it's weird.
because there's entire narratives that only exist in
the dream reality, so that if i were to bump into you some time in the
near future, i would have difficulty determining what real memories are
and what dream memories are.
i wrote a sarcastic essay a few
years ago that argues that all history eventually becomes poetry; that
as we become further and further from events that happened in the past,
they take on the nature of myth. two thousand years from now, we will
probably have burned all our historical records many times over and the
only memory of us will be in translated chinese documents, and local
arabic documents that speak of barbarians. america will exist only in
the terms of a myth.
it's interesting to see how it occurs over
the course of a single lifetime, too. in the dream world, for example,
you have an apartment on the 8th floor of a building on the carleton
campus. it's consistent. i know the layout of the place well. even which
drawer you keep candles in, and where you leave the soy in the fridge.
