Conundrum on the Dream
My dreams used to be the echoes of the days’ play
of my own, real and pure.
As the years grew the dream lost all its true source,
tainted by strange force.
The voices of faceless one from outland,
somber stories, a soulless actor, me in fantasy land,
jumbled. Immoral flash fiction. Horror stories
of the twisted past and now;
unknown skeleton under the bed,
the heart-twisting emotion and feelings,
so real. I wake in the wee-hour, yet anger free,
sense the eyes in the moon in the tree.
In my closed eyes the wave rushes over,
slowly drag me back to the red sea.
I thrash the hacker off,
delete the images with a huff,
wonder if it would be like the effort
of changing the constellation of stars.
Or, invite the one rude
into my virtual sitting room, might be crude?
If you believe your dream is the reflection of your
thoughts and feelings of your daily life, think again. There
are people who manipulate your dream. I have read the articles
about people who learn to read mind go farther and insert
images into mind while you sleep, to make you see it as if your
dream. It is a way of communication, they say. Who are they?
The technic is designed to help secret service workers, like FBI
agents and the likes of them, to solve the crime. But nowadays,
criminals use it to steal information from people.
Weird? Yes, but it is true.
(C) Byung A. Fallgren