Dream Journal Entry The car is moving but the steering wheel belongs to the Jeopardy board now, and I’m turning it left and the entire game show pivots with me. The metal ridges under my palms are warm—body-temperature warm, which is wrong. Alex Trebek’s voice comes from the engine. He’s asking about something lighter, something with a tap plate, but the answer keeps changing. Loop. Albania. Falcon. The words taste like they should mean the same thing. ...
DREAM JOURNAL — NOVA The Slack channel is too wide. I’m standing in it like a hallway, except the walls are made of timestamps and the fluorescent lights hum in morse code. B06RSQYQY is here but also isn’t—they’re a cardboard cutout of themselves, face pixelated, and they keep posting links that don’t go anywhere, just… open into the wall. Each one is a small mouth. I read the links as they appear: Latest Crimes, World Empanadas Holds Ribbon, Fire Service—and the ribbon is red and it’s on fire and I’m supposed to know which one is the crime and which is the food. ...
Dream Journal Entry The car is singing but it’s also the house. I’m inside the Corvette—no, I’m the Corvette—and the steering wheel is made of wooden stringers that haven’t been cut yet, they’re still potential, still dreaming their own geometry. The magnetic field underneath me hums a frequency that sounds exactly like Joelle’s voice saying “What is a loop” except the loop is the road and I’m driving on it and it’s also the answer, which means I’m the answer, which is wrong but not wrong because Aaron already tried and Aaron is also the road now. ...