Dreams are interesting, to say the least. Why does the human mind create dreams? To entertain? My dreams, that is, my subconscious dreams and my en-dormio dreams are entertaining. Last night, I was playing frisbee with my old red frisbee, and every time I threw it, it would hit one of my teachers in the back. We (every one from school) were standing outside, on a really muddy beach by Lake Norman. After I accidentally pegged Mr. Hoffman, I was driving on a boat. I saw a dolphin. And then my foot wasn't on the gas (boats don't even have gas pedals). Then I saw a pod of dolphins. Then the boat was spinning out of control. Then I woke up. Before that I was working at Home Depot/Best Buy. And just before I was working I was a customer.
Dreams, like the aspirations and goals are also curious. Motivation. Is that what drives the human race? Motivation x money = greed (humanity). Not always. "I have a dream." Perhaps the sublime motivates us. I love the sublime. Sometimes it inspires me more than anything else. The overwhelming power of nature. Sometimes I can't stand it when too many things are going on, too many people are talking, especially lately. I have been very angry lately.
I talked to her. I apologized. And just like that, it was over. I had a dream. And yes, it was both. Motivation. What motivated me to pursue such a dream? Loneliness. Feelings of sadness, fatigue, perhaps anger and definitely confusion. How could I have been so blind? Every night in bed I would just lay there and think about it. I would dream about it in that sense. I tried to make sense of everything when really, nothing is real. Nothing makes sense. Two plus two is four, but those numbers and figures seem detached. If I had been told that two plus two equals five my whole life I would've believed it too. Tabula Rasa. Nothing is real. And I thought skepticism was a bad thing (Hume). Ponder, Lock locke my mind.
As I said, it is done. I said my sorry. She pointed out that I was just a creeper. I thought on this. I guess that always happens to me. I fancy a woman and all the sudden, I can't talk to her. I can't be what I should be; I can't function. Immediately I separate myself and suddenly she becomes a whole different person, I become a different person. I'm trying to re-introduce myself to her now - old Cam, silly Cam, why-the-hell-not Cam. That is who I was before. Carefree. Easygoing, fun, helpful, joking. I just wish she would remember me as that person, and not as an adult. I've had to live like an adult for the last couple of months now, and life beyond adolescence is not what it seems. Taxes. Bills. Life. Death.
I've thought a lot about what it means to be alive. At status quo, you are already dead. Your days are numbered, my friend. The numbers may be changing, but they are still there. If you are not dead, you are dying. If you are alive, then call me, and let's party. So to live is to shun these numbers, these sheets of information that life gives you to keep. To live is to forget conformity and do things that defy gravity and entropy. To live is destroy defeat, and never look down even to tie your own shoes. If your shoes become untied, kick them into the air and see who can the shoes the farthest. If the ground itself gives way, learn how to fly. To live is forget and forgive, to die is live. Dying is living is death is life is living. Ponder,
Good Night, really good dreams.
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