I woke up this morning in a cold film of panic. The second I awoke, I realised absolutely nothing had happening in the preceding dream that was in any way ultraviolent or depraved.
Usually I can set my clock by the fact that my dreamscape will involve outright butchery and gore-smashing as I wander through it like a blood-spattered droid – all alongside a morally bankrupt attitude to libidinous activities. It keeps me grounded and acts as a counterweight to my conscious life – the bloodshed and perviness brilliantly balancing the mundanity of reality. So this sudden overnight change is disturbing.
Perhaps this means I’m bound for a murderous rampage? Maybe I’m going to wander down the street later today, my conscious mind tasked with getting me the papers whilst my subconscious is bent on carnage. I’ll probably end up slaughtering a puppy with my end flopping out of my fly. They’ll take me away, peel my scalp off and do experiments on my brain.
So – why do we dream?
Time for Horizon to ask ‘science’ again, despite the fact it couldn’t answer Why Thin People Aren’t Fat and couldn’t make its mind up (probably stoned) as to whether cannabis is the Evil Weed.
I always thought William Golding was right – that “sleep is when all the unsorted stuff comes flying out as from a dustbin upset in a high wind”. It’s just a load of fear, insecurity and desire coming out in a slew of meaningless, dirty thoughts. And it seems science isn’t much further ahead in its thinking. Despite people being hooked up to those neuro-sensors that look like sticky-tape and string attached all over a swimming trunked body, they haven’t got much further than the fact that we have nightmares at certain times of night and get depressed if we we wake up at certain times. And they pay scientists for this rubbish.
If I may, I suggest that this lack of a decent conclusion across the scientific board on Horizon so far this series is down to inaccuracies in the testing methodology. It seems ludicrous that we’re trying to work out if skunk is addictive by feeding it to mice – and we’re not likely to learn which bit of our grey-matter triggers wet dreams by sticking a chimp in a brain scanner.
So let us test on humans, damn it!
I’m not suggesting we round up volunteers. Only a moron would stick his hand up when asked if he fancied having a lobe-probe. And obviously it wouldn’t be fair to test on the underclasses – both from a humanitarian point of view and also pragamtically, considering they’re all preoccupied by drinking lager and raising staffordshire bull terriers and, as such, would provide uselessly biased responses.
Therefore, I conclude the only decent subjects are the supposed great and good. We could get Will Self and Stephen Fry strapped to chairs in isolation booths and stick metal sticks in their ears to see how certain words twist up their vocab glands. We could test spatial awareness by looking up Andy Murray’s mechanically dilated nose whilst giving him cumulatively more and more powerful electric shocks. We could test the very notion of celebrity by culling Calum Best, Chico and Vanessa Feltz and measuring the amount of tears the public weep.
Let us stride forward into a new age of scientific boundary – with fiendish grins on our faces, devilish murder in our hearts and metal sticks gripped in our fists.