The wake-initiated lucid dream?

Last night at precisely 1:51 am, I was woken by the breathing of a man—someone was exhaling. I thought I had brought a dream into reality, but I was only in a hypnopompic state. Nevertheless, I looked around my room just to make sure. There was nobody.

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


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

I went back to bed.

In last night’s dream, I was dating Michael J. Fox (young). We were hugging, and it was all very nice and stuff, but then he changed into some ugly loser of a Goth guy that I’ve never seen before in my life and yet his behaviour and manner were more than 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.”

HE had also made me do something similar before.

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

When I woke up, I felt distressed.

In my latest story, I’ve found redemption, but who knows about the current real-life situation and how much I have been lying? Only those whose heads aren’t in the clouds, whose body isn’t buried in sand, whose mind and body are in synch. 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 even dare to stick a finger inside of me. It doesn’t feel right—like nothing you ever do feels right. If you want happiness to be permanent, you need to integrate yourself into this world of ‘bliss,’ fuse with it and leave your shit behind. This is how you choose the easiest routes in life. Happiness is something you can merely choose. The only danger is fear. The slightest trace of fear will rob you of everything, but it’ll make you realise life’s ephemeral nature. Then you’ll hopefully learn to embrace happiness. The more you fear of losing it, the more you’ll be missing out.

Maybe I’ve been reading too much Houellebecq, who is the reincarnation of Schopenhauer and Nietzsche in one person. There’s one chapter where he talks about ‘Depressive Lucidity,’ which pretty much 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 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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