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2010/03/10

Keen Dreams: Finger Bang You

The Keen Dreams series is all about video games in dreams, or video games and dreams, or dreams in video games. You get the picture.

Gesture thumb up then down forefinge2 I’ve noticed something that is a recurring element in all my dreams involving violence of some sort. I always shoot with my hand. You remember when you were a kid, and you would run around shouting “Phew, Phew!” and “Bang, you’re dead!” while holding your hand in the shape of a pistol with your finger extended, sometimes simulating the squeeze of the trigger?

That’s exactly what I mean. And it frustrates me, even during the dream. I’m like, where the hell is my gun? Why the hell am I shooting with my finger? Damn it, man!
Sometimes it’s even worse when the baddies in my dreams have guns of some sort, and here I am with my finger, shouting “Bang!”, “Kapow!”, and so on, while they have a big rifle. It’s very emasculating and makes you feel so very small.

It’s even worse when your squad all have guns, and they’re like “Take point!”, while sniggering to themselves. Very funny. Just wait until I get a gun and blow your head off for that! But I eventually have to settle for poking him in the eye.

But maybe it’s a representation of what it’s like in video games, if you think about it. When I sit there on my PC, playing Duke Nukem 3D [yes, I still play that game, and yes I still play PC games], I’m using my finger on the mouse to shoot the gun in-game.

I have held a real gun several times, though. Years ago my dad had a .22 target pistol, which was a rare one, seeing as it was a nine shot revolver instead of an eight or ten, which were more common. That got stolen. Then there was the big Webley& Scott .45 revolver, an antique heirloom, nearly one hundred years old, which he ended up handing in to the police at the pig sty. That pissed me off no end.
I even have several air rifles, and paint ball guns, and some model shotguns and pistols. Hell, I’ve still got some plastic pistols modelled on a Colt 1911 .45 hanging around.

And yet, my mind chooses to place me in a dangerous situation, surrounded by mean men with big guns, and I have my bloody finger.

You know what? I think it was because I watched that movie Race to Witch Mountain recently, and some guy was always in some situation where he would be saying “Gun? a Gun please.” But even that guy got a gun in the end.

Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think?

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