When I sleep, I don’t dream much any more, but when I do it’s always a muted color mix born of a longing for the joyful sexual freedom of my teenage years with the acknowledgement of the bleak reality of fascism and violence of my adult life.

And then I wake up in a shitty home before going to a shitty job, and I have to wonder if the quasi-nightmares I wake from are better or worse than my daylife. At least in my dreams there is no pandemic.

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As in, every dream involves chasing some former lover (or non-existent blend of several) against the backdrop of pursuit, repression, and war.

The last night behind the barricades, seeking a sweet moment before we are overrun in the morning.

An escape through the forest.

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