So after reading sixty pages of Northrup Frye last night, I dreamt about Anatomy of Criticism. I’m not sure about the details, but I think it was a case of life following the six phases of romance (see pages 198-203), and I recognized the pattern, determining where we were in the cycle and what, to an extent, we could expect next. I think I was comforting someone who didn’t know what was going on by explaining the predictable, cyclical nature of life/romance. I know I mentioned Frye by name.
A dream from last week involved a small mountain valley town overshadowed by a building-sized boulder precariously balanced (almost roadrunner and coyote style, but naturally occurring). A rain of fire from the sky (I don’t think it was a “natural” phenomenon; it seems like it was “enemy fire” of some kind) sent the boulder down into the town. People had to run. Many did not escape. Somehow I was involved in rescue and relief effort. Conscious that we were going to have to rebuild the community (human civilization?) with our little band of people. I know it was much more detailed, but I can’t remember more than this for sure. This dream has stayed with me in an ominous way, so I finally decided to record it.
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