In my morning sleepy state I write poems in my head, which I then forget when I want to remember.
Fragments remain.
What a drain.

Hoppity hop of the soft padded feet.
Yes, I'm in a weird mood. Getting close to the braindead state.

Recent dreams (last few days) seem centered on the same cast of characters: Mom, siblings, Obaachan, cousins, Lyle, and Lyle's Mom. There are peripheral characters too, usually evil, that don't leave strong impressions. Landscapes are bare, stark, and harsh. Colors are mostly grayish and brown. A lot of abandoned or crumbling buildings. Grimy people huddled around fires. Voices echo and carry far or are whispers. There's a lot of talking going on and problems that need to be solved. Everything feels shifty. I walk around a lot. I'm tired even in the dreams. I am weary. Most of the time, I am myself, but once in awhile I in habit someone else's consciousness/body.

Just thought this quote was interesting:

"The radio is nothing but a conduit through which pre-fabricated din can flow into our homes. And this din goes far deeper, of course, than the eardrums. It penetrates the mind, filling it with a babble of distractions, blasts of corybantic or sentimental music, continually repeated doses of drama that bring no catharsis, but usually create a craving for daily or even hourly emotional enemas."
--Aldous Huxley, On Silence, 1946.