that magnificent mysterious morphing bookstore

Dreams are something I wouldn't dare attempt to research, for I'm certain I'd give myself too many ideas. I tend to strengthen anxieties when researching a topic rather than setting my mind at ease.

But I do have this one recurring element to some of my dreams: there is a bookstore that I frequently end up in, a massive, sprawling beast where things are not always well-maintained and often I can find books and films that are not to be found in the real world. But it is a magnificent place, and the detail in my dreams is fine-tuned down to the single pages of every tome in the joint.

Also, each time I return, the order of book genres are never in the same sequence as when I last visited.

Whether I have been in a Demille-esque adventure, a metaphysical chase or cruelly haunted by the worst tortures my mind can conjure...or simply in the midst of a serene sexual episode...this bookstore will occasionally crop up at the end, before waking, as if some kind of weigh-station where my brain gets to shake itself out to a degree, maybe even allowing a more gentle dream to close out the marathon.

Again, I wouldn't want to figure out what this means, if anything. I just find it oddly interesting enough to bring up in polite, one-way conversation.

File this under Go Figure.