The contents of last night’s dream were muddled and chaotic,
having the overarching sense that a hostile,cynical disapproval oversaw it like
a monarch made tyrannical by his own cynical resolve.Ironically, the character
of the setting, a continuous, tortured cityscape whose components spilled
artlessly into one another, over stepping each other’s privacy brutally and
brutishly, hearkened back to the needlessly absurd (and absurdly needless)
existential confusion of adolescence.The chief preoccupation prompting this
dream seems to have been one with the Collective Unconscious. At any rate, that
had been what I anticipated (and admittedly hoped)to find in dream prior to
going to sleep.
Whether the information imparted during the night-time was
Personal or Collective is now clear: It was Collective, and the absence of a
reliable frame of reference in this respect is responsible for my current lack
of orientation in discerning the solid contents from muddled memories.This
confusion is tempered( I would use the auxiliary term ‘cured’)with a sense of
anxiety fueled by paranoia, as though Society were not speeding towards a
glorious finish line but to a Crash.
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