Lucid dreams

Last night at precisely 1:51 a.m., the breathing of a man woke me–someone was exhaling. I thought I had brought a dream into reality, but I was only in a so-called “hypnopompic state.” I looked around in my room and saw nobody.

Then the breathing repeated. I wasn’t sure anymore whether the breathing occurred in my room or my head. I immediately got out of bed and turned my desk lamp on, as I always find sudden wakefulness in the light.

Nothing.

I heard it again. I opened my window and listened. There it was – like a giant breathing through the ceiling. I waited for another breath, but it never came. Maybe it was a sigh, the sigh of a dinosaur or Falkor the luck dragon.

I went back to bed.

In last night’s dream, I was dating Michael J. Fox (young). We were hugging; it was all nice and stuff, but then he changed into some ugly Goth guy that I’ve never seen before, and yet his behaviour and manner were familiar. He made me buy him beer and tons of sweets. I was threatening with, “If you make me carry all this shit for you, this will be our last date.”

My arsehole ex had also made me do something similar before.

In that dream, I learned that Michael didn’t want me anymore, so I hooked up with that Goth guy.

When I woke up, I felt distressed.

I’ve found redemption in my latest story, but who knows about the current real-life situation and how much I have been lying? Only those who don’t have their heads in the clouds and don’t have their bodies buried in the sand.

So attractive, so captivating, and alluring. So yeah, how do I touch myself? I can’t quite tell, to be honest, as I don’t dare to stick a finger inside me. It doesn’t feel right–like anything you ever do. If you want happiness to be permanent, you need to fit in this world and fuse with it. Leave your shit behind. This is how you choose the easiest routes in life: adapt and smile. Happiness is something you can choose. The only risky biscuit is fear. The slightest trace of fear will rob you of everything, but it’ll make you realise life’s ephemeral nature. This is when you learn to embrace life (which ultimately is happiness). The more you fear losing it, the more you’ll be missing out.

Maybe I’ve been reading too much Houellebecq, who is Schopenhauer and Nietzsche’s reincarnation. There’s one chapter where he talks about “Depressive Lucidity,” which explains my indifference. That chapter was perverse, selfish, and somewhat sad.

You see no trace of hope, not even between the lines or underneath the protagonists’ shoes—this silent, angry cry—still in bloom. One day it will look pretty. It will rule in the botanic garden of human reflections. The electric impulses will give the next species a chill of terror, representing humanity’s unfulfillment and flaws that had triggered the world’s end.

Well, unlike Houellebecq, I still admire the beauty of a daisy. I smile genuinely at it, trying not to think of the day it will forsake me.

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