This is one slow roll. I don’t think Blue Dream has ever gotten out of bed. A bad case of the Rip Van Winkle. One long dream floating into the next, a peaceful slumber only known to a select few. It’s a settled fog on our eye lids, well into our deep R.E.M. cycle before the clouds part and it becomes vivid. At first it’s a flash of light from atop a solitary hill but soon it becomes a race to the corona; to the white hot flashes of the moon through the eye. The brain begins working its illusionary magic, beating in rhythm with an increase heart beat. It settles into a pattern of colors and images that can only be in the mind of the asleep. You never want to wake but all good dreams must end. The real world beckons, the ringing bell of wakefulness calls to you. This dream will be here when you return.
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