Fuck dreams. I don’t believe in them. Specifically, I’m referring to dream interpretations. When people say shit to me like “oh, a dream about your teeth falling out? You know what that means? That means you have anxiety about money” or something like that, my brain automatically translates that to “I’m really into pseudoscience/pop-psychology/nonsense, and I’m probably also into horoscopes and other bullshit like that.” I mean, who doesn’t have dreams about their teeth falling out? Answer: nobody. And who doesn’t have some form of anxiety about money on some level? Again, nobody. You can pick anything that people universally ponder, and any common dream trope and you too can work this fucking quackery and wow the chicks at your next dorm party. It’s easy. Check this out: Oh, you have dreams about falling? That means that you’re apprehensive about what happens when you die. Boom! Dream theory. It’s like being a psychic medium but with even less of a playbook and zero way to quantitatively gauge how obviously full of shit you are.
Now, I am fully willing to admit that if shit’s bothering you, you can have bad dreams as a result. Conversely, if you’re spending a day looking at someone you want to fuck, you may just have dreams about fucking them. I’m not saying that dreams have zero to do with what goes on in your life. They clearly exist in your brain and as such, they’re motivated by your conscious and subconscious thoughts to an extent. What I don’t buy is an overarching interpretation of any particular type of dream that applies to both me and, let’s say, famed pedophile Gary Glitter. There’s just no fucking way. Brains are too different, and as such, dreams are coming out of things that can’t possibly be corralled by some lame book that some dork pulled out of his ass. Lo mein? I’ll expound.
There are humans out there who get sexual pleasure from popping balloons. There are people out there who absolutely live (LIVE!) to punch motherfuckers in the face at bars. Humans exist who enjoy eating feces and other humans are so disgusted by feces that they do everything they can to avoid shitting. Some people fuck dogs. Some people never want to fuck anything at all. Some people will sit down and eat three big macs, a box of mac and cheese and a hostess pie in one sitting and some people are so terrified of food that they starve themselves to death. To briefly return to our earlier example, some people willfully go into situations (playing hockey, doing meth, being British) where the idea of losing one’s teeth is less of a risk and more of a given, and some people would rather get shot in the leg than lose a tooth. Mo’fuckers are snowflakes, bros. Our pleasures are others’ pains and vice versa. Very different things tickle the receptors in our brains that make us happy, sad, scared, angry, etc. There is no way there’s a book that accurately describes what makes parts of our brains light up with glee, and if there is, it should say something to the effect of ‘uh, you name it, some weirdo has beat off to it’ and then end.
SO, you see where I’m coming from? My dream about me fucking a dog is a lot different than a guy in Florida’s dream about fucking a dog. My dream about losing my teeth is different from a toothless guy’s dream about losing his teeth. My dream about falling from a great height is different from Captain Doritos Extreme’s dream about falling from a great height. Though we both have ideas, concerns and apprehensions, my ideas, concerns, and apprehensions about money are different from Donald Trump’s. My notion about the unknown void of death is different from that of a Buddhist monk or my wife’s 92 year-old grandmother. There is just no way that there’s a fucking catch all, decoder ring rosetta stone for dreams that can accurately satisfy why last night I spent the whole time lost in the backstage of a club trying to get to the dressing room only to just walk in circles all night long smelling pizza. I’m sure it has something to do with what I do for a living, but I’ll be damned if I wanna listen to some dork who read some bullshit book written by an even lamer dork analyze my dreams like they’ve spent any time in this nightmare that is my brain.
Pfft. Get outa here with that nonsense. That being said, I’m a virgo, so I’m super skeptical about pseudoscience.