Dreams are something I will always go back to, sometimes I wish they’d never end but I suppose I’m grounded in this reality for a reason. The way I see it, dreaming is almost like dying, like recently I was a kid again and my dream parents put me up for adoption, the dream wasn’t lifelong or anything I just kinda knew. Anyway I was in foster care or something, then I ate some bad tuna, then I was at some health food store and I look up and there they are, the fuckers even realised who I was straight away, they knew that I was their kid, then I collapsed because of the bad tuna. They didn’t tell me, but they didn’t love me, I knew, I just had this feeling, they did help me up and I wanted to live with them, then wouldn’t ya know it I woke up. Dreaming is so surreal, sometimes I’m convinced that both worlds have merged, it happens most days and I’m like WTF!, that feeling makes me question this reality, so which is the real one, or are dreams just a bunch of memories playing out in some fantastic film. Maybe my dream parents didn’t love me, that could be true, maybe I should make an appointment to see Sigmund Freud.
I know some facts about the Count and his Romanian counterpart Vlad the Impaler and I have read the novel and it’s sublime sequel. Some fans and critics weren’t happy with the official sequel but Dacre Stoker and Ian Holt did a superb job, I devoured every word. They think the book sucks try watching Gary Oldmans screen version of the count, bloody awful. This is beginning to sound like a review. I only recently watched the Lugosi version and I loved it, Lugosi was born to play Dracula, it’s a shame that he played Dracula in Ed Woods plan 9 from Outer Space, it’s sad really that he couldn’t find much work. Don’t get me started on the Castlevania series, every bloody time Dracula is back, come on think of another villain, Satan, Death perhaps Alucard maybe. Dracula has really been whored over the past century and that’s why the official sequel was published. Bloody, bloody, bloody, I think that’s enough bloody’s, oh no wait, bloody Mary had an awful bloody time at the bloody morgue, her bloody husband Arthur fell down the bloody stairs, breaking his bloody neck. Why was she called bloody Mary? I don’t bloody know, maybe because she was soaked in blood?
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