My opinion is probably irrelevant for position, but my dreams usually involve things that I wouldn't dream of whilst conscious, and flit away before anything happens. Often, I'm someone completely different, which disturbs me.
Take last night, for instance. It started off with this square. There were balloons?-most of which were green, white, and gold?-and two old, sprightly geezers handing them out to the crowd. Someone stole one of the geezers' blue Munster balloons, which caused a huge furore. The city in which I found myself was nice; but nondescript: it could have been anywhere. I had had lunch with some random people?-and I forget all the details of it, but I think that it was lunch with someone I once had an energetic discussion of French Literature with. Anyway, I saw a friend of mine, and she was in complete distress; she found out that this guy Is real, but he does all the wooing to set up dates for his Uncle. I found that disturbing.
Anyhow, we talked for a while, we went down this stupid street with all these blue gláss buildings and Irish balloons; and I found, to my complete amazement, a book?-I forget what it was called?-by some girl, detailing her first night with me. I was thinking, ?'what the hell? Why would I be spending a night with a girl? And why would they write about it?' Anyway, it turned out that this girl, whom I know, disguised herself as a real friend I know so that she could write a book about that polemic subject. My mind raced back to the night; it was in some candle-lit basement under the street, and all I can remember about it is thinking ?'Tourvel' and I remember this fake girl, whom I thought was the real girl, telling me to keep quiet about it (the irony!) and then my mind flitted away from that scene. (Even in the stupid dreams, never mind the pleasing ones, my mind slips away before the 'scene.') Moreover, during it all, I thought that it was the real girl; who else would it be? All of this freaked me out when I wrote it down on paper this morning; why would I go with either the real girl or the fake one?
Anyway, I was still thinking: ?'but that was ___ (the real girl)!' when I found out what had happened in full. They had marketed themselves as some kind of angel or seraphim, to say that I had broken divine trust, or something stupid like that. This was when my books had been published. Therefore, it amazed me to think that people actually bought this story, but they did, and my mind turned away from that too.
Finally, eventually, I saw the real girl, and we were in some very futuristic building; I think that it was a port of some description. Anyhow, we had to go down these lifts; unusually, the real girl didn't want to go on them, so she started telling all the things that could go wrong to me. I remember that we alighted at the sixth floor. When we went back on the lift?-we were alone both times?-she started putting one of your legs into one of my arms, and then, instead of stopping at the 6th floor?-which was completely pointless, as we'd just been one the sixth floor?-it plunged further and further down. We started saying, ?'Oh f*ck;' the alarm started sounding, and ?'spontaneous,' emblazoned in big red letters, was shining, and we kept on going further and further down. I realized that this alarm was my phone alarm just before we met our ends. It's all very disturbing to me; I hope that this isn't a sign of schizotypal behaviour or something...
