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I hate dreams. Dreams are the Sea Monkeys of consciousness: in the back pages of sleep they promise us teeming submarine palaces but leave us, on waking, with a hermetic residue of freeze-dried dust. The wisdom of dreams is a fortune on paper that you can’t cash out, an oasis of shimmering water that turns, when you wake up, to a mouthful of sand. I hate them for their absurdities and deferrals, their endlessly broken promise to amount to something, by and by. I hate them for the way they ransack memory, jumbling treasure and trash. I hate them for their tedium, how they drag on, peter out, wander off.

Pretty much the only thing I hate more than my own dreams are yours.

Michael Chabon, Why I Hate Dreams
 
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  8. houseoforange said: This makes me sad. We always discussed dreams at the breakfast table, and I do actually have epic dreams like in ‘Alice in Wonderland’ & 'The Wizard of Oz’. Poor Michael Chabon.
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  11. berezina said: Oh, please. All that jumbling is productive, if not directly.
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