The Art of Knowing
What do you reckon babies dream of? It’s a bit of a cliché question in some circles, but obviously not in mine. So if it’s your first time: Before they are able to form coherent memories, understand reality and recognize shapes as objects… What do they dream of? What would their little brains come up with to help them, in the long run, comprehend the world?
Dreams themselves are already a twisted concept. You could rephrase “I’m going to bed- see you tomorrow” as “I’m going into a comatous-like state, hallucinating vividly behind rapidly shifting eyes for hours on end. –See you tomorrow.” It’s become such a common thing that we’ve forgotten just how absurd the idea is.
I’ve been told dreaming is your brain’s way of interpreting input and coping with impressions throughout the day. While the process of understanding usually goes observation – computation – memorization, the process is reversed and memories are “re-chewed” to new images. Not subjects themselves but the impression they left is brought up, and sort of… reconsidered. It’s even more odd when that whole process reverses on itself end the dream is remembered. Come to think of it, we wouldn’t even be aware of the existence of dreams if we didn’t occasionally remember them. All we would know is that “brain activity” takes place and the fantastic things we saw, simply forgotten upon waking.
The fact that we can’t remember our first years after birth has a couple of reasons. First of all, memorization doesn’t work quite as it does when we grow up, and though we might remember certain impressions, we wouldn’t remember them as images or even emotions beyond the primal ones. Secondly, as you might know, it is much harder to correctly recall something if we only saw it for the first time and hardly had time to study it. Its definition is unclear and it is stored as incoherent fragments. As a baby, nothing makes much sense to you, and memories couldn’t be categorized and stored properly.
Experiencing something completely new can be terribly overwhelming. Things might not make much sense at first, because usually you see them out of context. Dance moves must be broken down into basic gestures, technology must be explained.
Now, try to imagine everything is new. Things are floating around you, indescribable shapes and colors. Harsh lights, people making awkward sounds. Things happening without any apparent cause or reason; seemingly completely random. The most basic of rules of reality are a true novelty and could just as well have been something very different. You can’t recognize danger, or even food (beyond mommy’s boob) because it looks as weird as everything else.
So what kind of assumptions would a baby make? How does its logic work? Quickly enough, it will learn of things like consequence, which implies that certain gestures end in pain and boobs = awesome. What would seem obvious, and what contradictive?
Did you know a chicken thinks humans were put on the earth to feed it? The only time humans approach a chicken is to throw food around as if they produce it on the spot. Until the bitter end, this bird thinks we are its servants.
Of course, a chicken couldn’t possibly comprehend such complicated thoughts in its marble-sized brain, but it shows nicely how a view on reality depends on the given information, and more importantly, lack thereof.
It would be perfectly reasonable for a newborn to think mommy makes the sun go up. Only at a later stage, for example, does it learn that objects that are out of sight, aren’t literally gone. If it seems perfectly normal for something to vanish instantly, what are the limits? What a freakishly weird world would it seem, where literally everything is to be expected. No wonder it takes over 80 years for us to grow up, and believe all sorts of ridiculous nonsense along the way.
You think you know? Think again.
Gargoyles. Find a better name. Latin?
The idea is to create a people. Not too many, but large (figuratively) individuals. Friendship should be tight, but no such idiocy as “bloodlines” or heritage. They live on buildings, which are constructed by the human race which they belong to. Their kind can’t be old, with separate evolution or any of that shit- ALTHOUGH natural selection will be much harsher with the danger of falling.
Beautiful people. Tall. Statuesque. Dark, dark dark. Black clothing. Gothic style, preferably lots of ribbons or loose sleeves, whatever, for added jumping and movement effect. Rarely smile, if ever. They contemplate, since it’s what gargoyles do. They watch. Have names for solid ground, like “netherworld” or whatever, but less retarded. For the people down there. For the lookers, who tend to spot them once in a while.
Maybe one child: Symbol of hope and continuation. Bound to die, since a single mistake leads to death. Since numbers are few, so are couples. I don’t want to waste “the couple” stereotype here, so that means: Single mother. Maybe father figure, somewhere. Reason? Lesbian. Father dead. Divorced. Raped! Immediate reason for hiding.
Main character: Let’s not name him James for this once? Jack? No points for originality. I like James.
Proud man, but not too competitive. Contemplates his own kind as much as the regular people. Leader of the pack? Nah.
Preferably long hair; lots of wind effect = sexy. Not necessarily the darkest of the bunch, in fact might seem more genuine by wearing earthen colors. Brown, stone grey, khaki. The challenge will be to give insight into his thinking, because he represents his kind.
A couple: Love in the sky! Not very intimate, but all the more affectionate. In a world where open space is abundant, closeness is an intense thing. Close hugs, for protection and balance more than intimacy. Share more in a look than any human could in a kiss. Weary of their surroundings even in their embrace; because looking is just what they do. Let’s pretend there’s actual danger up there, besides falling. Silhouettes, baby!
I have to find more stereotypes. And non-stereotypes.
Wire Walking! When living on buildings, your biggest enemy is the street. It’s wide, it’s got people, and it’s hard to fall on. When the roofs are your home, you are basically trapped on the building block you are at- streets can’t be crossed without walking, UNLESS you use the cables that hold up the tram wires. Can’t be easy, but at least they are heavy and secured halfway (by the wires) so they’re fairly stable. Only to be done at night, by trained individuals in black. Clothes should distort their shape- if anyone sees movement, they shouldn’t be able to identify it as human.
Secrecy is key, in order to bypass the law. Theft is necessary and relatively easy, because the roof is never seen as a possible escape route by authorities.
If there are windows in a room, privacy is reduced to zero when the gargoyles are around. They see you eat, sleep, fuck, masturbate. And they think it’s fascinating.
Why? Perhaps because they don’t do these things. Can they love? I’d lose my couple if they didn’t- maybe some can’t.
Why do Gargoyles look down? What would a demon care about us ants? Is it simply in its nature, or..?
Why do I look down when I’m up? What do I care about these ants? Is it in my nature?
I am the same as the masses, but I feel different; as if I look different than what I am. Perhaps the Gargoyles look different… Big ears, weird eyes… Or perhaps just plain fucking ugly. Might be hard when putting it in pictures. Ugly in nature?
Individualism. The feeling of being lifted above the masses. A gargoyle is a humble creature, he would feel privileged to be up there; grateful. Same counts for my Gargoyles. Must find a better name.
In architecture, a gargoyle is a carved stone grotesque with a spout designed to convey water from a roof and away from the side of a building. Preventing rainwater from running down masonry walls is important because running water erodes the mortar between the stone blocks.
The term originates from the French gargouille, originally "throat" or "gullet"; cf. Latin gurgulio, gula, gargula ("gullet" or "throat") and similar words derived from the root gar, "to swallow", which represented the gurgling sound of water (e.g., Spanish garganta, "throat"; Spanish gárgola,"gargoyle"). It is also connected to the French verb gargariser, which means "to gargle." The Italian word for gargoyle is grónda sporgente, an architecturally precise phrase which means "protuding gutter." The German word for gargoyle is Wasserspeier, which means "water spitter." The Dutch word for gargoyle is waterspuwer, which means "water spitter" or "water vomiter." A building that has gargoyles on it is "gargoyled."
Gargoyled. I like that.