in which there is no less than dreams

i was speaking with a friend and colleague a few weeks ago, and he brought up that there is a musician, to his knowledge, who used to sit in his chair and hold a rock, or some sort of paperweight in his hand. as the musician drifted steadily into sleep, his grasp upon the rock, much as his on wakefulness and reality, would slip. the feeling of the rock being let go, or perhaps the rock hitting the floor, would wake said musician, and he would frantically write his thoughts down, quite often composing in part what music laid to linger in his head. i have yet to find out who this famous musician is, but apparently it is not mozart.

regardless, the concept of a dream journal or keeping a notepad by one's bedside is not entirely alien to me, and i decided to do it a few days ago. if one can remember to the days of my dreams regarding aliens, 'shit-rugs' and nonsensical meetings, then it is no surprise to find that whatever i penned down was only worth a facepalm in the morning, followed by a quick toss of what could have been useful paper into the dustbin.

i only pray that with time i can refine this interesting concept, but for now, let it be known that i had two 'great' ideas (they felt great when i was having my wakeful sleep); one regarding how i could harness infinite energy from a single electron by abusing entropy, and the other which was a novel way of analysing my phd data which i have been stuck with for weeks. needless to say, in the latter case, i swiftly knew that it was rubbish and dismissed it, but who knows, maybe one day i'll actually come up with boundless energy. here's to hoping.

in the mean while, let's not have me quit my day job.

also, eff that musician. he clearly has sleep underrated.

and whatever he composed was probably never as good as 'dance of the flowers'. that's tchaikovsky, and it's my favourite piece. along with blue danube, by strauss ii. any waltz, to be honest, usually gets me in good spirits.