:: Wednesday, August 07, 2002 ::

”Wake up the dawn and ask her why a dreamer dreams, she never dies…” (Oasis)

I never sleep without dreams crowding in for first dibs. Last night I had at least 5, and in all of them, I was a professional cat burglar… something like Catherine Zeta-Jones in “Entrapment,” but without the gadgets or the Sean.
I can remember minute details of dreams from when I was 5. Usually, impressions made on my sleeping mind last throughout the day -- rather unfortunate, since most of my dreams are morbid, and extremely few of the rest are pleasant. For instance, a song I wrote in a dream last semester:

“Oh, emptiness fills me.
Sorry;
I wished happiness were mine
As I lay awake dying.”

Which brings me to question… Do dreams really reflect our subconscious impulses? If so, then I am 1) Criminally minded, 2) Psychotic, and 3) Obsessed with death. Maybe it’s true. But if not, then where do they come from? Perhaps they are a random collage of sights and sounds… or the brainchild of a malicious alien force… or alternate personalities showing through. Maybe everyone who dreams should be declared schizophrenic.
By the way, I just discovered that if I strike my putty with hard objects very quickly, shards of the putty will fly up and hit me in the face. This stuff is utterly cool, folks.

Labels: Yore

:: Bethany Bassett - 10:30 AM :: + ::