Dream 439: Layerman

03.19.2016 § Leave a comment

I’m programming an infinitely powerful final movie boss. Three phases to constantly transform a crocodile into a dinosaur: springing up its stubby legs to spindly ones.

Zooming out slowly, a low angle on a kitchen. A woman walks around tidying up. A man is being built up layer by barely perceptible razor thin layer, cross sections perpendicular to the floor materializing one by one. A new layer appears each time the man and woman exchange a line of dialog, except that these lines are being reduced to fractions of a second each. Not compressed into, but clipped intact, a tiny snippet of each line, so you can just infer only the tone, maybe a single phoneme, maybe enough to imply a word that implies a phrase. At first the man and woman are agreeing over and over, but then the man sneaks in a sarcastic self deprecating comment and when she absent-mindedly agrees he gets mad and it turns ito an argument. This is around the time his scrotum has started to materialize as a floating object, unattached, between his leg stacks. He’s seen from behind. The woman is not jump cutting around the kitchen as you might expect she would given the dialog processing — she’s just moving like in normal reality, and it’s not conflicting because you can’t see her face or mouth.

My youngest female maternal cousin is telling me about my grandpa’s condition. I haven’t been back in a year. No wait, six months.

I’m watching a movie with Brad Pitt running up the hill to Karin’s parents’ house. You don’t have to take the same path as him, but can kind of see him through fences between houses’ yards even if you don’t. I can barely keep up because I’m in socks and flip-flops (couldn’t grab my shoes in time, probably would have been faster to turn back for them and try to catch up). I realize partway through this that I’m in an immersive film.

Stephen Hawking’s Goldfish cracker is the key. I can’t believe we haven’t put it in a box or boxlike structure to protect it from getting crushed yet.

High school kids are tying me up and torturing me, but due to how I’m conducting myself I manage to avoid getting beaten up. When I’m released I refuse to register anger but nonetheless hustle right out.

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