Who runs our dreams?

 

My dream-self is mostly stuck in scenarios that take place in close proximity to my childhood home. Places that I’ve passed a million times on my way to school and back home, when my brain was still in a more malleable state. In a Freudian sense, my inner child is still wandering, alienated, around that village between the river, the vacant old hay storage, and the dense hedges to neighbouring properties i could hardly ever get a glimpse of.

 

In this flickering carpet of my synapses, things my waking brain just processed before sleep are randomly woven in. My gaze has been strung along, meter by meter, in an endless vertical trail of split-second images. Some of them have burned themselves into my dream-eyes’ retina - passing through the REM state and being carried across the subconscious border. Atomic fallout scenarios, between missing my train and losing my teeth or my keys in a bombed city’s rubble, make me search for my family. They’re tied to the train tracks, leaving me with an impossible choice. Mostly, I am just always really late for something, rushing through a world that's much older then me.

 

I just read a tweet that  said „we literally watching thirst traps followed by footage of w@r crimes and then an ad for moisturizer all within

30s of each other…tell me that's not causing irreversible brain damage“