If the human race lives for its dreams then why are mine so particularly unfulfilling each night? This is the question I ask each morning if I can summon the stamina to recall the little bits and pieces that aren’t flushed down the nearest trans-dimensional wormhole back to where they no doubt came from. Femme fatale’s and endless treks through abandoned cityscapes populate this universe some of which infuse bits and pieces of former earthly experience. Perhaps the backbone of my essential character is exposed in all the flawed interchanges most of which seem just a rite of passage through as opposed to a discernible end. This boat of mine not to unlike that of the fabled Sindbad, save that his monsters were much more fun and awe inspiring than my own are. Some say that the world nested deep in the confines of sleep are naught but a barometer for one’s waking life. If so, then unlike the many frequent publicity campaigns for Freudian viewpoints, I did not want to fuck my mother over my father’s dead corpse.
Instead this silent undetectable quest being more aligned with a Johnny Lee ballad of misdirection of one’s affections. The femmes that I have run into always being at fault of not living up to that one required touch of Venus or the exclusively nighttime version of Gilda. The fault for this not in my stars so much as too many Hollywood epics or television advertising, sixties exploitative publishers, or the darker more perverse contemporary alleys of the Internet. The crime being the continued abstraction of human interaction by the intercession of these social organisms. At least, if I were the prototypical social scientist that my own Precambrian ‘belle epoque’ of the displacement of American individualism with social Marxism would expect, I would sign on to these conclusions. But then in a world with too many freely available answers to eternally insoluble questions it might be foolish to too quickly jump aboard this train of thought. Maybe one’s lifestream is hopefully awash in the continuum of energy flow of the vastness of the a google’s worth times a trillion anomalies of energy repressed eddy’s struggling to rise into consciousness from the eternal ‘nu’ of lifeless ether of the infinite reaches of space? In other word’s the notion of my own control of same remaining ever hopeless.