Story I had a dream last night. Not a nightmare

[SexyIncél]

Things happened beforehand. But I don't remember them. Maybe that was just the scratchpad of my unconscious

I joined a tech startup in its growth phase, after people got slotted into little armies. My "office" was an elegant large darkwood bed with curtains. It was in a huge room. There was a vast library of old tech books in it — not fancy, like an old bookstore or library; not made to be beautiful, it's just for the meaning. The CTO said hi, and the CEO came & gave a talk; he referenced a book & I went to look at it. Then I wandered the books, his voice increasingly muffled by the shelves & wall

The book I primarily remember was Waldrop's "The Dream Machine". Some "books" were just sheets of paper, I imagine



I spoke to the CTO after the talk. He talked briefly about what he liked; and waved me to the supply store. Which had all sorts of supplies: pens, bike wheels, off-brand condoms ("just as good as Durex!"). Sadly, no Skyn condoms

People met to talk; someone did a trick where he spun in the air & glowed bright with iridescent shine. I snapped photos. I walked outside; it looked like a cross between Amsterdam & NYC. I talked with an old friend. She was wanting to ask a recent ex how we're doing. She used the wrong first name: Israel. (The only Israel I know's an MMA fighter. And of course, the genocidal nation-state)

Then I woke from this dream. I tried remembering my ex's name. I couldn't

I hated most tech books, particularly those with boring corporate "parts & suppliers" examples. And hated tech companies, those unimaginative sexless corporate cults

My sleep is a stage where my unconscious speaks to me. I imagine it's partly my "gut brain" — that dense collection of neurons around the stomach, enough to be a 2nd brain that can even get Alzheimer's. Usually it hurts me, because it's displeased with my direction — an incongruity between my desires vs actions. But this time, it didn't seem so displeased

When I woke up, it kept just enough control over my mind, so that my conscious mind couldn't remember that ex's name. Effectively my consciousness asking my unconsciousness a question. An ex is supposed to be a traumatic thing. But I just remember them like anyone else. Because I was a damn good bf, practicing my craft in rough conditions