Quoted By:
>Shitpost on 5leaves
You don't own a home computer, nor do you want one of those freaky "probes" to the WireNet in your home.
>Get up, adjust our tie, smooth out our clothes. Gotta keep up appearances.
You yawn as you slide out of your comfy white sheets and adjust your tie out of habit.
It may very well be a white mark of shame in this economy, but your tie is your friend. It helps you relax.
You start to smooth out your clothes, but find that there's no need to do so. These kind of suits (which are proliferated everywhere) never seem to crumple or crease even if you sleep in them. It's as if the very concepts of untidiness and filth are bounced off, like water off of a beetle's black shining shell. Handy.
You play with a handful of white hair and contemplate skipping the shower.
>CHECK OUT THE BOOK
>Pick up and open the black book.
Inside the book is a log of your most recent dreams. Mostly they're filled with jumbled words forming noise in your head and other pleasant, addictive-sounding nonsense. Noise dreams, static dreams, with most of it coming from what you heard on the TV.
(You usually drift off to sleep on the sofa to the quiet sounds of music or talking on most days. Well, it is almost every day at this point. A bad habit, admittedly, but there's nothing else to do and you just feel like watching TV. And since that’s what you felt like doing, there is no reason not to.)
Huh? Ah right.
Just last night, you had one of the strangest dreams in a long, long time. If you close your eyes, you can see the vivid image of it seared into the back of your eyelids.
You turn the page and begin writing about a dream of...
>A darkened theatre stage with heavy, blue velvet curtains. Faint music and the sound of gears came from beyond.
>A hunched black figure was sitting on a powerline over the field of pure white lilies. There was a sword in the clearing, and the bird was watching you expectantly.
>A pure white library burning and a very calm librarian tending to her collection amidst the flames.
>Hooks, ropes, chains, all manner of lengths rising endlessly into a blood-red sky. A woman's high and mocking laughter followed your every step.
>WRITE IN.