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Why I am an Idiot: Lucid dreaming in real life: Untitled.

April 12, 2012

I am an Idiot

today I sall the eyes of a girl who sall mine knew who I was.  Did I say hey this is me, this is who I am, confirming her eyes suspecion? No I just went on, and on, and on.  Not an unapproachable one no more of an ‘un’ way to approach is the only way. To aproach her would take a dirrerent man, one with a degree, one with two hands and two feet. Not an inhuname task, could be easily acheived, if only I knew what I would say. “Hello there, my names brad” would an inadequate beginning to the end of the conversation, if I had it my way. I would tell her this and that, all of which she already knows, but perhaps some of which she doesn’t?  Doesn’t she know me, didn’t her eyes speak loud and clear, or were you just seeing without have to look?  Do I just want to be found? it would be one less thing on my plate before the next meal several hours later. I think I would enjoy the freedom, perhaps? Perhaps the help? But by the end of this I will talk myself out of the thought again, and again, before coming to a conclusion.  I won’t like it, I know that.  I will find a reason to watch her again and then again, but never one that is force enough to forget my past.  The uncertainty could eat a man alive from the inside-out.  The wonder would amaze even the dullest of twits, then the unspokenness will even trump the wonder.  What is there to say that hasn’t already been said a hundred times; not to me nor by me, but someone I’m sure.  Yeah I’ll just keep going, probably find a hole to crawl into, get my face dirty just to blend in to my surroudings.  Never the sore thumb, this feeling is more of a pinky waiting for evolution.  Will it ever come, I have said, nor can I?  Perhaps growth can be forced upon on’s self but this verdict is still awaiting structure from the papers and screens.  Untill then I will sit, type, and remember a dream from the night before: I am in an elevator across the street from what I suppose now to be the real happening. Is it I don’t know, but i walk out of the elevator right into the street.  The building is crumbling infront of me but people of all types keep climbing in, one after another. “Its falling” is all I remember hearing, in my own voice, only more confident, crisper, like a cigarret was abstract thought.  It’s falling. But like little monkey-mice looking for the cheeze on the inside, climbing, clawing, any way to get inside, by anymean necessiary. Then people stop around me, or me around them, there is no spare attention because the focal point in right next door, hours pass talking to there people, thought I can’t remember what they were saying. I can see the passion in their faces, the question in their shoulder bones, then like sun becomes moon, in real life, all the people around me run and grap beams from the exposed infrastructure and begin their fight to the top. I blink and have decided to go back inside, looking at myself threw my own eyes but not my legs, the view is the same but the motives are all wrong. I want to watch it fall I remember thinking.  I exit to a balcony, reminds me of a 70s beach motel, the top bar on the arm rail bigger than the under, and that bigger than, and so on and so forth. Blue is maybe pin-stripeing the wall, which continues on and on and on and on, and on.  No stop to the amount of rooms I find, and they are all vacant. No I never looked inside them but I could tell because I wasn’t alone on the the rail.  All these people watching the building across the street fall, some were cheering other on, on their way to the top. I remember willing a smile, like a friend wishing a friend good-day from the port as the titanic sails off with them and the captain. I guess that’s the way it is though I can’t remember all of dreams on purpose, or else I’ll get reality confused with dreality as any1 would, I’d imagin. But this is my night, I don’t sleep much anymore it is just not as enjoyable as it usted to be but atleast I have people with me when I’m living the same dream every night. Right now, a non professional writer, I am all alone, BY CHOICE.  Which could be why I sall myself being so easily seen in the eyes of this one. She doesn’t know me.  She doesn’t know me.  These people in my dream are fake, don’t feel anything for them. You live in one reality, and it is a tough one.  Thats what the voices say when I am not dreaming. So mix realities, sure, why not? The real needs to dream too, I don’t see why hopes should be left for dreams.  I can only wonder now if my lucid reality will crumble like parts of my dream, then if it does, I hope its a part I’m not under, or climbing on to the top.  But if I had to strike similarities to my dream life, I’d say I’m on the ground right now waiting for my elevator ride up. I don’t know. Maybe she will be on my elevator tomorrow, then I’ll have to say something or the tension in the box will surely pull us togeather. Tomorrow, tomorrow, Tomorrow is always the day I make plans for… why don’t I ever get anything done.

Keep dreaming, I’ll die a silent idiot… thinking, “was I dreaming that?”  Where do I go from here… I guess I’ll bootleg a book off the internet, start a new dream.  Seems redundant. Ohh  live isn’t always the way you think it should be, or it could be exactly that way. Lord give me a sign, in the form of handwritten sentiment, signed, and notarized. Then it will be real. Thats all a dreamer really wants. A signed and notified reason to justify insanity.

But I know the truth. Fact or fiction changes by the publisher, but inbetween the pages is the truth, between reason and interpretation, when time sleeps and the mind thinks, as water is becoming air, I will move away and be gone, in the physical or not. Hope notaries work on tuesdays, or, what day is this?

 

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