I awakened at 3:48 am in a cold sweat brought on by an anxiety dream about a friend’s blog. The friend posted about an friend of his who, he’d learned that day, was killed in a freak funeral-home accident, when she was pulled through what appeared to be a band saw, by the three-dimensional Quicktime VR of the decendent’s neatly halved corpse my dream visualized posted on my friend’s blog. Accompanying this extremely disturbing product of my slumbering mind was a video clip of the dead young woman, speaking about her relationship with her job at the funeral home.

How do you people stand living in your own skulls? I really don’t think I’m that different from most of you, but I fear and dread my own mind, my dreams, my body, and my soul. I’ve been insistently told that this is not how it has been for most of we language-using apes over the ages, but to my ear. the assertions ring falsely strident, carrying a kind of desperation which ultimately I find unconvincing.

Still, I would much rather not have had the experience above that I recount here as a result of reliving the memory involuntarily all day.