Avant garde, no?

To a fellow pedestrian, watching me walk through the streets of Melbourne from the train station to the Youth Hostel, I might have appeared to be cool, calm and collected - but inside, I was seething!

Wait, no, I was pretty fucking hot on the outside too.

Walking uphill... for about an hour and a half... beneath a sweltering Melbourne sun... I began to become, how do I put this, a little delirious.

The vast majority of my thoughts were normal and perfectly okay.

For example, I thought the following while I was backtracking from going in the wrong direction at one point:

"I seem to recall a character in a novel... though I don't remember which character of course... nor do I remember which book... because that would potentially detract from my hipness... and in the 21st century, with the Liberal Party's 4th Reich in control, what has my generation got but our hipness. At one point the character explains, "I'm not lost. I just don't know where I am." At the the time I thought this was just some stupid wordplay on the author's part, but now I'm in that situation. I'm not lost. I just don't know where I am. And every step I take brings me closer to my destination... so I'm becoming increasingly less lost."

Perfect sense, right.

Anyway, one of the thoughts that didn't make quite so much sense was this one:

"I can't help but feel that I'm on the verge of cracking this case wide open... all the pieces are here, it's juat a matter of fitting them together."

Case? Pieces? What?

A fair old knock to the chin and one office party later, I was drunk.

Drunk as a monk, I say.

I stumbled back from Docklands to the Youth Hostel (a walk that had seemed much longer when I was sober), went inside, tried to turn a short conversation followed by a punch in the face into something... anything... before giving up and just sending bogus press releases out to wire services under a variety of wacky pseudonyms, and finally stumbling up the elevator to my room, where I entered quietly so as not to awaken the other occupants. I then climbed up onto my bunk and fell asleep.

When I was a kid, like most kids, I used to have the occasional nightmare... I can't remember any good dreams from my childhood... only the bad ones.

Which is not to say that I was constantly plagued with nightmares - one thing I can remember from my childhood is really liking going to sleep. I mean, obviously, being awake was cool and all... but sleep was pretty fucking comfy.

Anyway, my mother's advice to me, should I ever be besieged by monstrous fiends within a dream, was to take control of the dream and kick their asses.

This is called Lucid Dreaming, and is something I never really got the hang of.

Lately though, I've been experiencing some lucidity in my dreaming (in the dying moments of my dreams) and the occasional False Awakening.

That said, I had never had a dream in which I was fully aware that I was dreaming, nor a dream in which I was in full control of my actions.

"I can't help but feel that I'm on the verge of cracking this case wide open... all the pieces are here, it's juat a matter of fitting them together."

With the physical stresses of my body no longer an issue, I could properly understand this thought. The case wasn't anything specifically.

It was *everything* specifically.

The answer to everything.

All the pieces were here in my head, it was just a matter of fitting them together.

This would require some legwork.

And this is how I found myself quite knowingly traversing around my subconscious (by foot, bicycle and automobile), which took the form of a town not quite unlike Warragul, searching for a lead as to where exactly this exciting tidbit of information hid.

An A-List dream cast of high school chums and chumettes all made cameos, and I explained to them all how I was actually dreaming them, and was searching for the meaning of life, which was hidden somewhere deep within my subconscious.

In hindsight, this is a very rude thing to say to a dream-person, but everyone was quite understanding.

Eventually, after a grand amount of old-fashioned detective work, I found my destination.

But getting to it wasn't easy.

It was in what appeared to be in the Herald Sun's offices.
Furthermore, it was in what appeared to be Andrew Bolt's office.
Furtherly furthermore, it was in his filing cabinet, in a file.

After much guff from hostile forces, I made it into Andrew's office.

I explained to Bolt that I was dreaming, and that I needed to look inside his filing cabinet.

Without a lot of choice at this late stage in the game, Bolt agreed and opened the cabinet.

I pulled a blank manila envelope from the cabinet and opened it up, read the contents, and then put it back.

And then I woke up.

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