My vivid imagination seems unbridled during sleep. I can fly, pummel any foe, kiss all the pretty girls, close the great deals, climb the highest mountains – all in that spirit world we call dreaming. I’d like to write about my dreams, but can’t since I forget most of them as soon as I awake.
However, from time to time I’m able to recall nightmares, probably because of their intense nature. Terrified, I’m jarred awake and immediately grab a pen off the nightstand and scribble down what I saw with the hope of being inspired to write a great novel.
The other night I dreamt that I was looking down at myself sprawled out on a large flat rock in what appeared to be a dark forbidden forest. Suddenly, I was thrust back into my stone cold body and could sense that my eyes had become encrusted with a gooey substance dripping from the tree branches above. I tried to open them, but I couldn’t move. In desperation I awoke, jumped up in bed and opened my eyes.
I’m toying with the idea of writing a Kafkaesque type novel, one that will blend reality with fantasy. Franz Kafka’s writings have a nightmarish complex, bizarre, or illogical quality. In his writings he describes a nightmarish situation which most people can somehow relate to, although strongly surreal. However, there is a caveat, Kafka’s dying wish was that his books be burned. And so, I must tread softly if I am to follow in his footsteps. It seems like an ethereal evil was lurking somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Something so troubling that his dying request was that his books to be turned into ashes.
The devilish influence in his writings frightens me to the bone! All things considered, maybe my ramblings are nothing more than an exercise in thinking on paper…
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