Angels and Demons and Dreams

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Brilliant game to play, but can be incredibly frustrating, causing me to deliver this post prematurely. Maybe I'll toss it into an incubation chamber before it's ready for the grand unveiling?
You can bet Word would have thrown a green line fit over that last question mark. But since I am a man(possibly) of focus(suprisingly) who feels that all entries must have a structure(ok I'm NOT talking about me anymore am I!), I shall hasten to the ultimate purpose of this highly enlightening revelation.

I have regrettably found myself a fan. No dictionaries needed, but it is true. Long a supporter of the LOTR way of life, never could I have found myself at such a perilous juncture, where the very fabric of my fantasy-ridden persona finds itself dishonourably attracted to a completely heathen style of writing. The culprit in this saga, Mr Dan Brown. For not even the mighty LOTR did I ever attempt to finish in less than a day. Not when reading Winters Heart by Robert Jordan did I find myself so drawn in that no manner of sleep deprivation would hold me away from its pages. Brown has been my downfall. No other author have I ever stayed up all night to get through, tucked in bed with images of ghoulish fiends bursting through my closed bedroom door as dawn breaks through my blinds. Such images are often entertained by my more vampiric senses as daylight creeps over the horizon, sending images to assault my senses that make the exorcist girl look like a Barbie doll. Dawn is no time for a decent count to be found with his eyes glued to a book, scratched by the inevitable turning of pages, and barely registering the rest of the family dutifully leaving for work/school. Bless the holidays and their allowance for mad rushes, spoken in true Ross-onian style.
That was the Da Vince Code in the holidays. The matter here is not that I have never stayed up all night before, nor that I would indeed be reading a book from the general night-starter of 10pm. But it was a book I had begun in the early afternoon, interrupted for a test, tea and tv. When I revisited at 2am, the bed-time story seemed to stretch considerably longer than intended. Angels and Demons, its predecessor, only kept me offically awake till 3am. Images it had created wouldn't leave me till much later though, and over the two days I hacked at it between train rides and sitcoms, the dreams it generated have been demonic, the angelic part obviously reserved for my daily exuberance shown to the dear world around me.
But enough of dilly, and Queen dally-ing. What's the point! Ah-ha, such is the issue. What_is_the_point. Well the point as it is seems to have rather unfortunately spread itself into a giant puddle of befuddlement that now plagues my very existence. His ability to merge fact with fiction, twist things to make that seemingly true a fabrication based upon centuries of deceit, bah, it's almost painful to withstand such an onslaught in a single session.
Do I exaggerate? Inevitably. But it is only out of admiration. He took Roma, and he turned it upside down on its head, making me want to go there now, even though I visited it just this summer, more than I have ever wanted to do in the 20 years of my life before I had even considered such a trip. He turned France into a treasurehouse of such secrets that I spent the next week, only recently concluded, verifying the accuracy of the many tales he spun. All based on some bits of history or the other, clever mergers, and some startingly true. The redefinition of the Holy Grail is a must read for all avid supporters of "feminism", sacred feminism even. Conspiracy theories have always been there, but never presented in such a fictitious manner as to make annoyingly clear the huge amount of knowledge that I must have. Not an egotistic statement, it's meant to show my desire to get that knowledge. The knowledge that I must have but don't! There's so much buried on this planet, I'd happily live in university lectures all my life. Not the math ones though ;)
Angels and Demons happily didn't climax till the end, rather than mid-way like the Da Vince code, which totally shakes you (given the information there is "new", which it obviously isn't for some people, depending on what you've been reading at other points in life). It was less predictable, shedding light on strange practises and events that all find their verification from given monuments. Perhaps the most frustrating move of Brown is that by writing these books of fiction, he raises the question of what the quirks his work is based on are actually doing there in the first place. Certainly not coincidence.
He seems to have a certain amount of venom for the Church, though not Christianity. It's absorbing, but this is hardly a book review. All it's done is inspire an up and coming theology vs atheism post. So dark the con of man.

I do believe I shall now indulge myself in a bit of lunching, before a livejournal post, and then onto other academic pursuits, none of which I hold very dear to my heart. The dreams though, a brief mention of the dreams. The first night, where two boys who I'm sure I know try to steal my car with my siblings in the back. A mad car chase brings us into the Police area near fortress under the bridge, Q**** lines I think or something. There we have some sort of face-off, the exact details of which get blurry, though involve, oddly enough, Haroon and Badar as policemen jumping the two guys, at some point the two guys dieing, and then their mother Madonna! coming and swearing vengeance upon me. Skip to Act II with a large lawn party in some sunny green area. I climb high atop a tower and something startles me. There's suddenly no way down, and I topple the whole tower, bringing myself down and jumping off before ground impact. Unerringly similiar to the image I had of Robert Langdon on the book Shelves in the Vatican vault, only I didn't read that till the next day. There are sparks and family drama, and the secret unveiling of some video. it blurs now, but it left me feeling chilled.
Todays dreams were truly odder, involving the discovery of a fourth marker in Rome that helps kind of neatly wrap up the original Path of the Illuminati. Most odd, only then it spins to me moving through a jungle labryinth. I come across a great gaping hole, and kill a cat for some absurd reason. The way then seems to fill up with twigs and I can cross, only to come to a poll with people waiting to be taken by me. In waht sense? Oh wait I'm suddenly a vampire, and choose some odd goth-ish person, drinking up the blood as the pool turns black. I had fangs very close to those of the HEadless Horseman in Sleepy Hollow, not at all the kind of decent vampire I'd imained myself. Only then the scene backtracks to the path. Still filled with twigs, another cat comes, fat and low. It looks up at me and asks if I plan to skin it, but I say I've killed my cat of the day. It doesn't trust me much, moving slightly backwards and forwards, and suddenly I'm afraid of it. It's teeth, the claws, the arched back. Mutual fears coincide, and I throw the body of the previously killed cat now surprisingly in my hands, behind myself. The cat starts to passs by, rolling over, and all the time I'm afraid it may claw me. It says it's afraid too though, and I believe it. I cross the path again and hear Tarzan. Oh wait, that's my alarm clock. Up for uni, less than 3 hours of fitful odd-dream sleep.


Dus Vidanya!