In my dream last night, the last thing I remember saying just before I woke up was: ‘Alain Badiou says the most nihilistic song is All You Need Is Love.’
In my dream last night, the name of my band was: This Unstable Honorarium.
Last night in my dream I googled: how do you fight capitalism.
Last night I dreamt I was an arsonist: as I headed to set one last fire, I got a text saying it’s a trap, turned around, and decided to go see art instead.
Last night I dreamt the telescope was invented by aliens, who sent it to us telepathically, to put us on the wrong track.
Last night I dreamed I had writer’s block.
In my dream last night I read an essay that began: “We’re sick of reading books that are only men writing about their loneliness. We want to read books by women writing about their ________.” But I couldn’t make out the last word. (I had a sense that the last word might be rage.)