I notice one lurking around before I went to sleep last night. I shouldn’t be scared by them after fifty-five years of life, but they still startle that hardwired freeze, flight or fight part of myself. I thought at the time, the gods must wish to speak to me, as they occasionally do in the late darkness of the night.
I awoke around 2:00 am after this dream.
There were military vehicles, like the ones I had built scratch models of. I have a room with many futuristic models setting about to do war with each other (part of my writing). But as I looked at them, I realized that they were no different than anything else, like a person or idea of something.
In fact, the person and idea were the same. There was no difference. Really, there was just the idea.
A writer, writing about a writer, that is writing about a writer.
For I am dreaming the dreamer, dreaming the dream, dreaming me.