0155 Dreams, Dreams, Dreams...

The phone’s just rung: ‘Hi this is Rosie you’ve been selected for a five-day luxury cruise to the Bahamas’… dreams, dreams, dreams one of the few things all religions, all philosophies are agreed on: it’s the state between waking and sleeping. beyond that, they’re rather coy. for Freudians, precious clues; for Jungians, universal archetypes; for other theorists, just a mental and emotional shit, conveniently achieved without a convenience but for religion and philosophy, pretty much a keep-off territory: maybe there’s a church somewhere where they sway and sing ah’m dreamin’ YOU sweeet Jeeezuzz and if so, does it work? and we seem to have such individual dreams: mine are such a bore, forever missing that last train; the more I walk the further home’s away… whereas a friend who lived through the Nazi occupation, beloved, inventive grandfather, actor, writer, director, teacher, dreams without cease of killings, murders – surely he deserves better of his dreams? another friend claims he never dreams; this annoys me intensely for some un worthy reason: but how can I prove him wrong? maybe it’s the last frontier for the good starship Commercial Enterprise: ‘Dream yourself to all you ever wished in ten easy lessons: send a stamped, self-addressed rainbow to Somewhere Over Inc.…’ do we really have to leave it to Hollywood? must all our dreams these days be violent daydreams, regardless of expense? or do we need that violence to wake up to a loving kiss; to love life’s pastel shades; to smell the roses round the door?