Waking up this morning with these dreams still lingering in my head, I felt a unnerving sense of prophecy and truth in them. They deal with things that I have been tangling with conciously for a long time, and so perhaps they have finally sunk in on a lower level as a means of acceptance. The first portion of the dream is a theme which is left imprinted on my waking mind with steadily greater frequency, this might mean a unfolding of events or it might not, the prudent idea is to be careful as a nod of acceptance to the warning. Over the past two years I have been watching the neighborhood outside deteriorate and be uprooted by the university which owns the property, counting the days until the house I live in is sold and demolished. I have grown up in this house having spent only a couple of years living in other places, there is a deep attachment to my childhood and identity tied to this. The appearance of a farewell to it within my dreams brings around a sense of finality, perhaps with more signifigance since my dreams typically do not have a coherent meaning or idea binding them. A peculiar thing I noticed is that contrary to the events that were presented, my mother moved out several years ago which is a slightly puzzling aspect. There may be a sequence of changes in waiting, and I might finally be ready for things to turn over.


Walking around looking for layups, as usual. Down decrepit tracks between warehouses and shantys in an industrial part of town, this is scenery which is very familiar over the past five years. Kicking rocks and trying not to trip on the ties without having to watch where I walk. Ahead there are several boxcars on a siding near an open air warehouse, upon closer inspection all of the boxcars are locked shut. At that point I was hoping more to find some kind of treat to steal from the freight cars than for a chill spot. Turning around my wish is granted and there are large palettes of opened crates containing bulk quantities of boxed food. Strangely most of the food is candy bars, I start to grab a case of snickers when I look around and then upwards out of paranoia. The ceiling is lined with surveillance cameras blanketing the area in an icy stare, this makes me feel glad that I have my sweatshirt hood up obscuring most of my features. I quickly grab a couple more cases out of random crates, stuff them under my arm, and start walking away. Down the tracks in the opposite direction of where I came from I take an elaborate route through bushes, trees, and neighborhoods attempting to obscure my path and lose potential pursuit. I have this creepy vague feeling that the cops are floating out there somewhere trying to snare me. I am doubling back now, on the way to the car, hop over a fence and walking in a narrow stretch of grass near a set of tracks again alongside a hobo. The hobo reaches up and is about to step up onto the ladder of a moving engine when he shies back noticing a large gap and spikes protruding. The engineer leans out and asks the hobo (grey haired, aged, and lean) if the deterrents worked, the hobo nods acknowledgement without speaking. Worried that the engineer might know of my theft, I veer off on a separate course taking me into the city. I am walking with a friend now and we are both wanted, devising a plan between the two of us to take separate routes and arrive together again at the location where the car is parked. On my way i suddenly realize that my friend has been caught by the police, I ease into a recessed doorway and peak out to watch the police deal with the situation.

I am in the bathroom of my house, the one I have lived most of my life within, playing with the antiquated light switch. Outside I can hear my mom talking to Michael about moving out. I wonder if she will be alright living with him, whether they will get along or if there might be any friction in close confines that will dismantle the good times they have together. I am moving through the house cleaning up, as if to move out, taking last glances at all the comfortable corners and nooks. Inside my closet I am sorting through a couple things on a shelf, the closet is perhaps twice as large as it is in real life. Outside I hear Michael scolding me for having such a messy closet, this catches me surprised since he has never scolded me for anything before. Standing up I take the sleeping bags down which were hanging in the doorway and he laughs realizing that he had been decieved by them and it was infact very orderly.
Perhaps you forget hundreds of dreams in a night, mind as an ocean of surging dream electricity flowing through neurons unhindered by consciousness.

Perhaps you go through lifetimes while sleeping, silent truths spooled out before you. Here, choose. Here, choose. Here, choose. Giving definition to your days by picking doors at night. Right door or left? Upstairs or down?

Dreaming is made of random data packets passing through the human mind. Sometimes the scattered nature of these transmissions give insight by new arrangements of the data.

Suppose dreams are parts of a life your mind is remembering before it ever happens to you. Suppose they are the results of delayed information processing, sorting important things arbitrarily. Yes No Yes No Yes. Impulses that we will never know about, except in sticky remainders of story lines when we wipe sleep from our eyes.

Deja vu. Prescience. Reminded of every instant that you already know about. You know it because it has all been show to you in little blips of scramble-pasted sequences, jumble-piled lifetimes. Little glimpses of your truths, rearranged. (Rearranged the way you will never let yourself see them).

Suppose these things are important, and we lose them readily. Golden, even when through a glass darkly. Beautiful electricity.

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