I've always wondered if in a dream the fear you feel for what it offers us the dream vision, or if you test because it is the dream we demanded it. I incline to the latter. I often dream of monsters, devils, ghosts and trying not to be afraid but scared in dreams by insects or other simple trees. So it is not see what scare me in a dream, but as the dream was, in a sense, "programmed". Perhaps the most obvious visual processing dreams of anxiety, worry and stress should be stereotyped in ghosts, zombies, killers, madmen and Topo Gigio, but sometimes things go wrong and to symbolize all this however, for example, a stone. The stone does not scare anyone, unless there is thrown on him during a stoning, but in the dream, its meaning because of something weird that could be better represented, terrifies us. Difficult for an artist to represent the winter with a short, flowery meadow.
Last night I had the weird confirmation what do I think about it.
The dream was set in my room.
A boy at the window on the second floor of my building was very clearly madly in love with a girl herself at the window of the building opposite (damn Jacob and his Voyager Monday for a service dedicated to Shakespeare). He felt the boy's voice even if you have not seen any more, had returned. He told his family how beautiful she was that girl in front, who had since returned home, in turn, replaced by his grandmother, an elderly obese intent on hanging laundry. Someone, perhaps her uncle, with a Neapolitan accent unlikely that I could not write now says: "Let us see this beautiful girl" and, looking instead sees the Nonnon.
"Oh Marunna, but this is a fat lady!" (Forgive me the Neapolitan) cries uncle and retreating into the house.
Now, Gag, the disappointment of his uncle, the misunderstanding that made me laugh so I had to necessarily tell what happened to my family that I appreciated and laughed too. Immediately after giving it to my amusement, I woke up at first and the gags made me laugh really, because I thought I'd put in one of my stories, it would be a good show, the kind you watch when you fever and you're home I can not go to work. Then, gradually, I became more lucid and gag worse and worse. First, a Neapolitan would not known as "Chubby" but something like "Chiattone. Perhaps with "Chiattone" could have worked, but the seconds passed and I was more awake. Less than a minute later I was ashamed of myself for having just thought that stuff might be fun. It was just that in the script of that dream was scheduled to be laughing, I would laugh at anything, if it had been planned.
Eventually, though, I really told the GAG. This sends a disturbing shadow on my already complicated psyche.
Last night I had the weird confirmation what do I think about it.
The dream was set in my room.
A boy at the window on the second floor of my building was very clearly madly in love with a girl herself at the window of the building opposite (damn Jacob and his Voyager Monday for a service dedicated to Shakespeare). He felt the boy's voice even if you have not seen any more, had returned. He told his family how beautiful she was that girl in front, who had since returned home, in turn, replaced by his grandmother, an elderly obese intent on hanging laundry. Someone, perhaps her uncle, with a Neapolitan accent unlikely that I could not write now says: "Let us see this beautiful girl" and, looking instead sees the Nonnon.
"Oh Marunna, but this is a fat lady!" (Forgive me the Neapolitan) cries uncle and retreating into the house.
Now, Gag, the disappointment of his uncle, the misunderstanding that made me laugh so I had to necessarily tell what happened to my family that I appreciated and laughed too. Immediately after giving it to my amusement, I woke up at first and the gags made me laugh really, because I thought I'd put in one of my stories, it would be a good show, the kind you watch when you fever and you're home I can not go to work. Then, gradually, I became more lucid and gag worse and worse. First, a Neapolitan would not known as "Chubby" but something like "Chiattone. Perhaps with "Chiattone" could have worked, but the seconds passed and I was more awake. Less than a minute later I was ashamed of myself for having just thought that stuff might be fun. It was just that in the script of that dream was scheduled to be laughing, I would laugh at anything, if it had been planned.
Eventually, though, I really told the GAG. This sends a disturbing shadow on my already complicated psyche.
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