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Dream of Books
Apr. 30th, 2008 01:45 pmAnother dream post, peeps.
I dreamed of being in a large, old, echoing room. Again, there was some sort of a convention going on - I've no idea if it was the same convention from the previous dream whose GoH were Peter Jurasik and Stephen Furst, but there you are.
The hall was a long room, dimly lit, echoing, high ceiling, split into two levels, the upper level being an L shaped extension reaching along the left hand side to the far wall, then right. The upper level also had an extension to the left, but I didn't go down there. Access was on a square platform elevator with no railings that rose up from the empty lower floor.
The convention was taking place in the brightly lit rooms on the left: there were windows in the wall looking in, and a connecting door, but very few people in this room. At one point, I was alone. All around the upper level of this large, dimly lit, echoing hall were stacks of antique books, leather bound and exquisite looking.
I was just enjoying looking at these books, when a voice nearby started talking about old someone having discovered some old 1930s books, and putting them up for sale. These were originals, thought to be lost. I realised that the voice belonged to a man on the far end of the raised level, and that he was talking to two men back on the platform - both of whom expressed clear enthusiasm for the discovery of such rare items.
Then one of the men turned to me and said "I know where there's a book on sale here. It's expensive, but it's right up your street." He led me down the platform elevator, out the door at the bottom of the hall, and across the outside corridor, where the rest of the convention was clearly in full swing.
He cut across the wood panelled corridor, opened a door, and we proceeded down some narrow stairs to where there was another pile of books, this time in the narrow space between two flights of stairs. The books were arranged on a pile on a small table, beneath a window through whichI could see sunlight. Beside this stall sat an old lady with grey hair in a bun, a heavy dress and a knitted shawl, who had to go to the toilet for a moment.
While she was away, I looked at the book the man was offering to me. It was a grimoire, filled with signs and magical seals, instructions for spells such as "To make a man or woman come to you" and "To make someone shed their clothes on command." The book was a reprint of a genuine grimoire; the spells were indeed powerful and real, and I knew that I could make them work; I could even read the words in my dream.
And then I saw the price, which was very specific and legible: exactly £81.25. The lady came back. I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the book was genuine, and that this woman was making the knowledge available to be for that specific price. I figured that I could manage it, but it'd be a tight squeeze on my budget, but what the hell, why not?
Then the woman explained that these books were flying off the shelves, despite the price. Which was good, because she needed the proceeds from the sale of these books to pay for her cancer treatment.
At that point, I noticed that a queue had formed behind me, all eager to buy the book even if I was reluctant to break my bank account to do so. I couldn't do any more at that point, because I woke up. I think I'd have continued that dream by actually going downstairs, out the door and heading for the bank for the money in my dream. The book was worth far more than £81.25 - in fact, for genuine spells, it was worth hundreds - but the amount was, in my dream, about the limit of what I had available.
I was, after all, already at a convention ...
I dreamed of being in a large, old, echoing room. Again, there was some sort of a convention going on - I've no idea if it was the same convention from the previous dream whose GoH were Peter Jurasik and Stephen Furst, but there you are.
The hall was a long room, dimly lit, echoing, high ceiling, split into two levels, the upper level being an L shaped extension reaching along the left hand side to the far wall, then right. The upper level also had an extension to the left, but I didn't go down there. Access was on a square platform elevator with no railings that rose up from the empty lower floor.
The convention was taking place in the brightly lit rooms on the left: there were windows in the wall looking in, and a connecting door, but very few people in this room. At one point, I was alone. All around the upper level of this large, dimly lit, echoing hall were stacks of antique books, leather bound and exquisite looking.
I was just enjoying looking at these books, when a voice nearby started talking about old someone having discovered some old 1930s books, and putting them up for sale. These were originals, thought to be lost. I realised that the voice belonged to a man on the far end of the raised level, and that he was talking to two men back on the platform - both of whom expressed clear enthusiasm for the discovery of such rare items.
Then one of the men turned to me and said "I know where there's a book on sale here. It's expensive, but it's right up your street." He led me down the platform elevator, out the door at the bottom of the hall, and across the outside corridor, where the rest of the convention was clearly in full swing.
He cut across the wood panelled corridor, opened a door, and we proceeded down some narrow stairs to where there was another pile of books, this time in the narrow space between two flights of stairs. The books were arranged on a pile on a small table, beneath a window through whichI could see sunlight. Beside this stall sat an old lady with grey hair in a bun, a heavy dress and a knitted shawl, who had to go to the toilet for a moment.
While she was away, I looked at the book the man was offering to me. It was a grimoire, filled with signs and magical seals, instructions for spells such as "To make a man or woman come to you" and "To make someone shed their clothes on command." The book was a reprint of a genuine grimoire; the spells were indeed powerful and real, and I knew that I could make them work; I could even read the words in my dream.
And then I saw the price, which was very specific and legible: exactly £81.25. The lady came back. I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the book was genuine, and that this woman was making the knowledge available to be for that specific price. I figured that I could manage it, but it'd be a tight squeeze on my budget, but what the hell, why not?
Then the woman explained that these books were flying off the shelves, despite the price. Which was good, because she needed the proceeds from the sale of these books to pay for her cancer treatment.
At that point, I noticed that a queue had formed behind me, all eager to buy the book even if I was reluctant to break my bank account to do so. I couldn't do any more at that point, because I woke up. I think I'd have continued that dream by actually going downstairs, out the door and heading for the bank for the money in my dream. The book was worth far more than £81.25 - in fact, for genuine spells, it was worth hundreds - but the amount was, in my dream, about the limit of what I had available.
I was, after all, already at a convention ...
