Dreams are funny things. I woke up from a dream where I was being pissed on by an over-sized Rhesus Macaque. This is not something I like dreaming about and it really is a nightmare. And this is not the worst dream I have ever had. The worst continuing dreams I have had are the one where I am falling. At any given moment, in either a very vivid, realistic dream or absolute non-sense, I suddenly find myself falling. The people that have also shared such experiences tell me that they wake up before hitting the ground. Not for me. I kiss pavement, collide with terra firma and make crater babies. I feel the shock of what feels like hitting the immovable object at a hundred miles an hour. I feel the force and then I wake up. I then spend these moments wondering if I’m alive, dead or trapped in a Twilight Zone plot. Then because it’s three in the morning I try to get back to sleep.

One time I had this damned thing twice in one night, right after the other. Falling, I hit the ground like a crash test dummy. I wake up thinking my organs are going to burst from impact. Fall asleep. Hit the ground at terminal velocity. The second time is much worse. I could feel the shockwave coursing through my head and the skin of my face, like it was jelly. I scrambled in bed for the next few short, yet infinite, moments wondering if I was having a stroke. Trying not the fight it, because that might make turn things into some kind of aneurysm, which is instant vegetation, or death.

Some people have described the so-called flying dream. But I have never had one of these. My night visions are always about something bad. Fucked up shit. One time I was dying from a plague that was consuming the whole world. Another involved being chased by a large, clunky robot that had riveted its victims to its chassis in an effort to be more human. Yet another dream had me witnessing something that was like a documentary about the mating habits of shoggoths, meeting a carnival of the flesh set in the Cenobites Underworld. Very few of my dreams are not like this, when I’m not having a bad dream, I’m having a banal dream. I can’t even remember them. Except one. Where I spend time exploring a city that seems like every place I have ever seen. And much more. There the streets bend and turn in strange ways, transforming into algae choked canals. Where there are stone and concrete walls, they are darkened by age and spotted by lichen. The houses feel empty, but something prevents me from entering them. I may have met somebody, but I can’t remember her face.

I honestly don’t know what to make of my dreams. I’m not sure if there is any meaning, or it’s just simply my subconscious that has decided to screw with me, even before my day starts. Almost none of my dreams have any semblance of being insightful, or prophetic. And those that are, are nothing more than short clips, that leave me with a sense of déjà vu.

I asked my 8-Ball about whether I would continue getting screwed up dreams. WITHOUT A DOUBT. The lousy thing hates me. I can only imagine, as life and all its excesses continue to pollute and poison my mind, my dreams will only become more screwed up. I will continue to be brought the very edge of death, at least as far as you can go in a dream. Which is why I intend to live my life to the fullest degree.

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