Last night my dreams were filled with Newton and Borges. Steven Hawkins and strippers. Cinderblock airports with circle discussion baggage collection. I was distracted and transfixed by a hermaphrodite's smooth, but didn't realize she was one until I awoke. The surveillance cameras projected dancing 2D cyclops cat/dog hunter/seekers on the walls while a Kurtzweilian female voice explained what they were doing. I was looking for my luggage in a city that exists in this mutual reality, but had rare similarities in my dream. I was excited and looked all around for them but they came in glimpses of architecture and stone faces.
Dreams are not strangers to me. The one I awoke from this morning was not more detailed or fantastic than many others. But when I have a dream like that, my day is different. I feel the weight of the story, the travels, the adventures. I remember the 2D projections on the walls. (I saw them twice, I often dream parts of the same dream several times each night. It's a technique I use to stalk my dreams to remember them.) I felt so real when I saw them. The feeling burns in my body. And it's this feeling that stays with me during the day. The unreal bodily feeling, making my body feel unreal.
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