About an hour ago, I had an unsettling dream. The dream went that I was at a local grocery store, intending to purchase a specific item (I don't remember what, now). Long-ish story (that involves one character making a verbal jab at another character over the public announcement system) short, I can't find the item I was looking for, and leave. When I step outside, it is significantly later than when I went inside (early evening, as opposed to mid-afternoon), and most of the parking lot has emptied out. This only serves to emphasize the fact that the car I took to get there (my dad's car, I had borrowed it) wasn't there anymore. And so I was stuck wandering back and forth through the mostly-empty parking lot, desperately pressing the buttons on the little keypad that came with the key, trying to set off the car alarm of a car that I knew by now was long gone.
In an episode of "Welcome to the Basement" (Eyes Without a Face, Episode 59), Matt Sloan states that "there are basically two types of horror movies", those that deal in fantasy and those that deal in reality. As I sit here, I reflect on this. Both types have their own approaches and their own merits.
The horror of fantasy is horrifying as the horrifying element (or elements) is something that exists outside our normal realm of perception, what we define and understand as being the reality in which we dwell. As such, the element may not be bound by the laws, limits, and conventions that govern us and our lives, and may freely ignore some or even all of them! Here a person is being pursued by something that has a major tactical advantage.
The horror of reality is basically the exact opposite, the horrifying element is something that exists within our reality. Here, the horror comes from the very fact that the things happening are from our mundane world. As we watch, in the back of our minds, we keep thinking, "This could really happen. This could happen to me." We are reminded that perhaps we are more vulnerable than we once thought.
Clearly, my dream falls under the heading of Horror of Reality. My subconscious was reminding me that I am not invulnerable to theft of a valuable item. I didn't think that I was, and I really didn't need that reminder shoved directly into my face. (My guess is, my subconscious was being a jerk.)
The overwhelming majority of the time (like 99 times out of 100), when I wake up, I don't remember what I dreamt of. On the rare occasions that I do remember, I usually wish that I didn't.
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