Three recurring dreams: 1) a murderer who creates traffic jams in front of ambulances; 2) The “dishwasher episode” of a critically acclaimed drama; and 3) being told I’ve contracted a rare disease and no matter where I walk from now on, it will take one hour and eleventy-two minutes.

Waking up this morning, the world doesn’t feel much different from the illogic of sleep. Frantic spinning and slinging as exit polls dribble out of New Hampshire. The president is firing his critics and reducing the prison sentences of his friends. And with only one or two exceptions, our politicians continue delivering platitudes about “getting back to normal” and “remaining moderate” while the planet burns after so many decades of us being normal and moderate. It’s 65 degrees in Antarctica.

There might be a connection between the state of the world and our dreams. Schopenhauer comes to mind: “After all, what is to be expected of heads even the wisest of which is every night the scene of the strangest and the most senseless dreams, and which is expected to take up its meditations again on awakening from them?”

Flying Saucer Attack – My Dreaming Hill

From Flying Saucer Attack | VHF, 1993 | More

A jolt of rural psychedelia to accompany Arthur Schopenhauer.

Each night in 2020, I wrote a short post for a series called Notes From the End of a World because I wanted to etch these days into my memory. Before the world changed completely.
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