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| Mick's David, without the comparison |
Two or three times a year I dream of appearing naked in public. I am of course not alone in this, many men share the experience. Freud relates it to a sense of futility. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The passers-by are not shocked by my nudity, they’re indifferent. Coarser readers of Tone Deaf will suggest this is inevitable, sensing my tackle is probably unimpressive. For a long time this was my opinion too and I was only reassured when I saw a photograph of Michelangelo’s David; proportionately, in that department, we could be twins. Except for the marble.
As I say, things could be worse. Throughout the dream I’m able to persuade myself I am “getting away” with being unclothed. However this is not the case with another recurrent dream wherein I walk bare-footed on sidewalks coated with… I leave you to guess. No comfort from Freud, the roots are sexual of course. Awake and fearful, I try to imagine what it is I’ve been suppressing.
Much rarer, alas, are dreams in which I have a theoretical – never physical – relationship with one of the objects of my passion during fevered adolescence. These are pleasant enough but are spoilt by an adult desire to behave as a critic. The blurred views, the unnatural warmth of the atmosphere, the melodramatic nearness as a hand reaches out but never touches – overdone scenes, reminiscent of movies directed by Douglas Sirk (All That Heaven Allows, Magnificent Obsession, Imitation of Life).
The best dreams are those when I’m only half asleep and may exercise control over what is happening. My French is perfect and I knock over bullies with artistic sweeps of my fist. I suspect the backgrounds are transported directly from New Zealand. Chilled fizzy water is essential when I emerge.
I once spent three years helping someone to carve a series of classical figures to adorn the new house of Sebastian Ferranti. We tried putting ordinary sized tackle on the male ones, but it appeared grotesque and inappropriate. Your eye was immediately drawn to the genital area. There is a reason why classical figures have small willies, and it is not one which we can use as an excuse.
ReplyDeleteTom: I read your comment and there were stirrings in the primeval swamp that is my memory. Ferranti, manufacturer of heavy electricals - didn't they have a factory in Bradford, my home town? Indeed they did, says Wiki. And didn't the name also extend to another giant Bradford enterprise, Empire Stores, the catalogue goods retailer, whose MD I interviewed in the early seventies in connection with a super-dooper warehouse picking system? Here my memory played me false (but you can perhaps see why); the name on that occasion was Fattorini, also associated with Bradford's swankiest jewellery shop.
DeleteAs to the point you raise, I have to say that TS Eliot got there before you with “Humankind cannot bear very much reality.” - as true now as when he first uttered it. But never mind. I applaud you for managing to touch on both the vulgar and the sublime in one short comment.
Hah, great inclusion of Eliot...
DeleteAs for those sculptures, why not the good old leaf? Been working for us a long time.
Sounds totally normal to me...lol, except for whatever that sidewalk is...grins, Sandi
ReplyDeleteSandi: I didn't imagine my range of dreams was in any way unique. As I say, nakedness in dreams was a regular concern of old Sigmund. As to the unspoken detail, it wasn't the sidewalk itself that invoked disgust, rather what was plastered over it. Use your imagination and I'm sure revelation will be right round the corner.
DeleteI don't even know what to say.
ReplyDeleteColette: I'm terribly disappointed. The last thing on earth I wanted was to render you silent. You are - within my miniscule circle of friends (more of a dot than a circle, to tell the truth) - the only one with a soft spot for alligators. I will always cherish that. But if you clam up, my admiration will be like shouting down a hole in the road.
DeleteI assume it's the anatomical reference that disturbs you. And that disturbs me. Did you imagine I arrived into this world in 1935 - a bad year for being born, I must confess - as somehow incomplete? My two daughters notwithstanding? Or have I have infringed the rules of Floridian tea-room etiquette? Is having what I have an example of bad taste?
Clearly I must mend my ways. When it comes to blogging style I must model myself on that paragon of all the virtues Mike Pence. Comb my hair flat to my head and, in effect, say nothing but at great length.
How'd it be if I promised never to read a single word more of Bertrand Russell in what's left of my life? Or must I draw blood? You must be my guide.
Oh gee, don't mend your ways. I found this post hilarious. I was simply dumbstruck. Then I tried to imagine writing a post about my female genitalia. Sadly, I decided it wouldn't be safe for me to do so. Women have certain limitations, unless they are rock stars or authors wealthy enough to hire security guards and put up massive security gates around their houses. I'm chuckling to myself as I write this, of course.
DeleteI can assure you I never considered how you came into this world. I'm simply glad you did.
Don't assume me not having anything to say is an insult. In the grand scheme of things, it is likely a compliment. But it DID make me think. That's always a good thing, right?
You can exercise control over your half-waking dreams? I am impressed! I do quite a bit of low flying in my dreams, swooping just out of reach. As an old art school type, clothed or unclothed doesn't bother me but I sometimes have trouble with shoes falling off my feet. Don't know what Freud would have to say about that. (Have a vague memory of dancing at a party in Bradford with a Fattorini boy when I was at Leeds College of Art.)
ReplyDeleteGarden: You've encouraged me to write a post I've only dabbled with in the past : it's extraordinarily difficult - the nature of a heaven entirely tailored to my preferences. Manipulating my dreams (in a rather more positive way than at present) would form part of it.
DeleteCurious about your reference to low flying. The second I read your reference I immediately imagined I had dreamt it; what you said was powerfully evocative, yet as far as I know it's never happened. A case of "might happen" becoming "will happen".
Fattorini is a name one is unlikely to forget. For me it was a good informative interview and I immediately grasped the logistical benefits of the sytem. (Logistics was my specialist subject towards the end of my working life.) The interview took place in - I think - 1973, when I was 28. I know you're younger than me; could you have danced that year? And in the same city!.
Speaking of which, if you haven't already read A la recherche du temps perdu, please do so, immediately, it's only 3000 pages long. A free translation is available on Kindle. Memory as an almost tangible entity.
"Only," haha!
DeleteMy favorites are always flying dreams. But either I haven't had one in a long time or I've been too tired to recall...
ReplyDeleteMay you have many more perfect-French dreams (with clean sidewalks and spiffy clothes.)
Marly: Perfect-French dreams, yeah! Where I speak French too quickly for the Frenchies to follow.
ReplyDelete