Your thoughts may be your own, but your dreams are not. The origin of dreams is a great mystery to people. Humans have spent centuries trying to interpret them and make sense of the after hours mind wanderings. After last night I want none of that. Saying I am a vivid dreamer is like saying Christina Aguilera is a little slutty, a massive understatement. When people tell me that they do not dream or that they don't remember their dreams, I don't understand. I dream in full color, 3-D, complete story arcs, and scene changes that make taking drugs in Requiem for a Dream look slow. I am used to this. It has been this way all my life. Last night was a completely over the fucking top. I woke up exhausted after seven hours of sleep and completely wigged the fuck out. I could try and explain it. In fact I even thought starting a separate blog just as a dream journal. I have decided this is not a good idea. Don't get me wrong, but if I am freaked out, I don't even know what other people will think. You won't get the full picture but I will try and provide a brief overview. It starts out with me and 5 or so friends who were familiar in the dream but not reality and I moving to South Carolina and doing some work as a team on the water. The details of that a little fuzzy right now, but it's not terribly important. I do remember meeting a girl that we all hung out with too. Then it cuts to what I think is the Manhattan ghetto. It centers around a neighborhood with a bar and a couple of project-like apartments. The main cast if you will is a large group of hooligans, skaters, punks, and what have you. There is also a small segment of preppy people too because it is apparently cool to live here or something. All I know is I am not from here. And I am here because I am with some girl who is actually with some other guy who is abusive and a total loser. The craziness comes at the bar when a fight breaks out with loser guy and one of the punk and gets carried out to the streets and turns into a fucking riot. Something on the order of Do the Right Thing sans pizza joint. This goes on for a while and really graphic. Disturbingly graphic. All of this is going on and I am at the going with the random girl back to her hole in the wall apartment and then her loser boyfriend guy comes there and breaks down the door and more fighting insues. And in the middle of these scenes there are random sex scenes too for what I am sure is no good reason. And then sometime a little later I wake up asking myself what the fuck just happened. I know that I have not been able to remotely do it justice but it was fucking whack. I have no idea where this came from. It might have been the combination of legal amphetamines, beer, and the fact that I just started reading Catcher in the Rye. Who the fuck knows. If somebody could shed light on this and why my dreams are so fucked up, I'm all ears. Now on a much lighter note. I found the most randomly cool thing on the web today, mail order real pet penguins. Penguin Warehouse will ship you your very own pet penguin of your choice for the low, low price of 1500 to 2500 dollars. You should check this site out it is almost too strange to believe. My favorite is how they ship them. I hope I have not rambled on too long today. I wish everyone a happy New Year and I will talk to you all again in 2004. Cheers. B ¶ Permalink: