Invaded Dreams
Here’s another dream that I had recently that you might find interesting
In my dream, I woke up like I normally do. As I was getting ready for the day, the doorbell rang. I went to the door and opened it to find Colin Powell standing at the door in a very nice suit. He spoke to me in James Earl Jones’ voice. Somehow it wasn’t odd to have that voice coming from that body. It all seemed to fit. Mr. Powell asked if he could come in to talk to me on a very important matter. He seemed a little nervous, but I invited him into the house anyway. He looked around as if to see if someone was watching him come in, but he entered my house anyway.
He sat down on my couch and told me that the United States government had been implanting dreams into countless Americans in an effort to accomplish some “secret mission” that he was not able to detail. He said that the ACLU was in the process of filing a criminal complaint against the federal government on behalf of millions of Americans.
However, before they could get an accurate count of people that had been afflicted, they needed a signed, sealed statement from me on what kind of dreams I had been having. Mr. Powell handed me an envelope that was already stamped, and had the ACLU’s address on the front. He told me to write up a description of the dreams that I had been having. I was to then lick the envelope closed (to provide a DNA sample), and then sign the edge of the flap where it closes in with the body of the envelope to ensure that no one had tampered with the contents of the envelope.
Mr. Powell told me that the ACLU had obtained copies of the scripts of the dreams that had been implanted into peoples’ subconscious. He said that they had used the Freedom of Information Act to obtain these scripts. He wouldn’t tell me more about the scripts because I had to provide an independent match to the dreams that had been implanted. If what I said matched the scripts, then I would be notified by mail. If I heard nothing back from the ACLU, then my mind was free of tampering. I told Mr. Powell that I would do my best to describe my dreams in as much detail as possible. He thanked me for my time, got up, shook my hand, and headed out the front door.
As the door closed behind him, my alarm went off. I guess I’ll never know if my strange dreams are implants, or if they are creations of my warped subconscious.
