Swimming or crossing water and getting held at gunpoint were popular in dream plots when I was younger. One night a giant ruled the land I was living in. I put magic chapstick on my lips and grew huge like Alice as the giant shrunk.

July 16, 1994: I took a ride on a boat that had no edges.
August 2, 1994: Someone locked me up in a cardboard box and I couldn't escape.
January 3, 1995: I drempt of having a 'a vicious 16th century cabbage fight.' Someone 'blamed the crisis on bad clocks.'

I miss tending gardens of giant carrots, fighting ninjas at the grocery, and making paper machier with Superman like I did at night then.

Soon, Derrida would start dropping in to mock how I talked, and my texts. Soon blood would seep through the ice on the rink where I skated, because dead bodies were stuffed into basement pipes.

2002: Elevator cables break routinely.
2003:Just as often people light themselves on fire- loud, in gulches, accusingly.

Over time the big themes changed. I even noticed the way plots became hotter and less wet.

I guess eventually fire matters more than water.

The cast of characters talk much less now too. Often, these days, little or no words are exchanged- but this is still somehow loud. Almost like a silence so important it can't be quiet.

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