Wednesday, August 5, 2015

The First Dream

I never deny I'm crazy, but if you ask me to name at least one person crazier than I, I can tell you it is my shrink. You know all these Freud-looking psychology therapy guys obsessed with analyzing dreams? Whenever you mention anything about dreaming, nightmare, etc., holy shit, from their own daydreaming, like a bored puppy spotting a squirrel, they suddenly wake up in their doctor's chair, pull out a writing pad, and make notes incessantly like a mad man. Do you know how that feels when I have also read The Standard Edition of the Complete Works of Sigmund Freud myself? Man, I can't stand my shrink. Here, as a veteran literate psychotic, I'm donating my pathological dreams to the world of Freudism.

I was operating a giant ship-like prop for movie. I’m supposed to drive it straight remotely, but I don’t know what I have done. The next moment I look at it, it has already sunk. There’s no one in it; no one dies because of me. But I have made a big boo boo. Shit!

Oh and speaking of Freud, you know you're always asked what your name is when you order coffee at Starbucks, right? What if your name is like Saoirse, Quvenzhané, or Sinead? You're fucked. Those guys won't let you go. They'd keep asking, "what sha," "cool fan what," "shin what..."? That's why I always call myself Dora when I buy coffee. All Freud readers know that Dora is "someone who could not keep her own name." If the coffee guys still don't how to spell Dora, well, she's also a cartoon character of a chubby Mexican girl, who owns a pink-faced pet monkey.