I had an odd dream back in June when Kate and I went to New York. At the time, I was doing all LiveJournal stuff through my cell phone (Treo) which does not hook up to my laptop (Linux) very easily. Since this was to be a long entry, I typed it into the computer for upload at a later date. Today, I ran across the file. In searching through my journal entries, I could not find this anywhere, so I am posting it now (apologizes if you have already seen it).
2002-06-30, 08:18 Eastern
I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamed that I was in the bookstore looking for a couple of particular items that I have actually been trying to find in real life: First was a fiction magazine (for example, Isaac Asimov SciFi Magazine, the Alfred Hitchcock Mistery Magazine, Amazing Stories). They all existed about 5 to 10 years ago, but I have been having the most difficult time now. The other was a book by Stanislaw Lem called Memoirs Found in a Bathtub, which is a sort of a Kafka meets 1984 sort of Science Fiction book.
Anyway, I was in the magazine section of the bookstore, specifically a section for science fiction, fantasy, and fiction magazines when I stumbled across a journal. It was pretty beaten up. The handheld journal, about 5″ x 7″, possibly a bit smaller had a beaten up brown/red thick paper/cardboard color, made of material similar to a scientific lab book. The thing that stood out most was the window in the cover that showed part of the first page–the kind of thing that would show a title, class and professor name, date, or some other identifying information to keep this journal separate from any other one the owner happened to purchase that looked the same. This window showed through to a title on the first page, hand printed in pencil: Brian.
Curious, I picked it up and skimmed through it. The first page was blank, save the name in the window. The next page was a love poem, presumably about me. The following page was, too. Then there was a little story that took a few pages, followed by another little story. Then there was a story with pictures glued into the pages. This was followed by more and more writing. About half to three-quarters of the book was written in, the remaining blank. When I got to the back cover, I noticed a photocopied flier stuffed between the pages. Curious, I read it.
This flier informed me that this was the original author decided to call “a living journal.” I can decide to put it back where I found it and forget about it or take it out of the bookstore in my backpack or hands (as if it were my journal that I brought in with me). It told me that at my leisure, I am supposed to read through every page. Once done, I was supposed to do a few things. First, I need to rip out the first page, the one with the (my?) name on it. Next, I needed to erase the contents of the remaining first page and write, in #2 pencil, somebody's name so it shows through the window in the cover. (I looked more carefully at the page with my name on it and noticed that it did look to be a previously erased page). Next, I was instructed that I needed to fix the first page or two of text a little (with my #2 pencil and eraser) so that it did not start in the middle of a sentence and flows properly. Next, I was to write at least a page of text at the end, in the first of the blank pages. Finally, I was to place the book in a bookstore or library where the next creative individual could come across it.
Why do I have the strangest dreams about books?