Dream Station

Last night I dreamt the shadows of what I had seen online the day before.  Nothing interesting, just the residue of the internet, the images behind a thin veil, set as dreams.  The repetition of content, too much for one mind.  Too much for the billions of minds.  I woke up indifferent and unknowing of the day or time.  Our world is so timed it’s becoming hauntingly timeless.  We are below time’s gaze.


I wonder if children today dream in digital life.  I was born before the pounding repetition set in on this world and I remember the color of summer in my nose.  The enlightening neighborhood around me, a piece of some human nature I couldn’t quite describe.  And then inside my family home, the sun through the glass, the sound of distant phones ringing on walls and a lonely television somewhere.

We say, this is just a part of getting older.  We say, this is what happens to every generation.  We don’t understand the changes set in reverse on the youth of our time.  They are coming too fast, like the daily world news shot at us from every direction.  The film strip of our dreams is thickening.  The plot is far away.


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