The house had one more room than it has ever had, at the end of the upstairs hall where the wall is. I was not surprised, I was embarrassed — I had lived there twenty years and never dusted it.
Eleven thousand rooms nobody has ever stood in.
An open archive of dreams, each one written down within an hour of waking, before the mind has had time to make it make sense. No interpretation, no symbols, no meanings offered.
Start readingFrom this week
Ordered by nothing. There is no algorithm here and there is no way to sort them; you get what you get.
Walking a corridor that kept getting warmer and greener until it wasn't a corridor. I could hear a party going on somewhere behind me and I did not want to turn around and find it.
My grandmother, at the age I am now, filling out a form on my behalf. She kept asking me questions I could answer and writing down different answers. Neither of us thought this was strange.
A city I have never been to, that I knew the bus routes of. I got off at the right stop. That is the whole dream and I have thought about it every day since.
Light coming through a window that was the wrong colour for the time of day, in a way I noticed inside the dream and decided not to look into.
Everyone I have ever worked with was in a garden, and they were all being kind to each other, and I woke up furious and could not say why.
The archive is not here to tell you what any of it means. It is here so you can find out that somebody else went there too.
11,204Dreams
2,317Dreamers
41 minMedian time to write
0Interpretations
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