I dreamt an immensely Elaborate
dream, the details of which predominantly escape me. It seemed to deal with my
recent flirtation, again, with facebook, and the decision I had made to abandon
the website again.
Most of the dream evades memory.
What stands is the fact that it was markedly different from my other recent
dreams, as though it had been elevated to a more complex state of
consciousness.
There had been a Slavic woman on a
reality television show. She was asked to describe either a dream or a fantasy
that she had had, as were several similarly innocent contestants.
The woman had had blonde hair and
the wrinkly skin of a middle-aged woman.
She described four rooms,each
identical. Either this had been her description or her story evoked this image in
mind, which immediately became physical within the dream.
As she recounted the story, I tried
to rearrange the four rooms to see how her description might have worked.
Following her description, each room was supposed to be – as I can describe
now, using, a Waking simile – barely wider than a king-size bed. Each room
contained two pieces of furniture, a window into the next room, and a portal
from whence one could enter the room from the window in the previous room.
Together, the four identical rooms presumably made a closed loop.
She was also trying– she had been
too shallow to merit saying ‘struggling’–to recall a message that some dream
had imparted upon her.
Eventually,over the course of the
dream, she remembered the message. It had been something to the effect of the
world revolving about her.
Towards the end of the dream,
either prior to this revelation or following, I had added Lisa Pradhan,
successfully, on facebook. Her profile, not unlike my dreams’ portrayals of
Alexandra’s socially bustling profile, was otherwise,on the dimension of
photographs and her personal comments, a testament to her Gothic, tortured but
impervious persona.
What had caught my eye was the end
of one of her comments, presumably the last under a photograph or forum post.
It read, with disdain, that she did
not enjoy Elliott Smith’s music and that she was frustrated with Dmitry giving
that impression.
I tried clicking to read the entire
comment.I may have clicked the wrong one, for I might have not seen that
comment about Elliott again.
Instead, I saw a behemoth post, the
length of a blog entry, with line breaks between the paragraphs, outlining not
so much her qualms with Society as with very particular, presumably
unpardonable behaviours that she had observed in other people.
As I perused her photographs in
pursuit of the comment that had originally caught my attention, I had to make a
demanding effort to avoid looking at the first photograph in the last row of a
major photo album.The picture displayedan array of luminous gears and
mechanisms, like clockwork,set against the predominantly deep blue backdrop of
a nebula.
The caption within the photograph
had been a testament to the potential of the human mind. I avoided it with the
fear of becoming hypnotized into a form of schizophrenia that would spell the
doom of not only me but others, if not Humanity in general.
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