I swear I haven’t been devouring a whole cheese board before snuggling under the duvet of a night. I’ve never indulged in psychotropic drugs or hallucinogens in order to induce such wacky dreams. Or perhaps it wasn’t a message from my subconscious but rather a prophetic vision regarding what is to come. Not that I’m about to name myself as down right premonetic or whatever the right term happens to be. I’m probably definitely not imaging anything.
There’s absolutely no connection whatsoever to the plethora of body swapping and downright clonetastic science fiction I’ve been privy to over the course of my reading and viewing life (which is most of it really, when you take out the time I spend eating and sleeping). As if I would ever be influenced by that sort of fictionalised nonsense. You can’t just replace people so completely and so easily without anyone noticing.
And, you know, even if such things did actually occur in real life, which I’m not for one moment suggesting they do, I’m not the sort of person they’d affect. I can sit in my white box in Slough safe in the knowledge that everyone in my life is precisely who they claim to me and the idea of lying about their identity would never have occurred to them.
The very notion is absurd. Who’d go to the bother of extracting molten blobs of consciousness from our local star? It would take so very much effort to shape them into the stuff of nightmares and suffuse them with the skills necessary to navigate our complex social society. So feel free to call it cocky but I feel fairly safe in asserting that you didn’t come from space. I mean, apart from all the elements you’re made up of that came from supernovae explosions. At least I didn’t dream about you last night. Or did I?
Song choices courtesy of: Murray Gold and 3 Doors Down