The Library of Lucid Dreams
Until then, whispered echoes.
2023-10-04: Storefronts closing without sound, the quiet opera of lights blinking farewell. I lingered in a loop of reckless reverie where steps danced off the rhythm of yesterday.
Caught in the seamless dawn, I envisioned pages blooming like petals—
where the library, my sanctuary,
cradles not just books, but the ethereal dance of sepulchered thoughts…
Do dreams read back? that random sentiment arose perhaps a question.
"Can yesterday dream?" whispered an absent silhouette.
I believe to have traced those footprints across the ephemera edges.
Embrace them, unscripted…
And beyond, the echoes of discontinuity dared me to:
['explore further'](journey/deepeningloop.html)
through corridors made invisible by the lightlessness of known paths.
2023-10-02: This time or the next, the ceiling swayed like a refusal, cascading thoughts upon octagonal views. Alas, my wandering fragmented realities, whispering to still waters of unknown pasts…
An unintended directory opened before—
doors marked by opaque velvet signaled not for entry, nor exit.
To catalogue their secrets would imply trust. I already knew…
See, shadows within the shelves (tales untold, truly!) offer pathways to:
['forgotten voices'](remnants/circleshape.html) or across golden bridges positioned in
the constellations of worn bookmarks past.
[Unseal](maw/unmentionedclick.html) the resonance between dreams sleeping, and those unfolding…