The moon was full this past week, lending a strange quality to my dreams as always. On more than one occasion, I found myself encountering places that I'd been to before in other dreams. While looking at a subway map, trying to give directions, I remembered to tell my friend to avoid that intricate maze of a station she would encounter at 42nd Street. After all, I'd spent an entire dream trapped in that fictional station earlier this year.
In another dream, I was driving with a friend en route to a record store that I'd been to before, though couldn't remember where it was. I ran through a list of nearby towns, knowing it wasn't in any of them. In the dream, I even called the Missus at her work to ask her if she remembered where the record store was, the one located in the brick fronted shopping center with a canopy walkway, the one with two floors, with "St-Z" being in that weird corner and the vinyl kept upstairs. There was a moment in the dream when I felt maybe I'd only dreamed the store before, but quickly shook that away and proceeded to a town doesn't really exist, only to wake up before ever finding the store.
Why bring this up? Simply because I feel there is an order to the randomness of the world within our dreams. We each have our own personal Interzone that can be mapped and navigated, however unwieldy the logic may seem. In some ways, writing novels is a similar type of chaos. A collection of images, impressions, and fragments of conversation that need pieced together in some semblance of sense. In that way, dreams not only lend inspiration to story, they also serve as an implementation to the process. So for that, I say to you...dream on.