by Tom Ball


The authorities decided I hadn’t done anything creative over the last month and so sentenced me to one month of bad dreams.

Everyone felt sorry for me having to face bad dreams. Forty per cent who were sentenced to bad dreams died of suicide. And it was hard to commit suicide.  If you died in the dream you would wake up anew.

It seemed the leaders were in my head shouting and yelling.  I was a nervous wreck and I couldn’t sleep well with the nightmares in my head.

The next day after being condemned, I went to the “doctor machine,” for some tranquilizers and sleeping pills, but I could hardly sleep.

So finally I ran away during the day time but they re-captured me and sentenced me to another month of bad dreams.

Previously I had slept in my tiny cubicle like everyone else. It was soundproof.  Just the near constant dream stimuli.  But now I slept in the dungeons, hooked up to the dream tube which was connected with my brain.  The tube released drugs of pain and suffering in addition to the bad dreams.

In the daytime however they didn’t terrorize me.

And after each dream that I remembered I talked it over with my shrink…

And this psychologist analyzed my dreams. I didn’t want to share with the mindless rabble.  But I shared dreams with friends as well as the shrink.

But before being sentenced to bad dreams I occasionally I went to the offices of the local dream computer and asked for a copy of my dreams.

more from
What’s New
home/ Bonafides

Facebooktwitterlinkedinrssby feather
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather

Leave a Reply

Welcome to
Defenestrationism reality.

Read full projects from our
retro navigation panel, left,
or start with What’s New.