last night i had a really whacked dream. i went to some other school, like a midwestern state university or something. anyway the entire campus seemd to be this one building. if you wanted to get to the half that i was supposed to be on you had to go down a hall and then push a button and this really wide, rickety staircase would fold down out of the ceiling and you had to climb up it. then i was in a classroom and a teacher showed us a closet and we thought it was the coolest closet in the world, then he opened the back of the closet and there was this whole huge room type thing that was like an attic with unfinished walls and a bare wood floor but it had computers in it… and the walls and floor looked like they’d been finger painted by 6th graders.. i think at that point i turned into a 6th grader. and i looked out the window to see how the football game was going. it was tied at 69 to 69 but then the other team scored a touchdown. i think they were playing washington state. but the window in the room overlooked a huuuuge stadium with a massive crowd that could really only be found at a packers game or the olympics… and then when we walked back out of the long narrow attic like room the door that went into the closet turned out to just go outside, like a normal building. do you ever wonder when you wake up why you don’t question the things in your dreams more often? like why the hell wasn’t i all, hey, i don’t go to wisconsin or whatever, i go to fuckin’ stanford. or why didn’t i question the fact that the doors that once went into a closet suddenly opened up into the outside. why didn’t i question the fact that the WSU football team actually managed to score 76 points in a game (ha). then i wonder whether my whole entire goddamn life isn’t a dream, and how would i know, ‘cause i don’t have freaky doors or magic staircases. kinda makes you think, doesn’t it. but then, if life were a dream… it would have to be *someone*’s dream… and though i am the only person whose consciousness i experience, i don’t doubt that other people have consciousness too, and the idea that life is but a dream really negates the existence of other people. it’s a very selfish perspective. unless it’s some sort of consensual hallucination, but that conjures up the idea of the matrix which, you know, is entirely plausible but i’d prefer just not to think about right now. every time i have déjà vu, though, i subconsciously scan for changes in the matrix… like doors that previously went to closets suddenly opening into the wisconsin october. maybe it’s only in our dreams that we can tell that the matrix even exists. and maybe what we think is a dream is really not, like the agents and the freaky ass bug thing they stick in his belly button. and the way they like, gooed his mouth shut. all very nightmarish, but really happened. the only thing that keeps me convinced that my dreams don’t really happen is the fact that they usually occur in places far away from where i am… either that or irreversible things happen that have not occurred when i wake up, like that one time that my dad died in my dream. he’s not really dead; that dream can’t have been reality. and then i just kind of accept the fact that maybe i am just a player in someone else’s dream; maybe i’m really stuck in a pool of goo with plugs all up and down my spine; maybe i really just don’t exist... and then i usually end up going to bed.

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