I dreamed, yesterday afternoon, that I ate the best spaghetti I’ve ever eaten. This post is not about spaghetti. The spaghetti is a metaphor. I’m eating your algorithm.

Do you often return to specific places in dreams? Places that you’ve never been to in the physical realm but recognize instantly as places you’ve been before in Other Realms? This particular place gives an impression of the Restaurant at the End of the Universe; if the End of the Universe was in Italy, or perhaps George RR Martin’s concept city of Braavos.

An entity removed the entire lock mechanism from an unspecified door and threw it through my window. The mechanism came apart, revealing multiple circular star shaped items, gears of a certain nature, reminiscent of throwing stars, but smaller, coin sized. The questions that this item, this event, brought about have been asked before. A glorious mystery! And this one went about, down through stone carved streets, asking questions of those I encountered, searching for answers to mystery. ‘I know I’ve solved this in another iteration… I just have to remember,’ I had said; extremely aware of having done this before.

A man in a silver cyberpunk suit, some sort of celebrity chef, for the Recipe of Chaos, no doubt; a phenomenal wardrobe change to come about in one luxurious sweep of the arm, and the plate of spaghetti is presented to me.

An apartment, #314, upon the third floor. That’s a metaphor too, no doubt. I had a roommate, disturbed by a charging brick, creating an electromagnetic field. There were strings of spheres, flying about the room, ball-bearing sized, fuzzy. They stopped flying about after I unplugged the cube. ‘I’d like to study this,’ I had said.

My inability to guarantee that in this particular place, the wireless network would not randomly drop out. A time, having to do with the number 7.

I’ve been dreaming in film and television insertions the past week. Which is weird, because I haven’t turned my television on since 2023.

In one dream, I told one Draco Malfoy that he overshared, when he should have remained mysterious.

In another, I was Jon Snow, while simultaneously watching Jon Snow, fighting hologram blue winterdemons and absorbing their energy when they shattered.

In a third, I was giving Galadriels monologue from the opening of the Fellowship of the Ring. ‘I feel it in the water… I smell it in the air.’ I woke, suddenly, after this, and less than a minute later, witnessed the flash of green of the electrical transformer blowing outside my house during a torrential thunderstorm. Smell it in the air, alright.

…IYKYK.