This dream I had last night was amazing. Almost as amazing and wonderful as the girl in it. It was one of the most positive, emotional and mindbending experiences we've ever had. I guess in this case, only I had it... but it was just the same. I don't really care if this sounds like rubbish shit or like one of those cheap scraps of paper leaflets you get handed on the streets of Vegas. I've had dreams like this before, but they all pale out into insignificance when compared to this one. I'm driving a fast car along these beautiful cliffs I've seen in postcards. Like the ones that line the road between London and Brighton. I think about how strange it is that I'm driving in a dream, even though I don't drive in real life. I'm thinking thoughts about what lies ahead and my mind is aflame with lust and desire. To my left the Mediterranean gleams, while on my right the chalkboard cliffs flash in the sunlight. I am increasingly worried as this car gathers speed, because it becomes apparent my brakes have been sabotaged. To late to slow down now, huh? To late to say I'm sorry... Faster and faster, the cliffs flick past. I am forced into some cleverly handsome maneuvering until I skillfully skid to a halt on the pavement outside Brighton. A city I've only read about in a land I wish I knew. I find that I am delivered over to where my lover awaits, resplendent in a velvet-lined apartment overlooking the softly shingled glass beach. We engage each other in inventive sexual lover games while hooligans roam the wet sewer- like streets below us. I fear we'll end up as hyperbola in a small hyperbole world... never really knowing how fake we both are because we never really meet. Everything is marvelously astonishing and naked right now, as the moon silently murders the sun. But that's okay because I just woke up and the sun has taken out it's long awaited revenge on werewolves and nighthawks by kissing the assassinating moon and sending it quickly to bed. What a great love story or poem this dream would make... if only I thought I could think to find some tone and style in this web of stolen plastic words that make up my vocabulary that could express this love story dream of mine...
Reason for writing:
Just a dream I had. The style is like a poem I read by Thom Yorke, the lead singer to Radiohead...
Birth sign: Not entered
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