It was like Jurassic Park, but with monkeys, and I dangled at the top of a giant tree, more than a hundred feet from the grassy fields of earth, desperately holding on and trying to help a monkey that had been bundled in plastic wrap and tied to the trunk. He was screeching and crying. I, myself was terrified of falling or of my pursuers finding me and pounding the living shit out of me.
I had a dream where I was in a massive, luxurious penthouse style suite in a Las Vegas hotel, only it was in Kyoto. I lay on the low level, purple leather couch and watched a movie on the huge screen in front of the windows. The windows had a lovely view of the entire city from a few dozen floors up. I could see everything of the central area. As I watched the movie, I became aware of slow movement that wasn’t on the screen.
I hate myself. I know this because of my dreams. For most people I think dreams are where they do fanciful, amazing things, but in my dreams I am just as tied down by the weight of reality as I am when I am awake (whether or not we are ever actually awake is another argument altogether).