Auto back-up

So many dreams these past few nights and mornings. I can't contain them all. They surprise me. Not appearing are my spirit guides and archetypes who usually appear. In their place are scenes of battle and war, people and machines crashing into each other while I stand on the sidelines as a spectator. Unless these scenes are actually movies I am watching or movies I am watching being filmed or movies that are watching me. Whatever they are, I have enough distance to not be bulldozed or harmed by all of this violence that seems to have replaced or squelched desire.

You or I might say these are Trump inflicted dreams. Or perhaps I should not be watching Twin Peaks as I fall asleep. Maybe not the healthiest thing to do for vulnerable non-violent souls such as mine.

There's something comical about the dreams that I can't put my finger on. Nothing specific. But as a spectator audience person, I am strangely amused in these dreams. Which is really perverse because in my memory traces of the dreams, there is really nothing amusing at all.

Actually, there is something threatening about them. Menacing. I wish I had more detail.

There must be a way to capture dreams, independent of memory or writing or speaking or recording. Like a folder on some vast network server with auto-backup. But if I keep auto-backing up, how will I ever move forward?

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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