The nights were fascinating, not for the joy they brought me, but for the disbelief of the subconscious. I visited dreamscapes of perpetual violence. Last night, I had awoken at 3:30 a.m. as I aggressively inserted a glass contraption constructed of shards of thick glass no longer than the length of a pinky finger, which formed a star shape when viewed from above, deep into the neck of a Japanese serviceman. With vivid visualization, I pulled the weapon out of his neck, shards of blood-stained glass protruding from his neck, causing a combustion of blood, covering the bench on which he snuck up to kill me; the struggle for the kill began immediately, and the danger was immediately apparent when the tip of the glassed knife pierced through my thumb top, I could see the insides of my thumb as the glass shattered into tiny pieces like a nuclear reaction of atoms. My survival instinct arose reactionary to the knowledge I was about to be sliced into oblivion by the serviceman. We scrimmaged about madly as my mind wandered through depths of pillage and death when the man dropped the weapon.

  With a fight for survival, I swiftly transacted the glass contraption and sliced his throat, not once but many times over and over; I watched the glass deepening into his skin, veins, and arteries until the man was squirting furious amounts of blood all over what seemed to be the lens of my life. I jolted wide awake and decided that it was best to attempt to stay awake for the remainder of the evening to evade any further violence; I fell asleep hours later and awoke to the murder of crows.

  To say these bouts of violence was shocking is untrue; I had fallen into divination with these worldly reflections, and the prophetic tendencies of these nightscapes came to haunt me. The metaphoric nature of these nightly affairs reminded me that there is no hiatus from the psyche; my mind— a monism. There is no separation, no division that I can hide within. Entity, Man, Soul, and the Self are co-existent, and these acts of moral turpitude in my dreamscapes were no exception from this truth, mirroring the inside of my awakening hours.