I finally had a Hitler dream today. I feel it is time for a dream intervention. It must be so, when you have your first Hitler dream. What is an almost marriage with Robert Smith of The Cure (as my previous weird dream was about), compared to being at the receiving end of an impossible atrocity in the hands of Herr Hitler? I am not saying love is equal to horrific death, though it is a long established practice to associate love with death. But, let’s stick to Hitler for now.
All my daydreaming is, presumably, romantic or goal-driven, aspirational in some way. Neil Gaiman has frequently endorse daydreaming as a place to get your ideas from, and I agree. In fact, I’ve been thinking about attempting NaNoWriMo this year because of a daydream I had, which supplied me with a story that could well be a rom-com-spy novella.
But, night dreams, that’s where the money is. Or at least, originality. Though today’s Hitler dream wasn’t very original. For a change, however, I was not myself. I was a skinny, spotty, young, blonde, bespectacled man, who was in some sort of class Hitler was teaching. Even Hitler didn’t look like Hitler, but a combination of an old uncle of mine and the Bollywood actor Shatrughan Sinha. A face even more menacing that Hitler because, like Christoph Waltz in Inglourious Basterds, it was so regular and believable. Hitler’s moustache has always looked a little CGI to me.
I don’t know what Hitler was teaching in this class. He was like one of those modern grey-ish characters who don’t incite you with sincere love or hatred, but slither along with intense charisma. I think it must have been Chemistry or Physics, or something similar. Though, I believe, Hitler studied art in real life. My character also seemed to be fancying a classmate who totally looked like a 1930s young woman. We both get caught whispering to each other, and Hitler throws us out of the class room. Later, he meets us at the entrance of the building. He pulls a rifle off a guard nearby, takes aim at me, and even as I try to protect myself with a chair, everything goes white. I wake up.
That was my first death scene on dream-film. My most frequent dreams are espionage dreams. I spend little or no time on them during the day (have never read a le Carre novel or watched all the Bond films) but I am always some sort of a spy who is about to get caught. Dreams of being chased are some of the most common ones, but mine always have to be fancier. At least, my dream self presumably has more competence in the department than I do. I hope she can fight and wield gadgets and look stunning in an evening gown. I never get caught, so I never get to test any of these out.
I’ve already told you in my previous weird dreams post about the odd romantic ones. Here’s another kind I had a few weeks ago. Not romantic, but absolutely bizarre. My mother has adopted a female monkey whom we found at our doorstep. I do all the official business, like making inquiries to find her a home, preferably in a zoo, and do not make an effort to be affectionate. My mother, on the other hand, starts to get more and more fond of the creature. Now, she isn’t keen on animals at all in real life whereas I, at least, melt at the sight of cats. But, this is where it gets most bizarre. The monkey, who has taken to wearing women’s clothes and eating at our table with us, starts to get even more humanized, to the point when I end up feeling jealous of it!
I am sure that idea was also made into a movie, but keeping with the self-absorbed nature of this blog – I didn’t see it. I know any psychoanalysts reading this, have already made up a profile of me based on what goes on in my head. And, I make no secret of being a flawed individual. But, all this animation in my mind, that completely happen without any personal intervention from me, really have me worried. Either, I hope, I can make something creative out of them. Or, I’ll go bonkers.
Do you have any weird dreams? Have you ever had a Hitler dream?