Prospect Hummer

I guess this is it. He was in my dream twice that night. We were sitting at a dinning table, a burning metal rod burnt me across my stomach - it was supposedly a nightmare but I was not frightened. Instead I was really calm, this tune slowly filled in the room. When I woke up, it took me a while to find out what the song was.

Lucid dreaming? I have no idea, yet it seems that I am fortunate enough to obtain all the references that I need from my dreams, as if an open library, archive that I can get access from. Or rather, it's like walking into an art bookshop that you are forbid to write anything down, instead you memorise all the references as soon as you come across. At the end, it was a memory game.

How strange is it when things are good people just don't want it? I doubt that he is going to call, I am even feeling silly to make some sort of contact. When people are facing love, they are both courageous and cowardly. Maybe I shouldn't be bothered. He just won't, won't.

'I want to sneeze', whenever I say this to myself I just can't sneeze. Just like you keep telling yourself that you are going to kill yourself you just don't even have the guts to do it. What a coward. Oh, actually maybe not, it's just the pre-text that stops you from actually doing it.

When I am on my motorbike I think about death a lot, ten millions ways to die, and another ten millions ways to live. I shouldn't daydream too much when I am motorcycling, it's too dangerous. But maybe I am missing the time that I used to walk to work, that 45 minutes of thinking, meditating, internal conversation with oneself.

I used to be a good writer and somehow manages to grasp all the fragmented pieces of dreams and turn into literature. Now, alone, I am just a good dreamer.