I'm almost convinced that I'm never awake. I'm not sure if I'm not in fact dreaming when I live, and living when I dream, or if dreaming and living are for me intersected, intermingled things that together form my conscious self.
The unconscious wants truth, as the body does. The complexity and fecundity of dreams come from the complexity and fecundity of the unconscious struggling to fulfill that desire. The complexity and fecundity of poetry come from the same struggle.
I move from dreamer to dreamer, from dream to dream, hunting for what I need. Slipping and sliding and flickering through the dreams; and the dreamer will wake, and wonder why this dream seemed different, wonder how real their lives can truly be.
They say it's a dangerous experiment to include dreams (actual dreams or otherwise) in the fiction you write. Only a handful of writers - and I'm talking the most talented - are able to pull off the irrational synthesis you find in dreams.
The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens to that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.
As a child, I used to wonder why markets in my locality were all situated near the main roads. I grew up a little to get the answer; “that business minded people can meet there easily!" Your dream must be situated where they can meet people!
Naturally, everyone is expected to enter the future only once, but by the transport medium of dreams, great people enjoy the future twice! They pay a visit into the future by dreaming, and they relocate to settle in it by their purposeful actions!
Though we may choose to view them symbolically, dreams are actually no more or less symbolic than everyday waking reality. When the images and events don't conform to our view of reality, we call them symbols. When they do, we call them facts.
So long as breath remains in our lungs, untapped potential lies inside us, waiting to be released. The reason we are still alive is that we are carrying something inside us that this generation needs. That’s why we’re not yet in heaven.
I must break out......start a new life...been here for years...might be getting into a rut...something a bit more exciting...more adventurous...something with more of a challenge...There's not much opportunity for self-advancement in toilets...
I am sure my fellow-scientists will agree with me if I say that whatever we were able to achieve in our later years had its origin in the experiences of our youth and in the hopes and wishes which were formed before and during our time as students.
I had a dream about you. I said, “The sex train leaves in three minutes and lasts for three minutes. Hop on!” You replied, “No thanks. I think I’ll catch a cab.” Well, you did catch a cab, and then you caught syphilis.
I had a dream about you. The leaves changed from yellow to red, but the stoplights did not. This made me continually cautious, and you kept honking at me. I thought you were the rudest goose ever, so I ran you over. Then the light turned red.
Because maybe Watonka was only ever supposed to be a temporary stopover, and maybe I will chase that train over the hill, and maybe we're all destined to leave this place, for sure, for real, together or alone. But for right now, we're here.
Whenever I saw a sunset, I would quietly make my secret wish right before the sun tucked under the western horizon and disappeared. It would seem as if the sun had taken my wish with it. I'd make it right before the last speck of light vanished.
