Dreams are one–hundred–year–old children;
they have no language for self–deception.
Do not be overly concerned with the content
of your dreams. They are, in part, figments of the truth.
But they are also spirits of the dead passing messages
through the troop of floating street mimes to whom
you’ve just tossed a couple of golden ferrets. Dreams
are mostly magic.
Caution: in dreams, all toilets are props.
If you are unable to sleep, then sleep in
as late as possible. Sleep in tomorrow’s clothes,
just to be safe. Sleep with your nametag on,
with your security card around your neck. In fact,
sleep through your alarm, through breakfast,
even through your shift. Bosses respect
sleep. Remember: there are no morning people,
just parents and the functionally insane.
If you see a window, jump through it immediately.
In dreams all fights are to the death.
Dreams are the excess of our minds impression
of the physical world. In the physical world
there are no solids, there are no straight lines.
Dreams are what are swept from the editor’s
floor and burned.