A dream that has been plaguing me as of late.

I had a dream earlier. No, not a dreamcast.

But nonetheless, I’m afraid to wonder about its symbolism.

So, here’s this young woman, maybe 26 years old, writing a novel about the horrors of life, but in a much deeper context – I cannot for the life of me remember much else about the writing itself. And here she goes, this young woman with her whole life ahead of her, and somehow flattens herself through the laminating/scanning machine whilst screaming, screaming, always screaming. And the copy that comes out after her body filters through and is bleeding everywhere – is just frightening as fuck. Her face is contorted, her body is mangled. The book is finished, the copies have leaked out, her body on top. Her current mate comes to the office where she was working on it, and discovers her, screams like a little girl when he discovers the remains of his once-vibrant partner. The book itself is thereafter known as being haunted. It frightens me. This woman was so fucking afraid of what she had discovered whilst writing that she felt the need to get away. The rest of the dream took place at subway stations where she had been spotted. She chased me throughout Sherbourne and I was afraid for my life. I couldn’t find my way home and it was agitating. Frustrating, that no one came to my aid. Yonge subway had taken a detour and was going down to what was now thought of as the ‘haunted section’ (at least in the dream) in which I was far too afraid to venture into. I began reading her writing, her haunting descriptions, and I too felt the need to simply leave. To escape what had been haunting her since the dawn of time, because NO ONE should have been forced to go through this. I stayed though – continuing to read and pour the toxic information into my mind. Somehow, I managed to stay. I had reached some plateau where it all didn’t matter. I don’t remember much else about the dream, and I’m not sure I want to.