Twelve years ago I dreamed of one of my many deaths. For the first couple of years I dismissed it. However, when September 11 occurred, I became scared and distraught. Later on, I began to investigate my dream, and now I see it as a work of art. Many forms of art lie all around, but the most interesting ones can be found in a dream of death that begins with the moment of suspense, through the will power of life, and the masterpiece end of defeat. My canvas begins with myself and others lying asleep around a tan colored truck in a desert atmosphere. I had long hair, and was dressed in a brown t-shirt and light brown camouflage pants, and suede untied boots. Suddenly I'm running. I'm running through the desert, houses, backyards, clothes-lines, climbing fences, and continue to run through more desert. Before long, I was at an empty tavern. It was cool and clean, and everything made of mud-brick. I go out the back door and see m...
Life is too simple, to be played so hard.