A Bad Dream

I had a bad dream: a dream about burned books, rejected manuscripts and discarded poetry.

A dream about brainwashed people going about their lives in regular fashion without curiosity, without questioning, without wonder.

A dream where there is no madness in the streets, only hate.

A dream where the gun is mightier than the pen.

A dream where eyeballs tire at the sight of words, but are hypnotized by bright, bright screens.

A dream where there is no emotion, only obligations.

A dream where writing has lost all meaning, and written words on paper rolls are being used to wipe the shit from human asses.

A dream where the poor is left for dead on the street in the hot hot summer, while the rich upgrades his air conditioner every other week.

A dream where oil is a more valuable resource than water, and more integral to our well-being and survival.

A dream where society is notorious and segregated into groups falling within different lines of beliefs and religious interpretations.

A dream where governors are filthy monkeys scratching their asses in their leather seats.

A dream where writers are banished from the lot and sent to the madhouses.

A dream where women follow the riches, and artistic and cultural knowledge have lost all value.

A dream where men walk with no balls, with gunshots in their heads and venom in their hearts.

I got up. The dream was over. It was a strange but recurrent dream. Strangely recurrent.

I went for a drink. I ordered a long island at the nearest bar and drank it quietly.

The real world was grim. Very grim. It felt very much like the dream world I’d seen, as if it was some kind of continuation of that wicked fantasy. The distorted images I’d seen were very much alive right here in front of me, and I felt that I haven’t really escaped from that place.

A pretty woman sat next to me and ordered a beer. I turned and said to her, ‘Would you like to discuss the greats? Rimbaud? Pound?’

She looked at me in a puzzling manner and told me she hadn’t heard of them.

I put down my drink, got up, paid my bill and walked back home. It seems I hadn’t fully awoken from my dream yet.




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