Dead of Night (1945) | dir. Alberto Cavalcanti, Charles Crichton, Robert Hamer and Basil Dearden
We’re having drinks. You break those glasses of yours, and then, quite suddenly, the room goes dark. And then, Foley, you say something, something about the death of a man I’ve never heard of. And that’s where my dream becomes a nightmare. A nightmare of horror. I feel my will power draining away. I feel I’m in the grip of a force that’s driving me towards something unspeakably evil.
sometimes adhd feels like those dreams where you’re aware it’s a dream but you still don’t have any control over it. you just kinda sit there watching things play out, knowing what should be happening and knowing what you should be doing to put that into effect but you can’t and that’s the worst part.
and all the dreams become nightmares. and people say, “but if you’re lucid in your dreams then why don’t you just change your dreams to make them happy?” and it seems so simple and you wonder if maybe you’re just not trying hard enough. but every night the same thing happens and you wonder if it’s just going to be like this forever.
You hurt me,
But it’s different this time.
I’m not yelling at you or asking who she is or drinking myself unconscious.
I’m just laying in bed thinking about the way you used to look at me, when I thought it was just you and me.
My dreams have become nothing but nightmares, and you’re the starring role.
I might wake up every night shaking but at least I still get to see you.
Even when I’m awake I keep seeing you kiss her,
And I can’t turn away when it’s stuck in my own head.
It stings more and more each time.
It’s a quiet kind of hurting, a lonely kind of hurting, a God-I-knew-this-would-happen kind of hurting,
But the pain isn’t the worst part.
The worst part is that I’m stuck in this cycle of hating you and then pretending that I don’t care about you and then wishing that I’d never met you,
But I always come back to missing you.
History is not a single line but a double helix. The structure of information in our cells is also the archetypal structure of information in the twistings and turnings of the species through time. What starts out in one position ends up in its opposite, and the dream of liberation becomes the nightmare of recollectivization.
William Irwin Thompson, Darkness and Scattered Light
AU Canon: Undertale is nothing more than a dream; a dream that slowly becomes a nightmare as time passes. Unlike Undertale, our main character is Sans, Sans the Skeleton, and, sadly, he is our dreamer, living reset after excruciating reset in Undertale till, at last, he wakes. Mind filled with nothing but what he lived in Undertale, Sans struggles to regain the memories he had lost and return to the person that everyone remembers. Thing is, the world he has awoken to is nothing like Undertale.
You see, in Othertale, humans and monsters live in the Undergrounds - yes, plural. The Underground that Sans has awoken in is just like Undertale with a few discrepancies. For one, it is much larger and the humans are fully integrated into society. There is no hate, no fighting (except for the occasional drunken brawl and corrupted person) between the races. After all, when the Overworld was polluted due to the war between humans and monsters, the subsequent generations decided to put aside their differences. However, Sans quickly learns that this utopia he has awoken to is not as worry free as portrayed.
The toxic atmosphere is slowly seeping into the Undergrounds and Sans, as a scientist, had been working to find a solution but, due to his trip into Undertale (in a sense), Sans has lost that knowledge. Will he regain his memory? Will he regain it in time to do something? But why had his mind created Frisk, Chara, the other six children, and Flowey?
A little less than a thousand years ago, Princess Celestia realized with acute horror that there was another one of her younger sister’s duties that could not be left untended to.
So busy she had been with raising and lowering the sun and moon that she had failed to realize that her subjects’ slumber was agitated. All of their doubts and worries had continued to build up in them, and with no one to help guide them in their sleep, their dreams had become tainted by nightmares.
Frantic with worry, she entered the abandoned Castle of the Two Sisters, seeking help from Princess Luna’s personal spell books.
While there was no replacement for the Princess of the Night, who could enter and jump between pony’s dreams at will, there was a solution that would have to work. She would make it work– and work it did.
She shaped a construct of sand and soft feelings, bound together by her magic into the form of a mare. One who could travel across the land at night, soothing nightmares and leaving pleasant dreams in her wake. No pony would receive kind words of comfort and personal guidance, but her graceful song and enchanting dreams would insure that Princess Celestia’s subjects did not succumb to despair in a world where sleeping brought only sadness.
Nearly a thousand years later the magic of every pony who believes in the Sand Mare has kept the construct functioning, and has even granted it a life of her own.
But there are no more ponies to help now that Princess Luna has returned.
So she sings sad songs in the night, wistful for the time when she was needed so completely, but taking comfort in the fact that her Highness can help so much more than she ever could.
Grey’s Anatomy: The Other Side of This Life (Part II) ↳ At some point, maybe we accept the dream has become a nightmare. We tell ourselves that reality is better. We convince ourselves it’s better that we never dream at all. But, the strongest of us, the most determined of us, hold on to the dream or we find ourselves faced with a fresh dream that we never considered. We wake to find ourselves, at all odds, feeling hopeful. And if we’re lucky, we realize in the face of everything, in the face of life, the true dream is being able to dream at all.