Monday, October 29, 2012

Sleep tight floating feather

I don't dream.

I know the typical response to that is, "Of course you dream, you simply don't remember."  I guess that means my reply is something along the lines of..."Isn't that the same thing?"

If you have absolutely no memory of something happening, did it happen?

Is a thought about a unicorn a real thought?

Probably, but it has no value.  No meaning.  No existence by which it can be defined.  So yeah, I guess I probably dream, but since I have no memory of it, it's simply easier to say that I don't.

There are some, a few rare occasions that I do remember them, but not often enough to really be significant. Typically I remember turning off the light and putting my head on my pillow, closing my eyes, then turning off my alarm clock.  It all seems to happen just about that fast.

I think I've mentioned this before, but I guess I'll go into it again.  Those few times I actually remember dreaming...of all of them...ever...there has not once been a sex dream.  Not once.  I feel like I'm missing something.  My brain won't give me nocturnal porn, and I'm a bit upset about that.  I'd like to speak to someone in charge, but it seems there's a vacancy.

 In fact not only have I never had a sex dream, I've never to my memory even dreamed nudity.  No one has the decency to get indecent in my dreams.  So all that said, if I ever happen to tell you in conversation that I dreamed about you (I probably never will) you can rest assured that we didn't do anything sordid.  Dammit.

I have had math dreams.  Really weird shit too.  Absurdist math.  Non-math.  Theoretical no theory.  A lot of spirals and circles and shit.  I've also dreamed cartoons.  In fact many of the dreams I remember over the course of my life have been animated.

Really though, weeks...sometimes months will go by, and I will have complete zero memory of having dreamed at all in that time.

I have a theory.

I think I keep my brain, just as busy as my body during the course of the day, so at night when it's finally time to rest, my brain needs it just as much as the rest of me...and shuts down.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not pretending any sort of intelligence, or massive brain work going on.  I'm simply saying that my brain is always...always...going.  Like that goddamn battery bunny.

Mostly just daydreams.  Fantasies.

It's been postulated that we don't actually live in a Universe.  We exist as one fraction of ourfinite selves in this particular part of an infinite multi-verse.  That there is no real end to each dimension.  They just go on and on forever, and in each one, we exist...but following a different path for each major decision we've encountered in our life...and made differently.  In each cross dimension we may already be dead.  We may be more happy, more sad, more wealthy.  Married to different people.  Single.  Gay.  In jail.  The possibilities are really endless, when you consider how each decision in your life could have gone a different way.

I don't really believe this theory.  I have no reason to.  But that's just how I am.  I don't believe ANYTHING without reason to.  Really it's more simply stated that I don't believe anything at all.  I either know...or I don't konw...and if I care, I'll find out.  If I can't find out then I'll exist without the knowledge, but also without the belief.  I'm okay with that.

I like the theory though.  I don't believe it, but I like it.  In that theory, in that fantasy, in that other dimension that in fact I don't believe in, I'm with her.
When I dream, she visits me there.
When I daydream, I visit her there.
When my fantasies are given freedom to travel, she is my companion.

The reality is something quite different, and I have to live with that.  Here.  In this dimension.  In this reality.  This place that I don't have to believe in...because I know it.  I know it as my only reality.  I don't have to define it, I simply have to accept it.  Change what I can, if I want to.  Live with what I can...or can't...or whatever.

What is, is.  THAT is what is real.  That is the foundation for all other lines of reason, though, and progression.  We can't build on what isn't.  We can't form a truth, based on a fiction.  We can't create real, from nothingness.  This is how religion was invented.

There is nothing wrong with the fantasy.  The dream.  The fiction.  These things are necessary.  They do serve purpose.  They provide entertainment.  Escape.  Motivation.  Beauty.  Emotion in an otherwise empty abyss.  The problem comes when we lose the ability to distinguish.  The ability to function in a reality where those things must remain fiction.
Sometimes I like to imagine myself on a boat.  A world of unseen life below me.  A cosmos of undiscovered possibility around me, but my horizon, in every direction is empty.  There is nothing, and I am comfortable.  I am content in the near silence.  I am not concerned with anything.  I am at peace with myself.

Funny thing is, I really am at peace with myself.  Oh sure, I have a shitton of first world problems.  No more or less than anyone else I know.  I have my needs.  My longings.  My cravings.  These things don't separate me from anyone else, or make me unique.  I've just found my own way to compartmentalize it all.  To put each thing in its place.

When I need, or want, to address any given emotion, or event, or problem, or solution, I simply open its compartment, and observe.  Dissect.  Eat it with delight.  Taste it.  Consume it.  Then put it away again until next time.

I don't think I've said yet, what I originally intended to say.  I don't remember what it was.  It was something about dreams.  And the girl in them.  I guess I'm not ready to approach all that in my writing yet though.  I though I might be, but all my brains defenses went up.  All the alarms sounded.  All the walls came crashing up, and stopped whatever progress might have been made.

Maybe in my not-dream sleep tonight I'll remember.  Maybe I won't.  Maybe its just that thing that I want so desperately to talk about, and just have yet to find the proper medium.  Or person.

Maybe it will go away on its own.

Maybe the other me, in another dimension, is making love to her right this second.

Maybe I'll go smoke about it, and hope he's having a good time..


  1. I think we need to get you some Wittgenstein, if you haven't already read him, you should.