his little sister Augusta, she with the blue eyes and the fair curling hair, was suddenly a tall, beautiful girl, and without having wings was yet able to fly; and she now flew over Zealand–over the green woods and the blue lakes.
“Do you hear the cock crow, Tukey? Cock-a-doodle-doo! The cocks are flying up from Kjoge! You will have a farm-yard, so large, oh! so very large! You will suffer neither hunger nor thirst! You will get on in the world! You will be a rich and happy man! Your house will exalt itself like King Waldemar’s tower, and will be richly decorated with marble statues, like that at Prastoe. You understand what I mean. Your name shall circulate with renown all round the earth, like unto the ship that was to have sailed from Corsor; and in Roeskilde–”
“Do not forget the diet!” said King Hroar.
“Then you will speak well and wisely, little Tukey; and when at last you sink into your grave, you shall sleep as quietly–”
“As if I lay in Soroe,” said Tuk, awaking. It was bright day, and he was now quite unable to call to mind his dream; that, however, was not at all necessary, for one may not know what the future will bring.
And out of bed he jumped, and read in his book, and now all at once he knew his whole lesson. And the old washerwoman popped her head in at the door, nodded to him friendly, and said, “Thanks, many thanks, my good child, for your help! May the good ever-loving God fulfil your loveliest dream!”
Little Tukey did not at all know what he had dreamed, but the loving God knew it.