Step Inside

In jr. high and my freshman and sophomore years of high school I kept a dream journal. Each morning I would wake up and record the twisted screenplays of adolescence. Those journals were sacrificed by fire. No great loss. Page after page of lurid sex dreams.

I've decided to try the experiment again. I'll probably share bits and pieces. Who wouldn't want to hear all about my dreams of Hells Angels kicking each other in the nuts, punky girls writing their names backwards next to esoteric numeric codes, and men with heads covered in boils who can't tell the difference between a Mormon Tabernacle and a Jehovah's Witness Kingdom Hall? What about me searching for a door, putting my leather jacket in the fridge, and the door suddenly appearing? Or vacant streets lined with multi-story buildings with hippies dressed like Uncle Sam taking hits from their pot pipes while standing on the roof tops? And that was all just one night!

Yes, I'm sure there'll be sex as well.