The Experimental Dream

The night my brain accidentally found the key to world peace



Cover picture designed by the author using Canva Pro

I have feared, wrestled with, and gradually started to experiment with my sleep paralysis which has almost artistically haunted my nights since my senior high years. This was to say that I have seen things when it comes to eerie dreams and limbo states. Invisible creatures have shown themselves to me, but here I would like to share a dream that is neither sleep paralysis nor a nightmare.

I had a unique experience the other night that astounded me even more by how the brain behaves when it enters the semi and subconscious states. This specific night, it took an element from outside the stream, injected it into the dream scenario, and streamed it live while placing it in another context. I will be more specific.

I woke at around 2 AM from severe backache. This is nothing new and the recurring New Year’s resolutions of going back to the gym simply don’t apply to me. On the days that I move even less than my dismal average amount, I am aware that the night is going to be a rough journey. I end up waking up after a short sleep from a familiar pain. Immediately going back to sleep is simply not an option. I have to get up, take a short walk around the apartment so that my muscles move a little, and then have a session.

What is a session, you might ask? A session starts usually with a good dose of doom-scrolling, which has never ended with the people on our side winning. There is never a happy ending at the end of a doom-scrolling session. The world is in shambles and one death metal LP away from annihilation. Yet there are certain people who actively see it as their duty to remind you of that. Even when you have lowered your expectations of the clown world we inhabit on these micro-blogging platforms to zero, they surprise you. It’s the perfect time to be alive for a psychopathic low-life bully. ‘S wonderful, ‘s marvelous! Please don’t care for me!

Once the doom-scrolling successfully sores the eyes, it’s time for the lullaby. My favorite genre of lullaby is niche history pods about ruthless bloodsucking dictators who did not serve time for their crimes against humanity. Either that or the ones in which the host and the guest tango for a world gone nuts. As for the night in question, I…