Those dreams are mine. (2 min read)
Those dreams are mine.
Give them back.
“Good ideas come in your sleep.”
It’s a common known fact, but it seems more like some kind of damnation to me.
We’re all familiar with the story: you have a conscious mind (which always sounds very alike your stupid, embarrassing/embarrassed, self-doubting self) and a subconscious mind (which instead is always your cool, creative, laid back, brilliant self).
Unfortunately, you can only access the “cool” part of yourself when you’re not fully there (because nobody can really be cool while they’re themselves, duh).
So that dream where you’re fighting armies of evil pixies while riding a giant winged pig is not just another useless product of your questionable mind. It’s actually a stroke of genius.
This led me to another consideration.
You know when you realize you were the fastest of a couple million sperms?
That moment when you understand that at least ONCE in your life you won something.
And also that somewhere in your dad’s balls there was a rockstar, a UN general secretary and something for sure cooler than your depressing self.
Well that’s how I feel about my subconscious.
I feel like all my great goddamn ideas are lost in there, somewhere.
THEN WHY CAN’T I ACCESS IT? FOR FUCKSAKE JUST GIMME THAT SHIT, IT’S MINE.
I guess it’s a general rule of the universe to never give you anything easily.
Because then we’d be happier. And obviously need less drugs.
And then why the fuck would nature
produce drugs?
We can’t afford to compromise nature’s production chain of drugs.
That’s all.