The Pirate Who Stole My Dreams



Someone’s tinkering with my ear and saying, “Like most recent generations, his hearing is becoming mixed with his seeing, because of tens of thousands of years of ‘reading’ -causing intensely discriminatory awareness.”

A creature examining my mouth answers, “His diagnostic accessories are relatively numb from environmental over-stimulation! I’m glad I don’t live there.”

My mouth’s an accessory?

Something’s probing my eye. “The old ones always saw faces when communicating,” reports yet another tiny voice. His visual decryption has become increasingly mixed with oe190-masterimagination and confabulation, because of a century of faceless, largely non-visual communications…”

Non-visual? Telephones prompted neural evolution? Hmm…

Old ones? Well I guess I seem youngish to these… hold on. By “old ones” did he mean… ancestors?

“Their muscle memory decreases when event memory retreads,” says another one as it pokes my shoulder. “The actual versus the imagined, apparently doing some reliving…”

“Still,” responds someone who’s messing with my heart – literally!“the plumbing feels fine. What a weird dimension this kind exists in. Sustaining brains in a planetary biosphere takes a lot of work.”

This kind? What do they think I am? And why can’t I wake up?

“He’s aware.”

But.. but I didn’t make a noise – did I?

“Yes,” says another munchkin voice. Really, I…? “He is aware.” Oh. Frankly, I can’t move.

“Oh, hello again,” says one. “Good to see you again.”

“I don’t remember seeing you before,” I confess.

“Dreams are not meant to be remembered,” she spits harshly. “You can’t remember things that never really happened. And your brain can only tell you what seems to be real.”

Yet there is an ongoing universal dream shared by all sleeping brains of a complex order. The munchkins aren’t aware that I know so. But what are they and why are they diagnosing me as I sleep?

“We will not harm you,” a strange voice answers. Did I say that out loud? I can’t move! I can’t move?

“You are still asleep and chemically immobilized  by your own brain,” the voice explains. “Your brain won’t allow you to move when it knows you’re dreaming.”

“We are neighbors to your dimension. We have recently discovered your reality and are merely curious about its nature. Your species is quite complex on the grand scale of lower technical orders.”

“When you awaken you will think of us, if at all…” the first voice continues, “…as just another dream.”

“This feels so good,” I observe. “Sleep really feels good. In a way it’s too bad we can’t just sleep our whole lives…and dream.”

“Your brains,” the second voice generously offers, “are conceived asleep amid the scalar foundation, nurtured asleep in embryonic fluid, and even grown asleep in the hallowed womb until forced awake in bright and startling cold, and thereafter are forever attuned to the shared dream that you are conscious of. In sleep you return to that shared place where you know the peace of collective beauty.”


“That’s accurate,” answers the first voice. “A place that is just as real as your awakened world, perhaps even more so, fundamentally. These brains you’ve become have to work very hard to stay awake and function in such a tactile realm as your everyday Earth. Not an easy task.”

“Allow him proper dreaming,” advises that other munchkin voice. “Let us withdraw.”

“No!” I object, wanting to learn more about them. But the five wee night visitors vanish as Dreamspace reopens.

A pirate sticks his gun in my face!

I’m awake! Sitting up. Shit… A pirate dream?

“Wake up or I’ll blow off your head!” screams the pirate.

Why should I wake up? This feels pretty good.

The pirate looks surprised. Was I supposed to flee?

“Wake up! You’ve gotta pee!” insists the pirate.

Nope. Not really.

The pirate is really puzzled. Now he even looks a little scared. He stops advancing on me and his swirly, sexy assistant approaches.

“Wake up to serve the body that shares the dream,” she suggests seductively. “Take care of that yearning erection.”

Ah. Sex used for power. Not gonna work. “I’m good.”

The pirate enthusiastically jumps in with a new strategy. “You’re late for work! You slept through the alarm! Get up, get out there  to feed, clean and care for yourself and those around you…?”

So that I can sleep again and dream.

The bandits are thwarted and cannot awaken me. They vanish into the inverted universe, a simple reality that remains unknown to most who strive to achieve grandiose goals in the material world’s institutions.

Then I realize that maybe I can’t wake up even if I want to. So I decide to wake up. But aren’t I awake anyway? I seem to be, but I know I’m asleep. Don’t I?

Behind me!

The pirate’s back and in my face!

“Die!” yells the pirate plunging a sword into my gut.

I feel my body jerk. Am I lying down?

His mystical wench comes up behind me and bites into my neck. I convulse. I…


…Wake up? Naw… I’m on to them. I’ve been on the other earths tour too long. Still, I’m bleeding profusely.

“You ‘blinkenods’ want us to believe only in the awakened world,” I challenge them, my wound gurgling, “…and to think of dreams, if we even remember them, as psychobabble subconsciousness. Over centuries you’ve driven humanity into a frenzy. You want us to have to work hard for food, to worry about being cold and sick, and to be fretful over a simple thing like ‘death.’ You want us so engaged in everyday turmoil that these traumas are carried into Dreamspace, preventing peace and promoting nightmares.”

Agents of chaos.

I’ll awaken when I’m good and ready. Or when the real alarm goes off.