log #3 - a distorted reality

15 Feb, 2026

There's always something off in my dreams. Likely there's something off in yours too. Incorrect timelines, people who associate with one another despite not sharing the same chapter. Known, familiar locations with extra appendages overlaying one another. Walls, corridors and stairs lose permanance once traversed through. A door closes, the room it once led to collapses for the potential of the next.

Usually, I'm not an active agent in my dreams. Oftentimes when I am, at some indistinguishable point in the narrative my agency vanishes. Either I'm the lens, or the subject of my lens. The 'me' presented is no longer me. 'Me' does things whilst I can only watch. No voice to suggest otherwise. A detached conscience of sorts.

My dreams are usually situated in places frequented in childhood. This morning I dreamt I was at (one of) my childhood homes owned by family friend. I'll dub it 'The Childhood home' as it is my favourite compared the many not-so-accomodating places we have lived in. Mould, mice, loud neighbours...

Memorable faces meandered the house, traversing through dark wooden doors and floral striped wallpaper. At the back was a handsomely sized garden much wider than its real life counterpart. A gate inbetween revealed the neighbour's garden, hosting a bush of peach coloured lotus-rose hybrid flowers. The surrounding garden is a painfully saturated green with uniform grass blades¹. The sun's midday glow reveals the delicate veins of each petal. As I near I realise somethings off.
Flowers pointing in unnatural directions.
Branches breaking the morphology of the l-system.
A flower on the garden fence attached no branch.
The visitors are in awe at the bush's beauty, but fail to see what makes it unreal.

I could've let the onlookers know it wasn't real, but instead I decided to go back to the houseparty and chill with the people in our garden.
Looking back, I should've.

I was in control the whole time.

#journal