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Anthology Complex


properties. Usually in both our dreams and our memories, when we try to remember them, we see
them in third person. In our dreams we aren't Jesus Christ, we are ourselves meeting Jesus Christ,
and when we try to remember it, all we can see is ourselves meeting Jesus Christ.
I keep trying to remember his face, even though I know he has no face, and that's when I
remembered that I had a dream in that same exact location a few months ago. I was in a helicopter,
and the pilot was trying to land the helicopter on the same street I had been walking down in the
dream I had last night.
The helicopter lands and there is a lifeless body on the sidewalk near the last car in the row of
parked cars. The same last car I saw the driver in last night. I got out of the helicopter and kept
trying to walk over to the dead body, but each time I got closer, it seemed like he went further
away. It was as if the distance kept cutting itself in half, but I still could never reach him. Just
barely out of my reach. After a long time of walking, I simply woke up. Sometimes dreams were
weird like that; even though I had that dream in the past, the events in it happened after last night's
dream.
That's what I believe anyway. That's what makes sense to me right now. And it's happened before.
One time I had eight dreams where if I rearranged them in a chronological order that made logical
sense, I could make a tale out of it. That's not to say the tale itself would make any sense. These
eight dreams led me to believe that maybe individually, our dreams may seem random and
irrelevant, but if we can remember these dreams, or write them down, and then put them in an
order that made sense, we could see the many tales of our many lives.
Chapter 2:
THIEVES FROM NEW YORK
About a year ago, I had a dream. Dressed in a rich man's suit and tie, committing a poor man's
crime. They put the money in a garbage bag that I supply because I threaten their existence. The
funny thing is a third of them have probably never taken the time of day to ponder their existence.
Sometimes I wonder if I've taken the time of day to ponder my own.
Is existence really that important? Is that life? Just merely existing. If you are in outer space, and
you see a piece of rock in a stationary position, it will stay that way forever. If you see a piece of
rock moving, it will continue moving at that same exact speed in that same exact direction forever.
This is true if no other forces are applied to the piece of rock; forces such as gravity,
electromagnetism or friction. The piece of rock doesn't have a specific reason as to why it wants to
stay stationary or why it wants to keep moving, it just does because it is. It's not waiting for
something to come, it's not traveling because it needs to be somewhere. It just does because it is.
Applying this method of thought to the idea of why something that's living wants to stay alive is
interesting. I'm holding a shotgun to this bank employees head, and I'm wondering if she wants to
stay alive simply because she is alive. What if she were dead? Would she want to stay dead simply
because she is dead?
If she were happy, I'm sure she would want to stay happy. She probably actually would stay happy
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