Dreamworld

I do love my marijuana and have been a proud pothead since I was a teenager, lo, those many decades ago, back when TV had three channels and people owned typewriters. But it has one negative effect for me. When I smoke a lot (and when I smoke, I tend to smoke a lot) I can’t remember my dreams. Which is a shame, because dreams are interesting, and I’d like to have more communication with the dream world than less.
Anyway, I’ve been out of pot for a few days (sometimes when I run out I do a cleanse for a few days before restocking) and so for the last 3 nights I’ve paid a great deal of attention to my dreams.
I can’t say they’ve offered any tremendous psychological insight, but the scenery has been beautiful. The first one was set in a small village which was maybe southeast Asian or South American, quite tropical, and lots of beautiful women about. The second I seemed to be going back and forth between London and Los Angeles, per the conversations, but it actually looked nothing like either one and as I looked out my window, it was a view of a thick green hillside (although the Los Angeles river, that little concrete sewer, was flowing along at the bottom) and in among that neon greenery were chickens, particularly one rooster who was about the size of a Dalmation, mostly black with red highlights, and last night, it was a mix of Prague and someplace very Mediterranean, and I was spending a lot of time on a bus, which would drop me off in different people’s back yards, and I would try to sneak out the back gate before they saw me. Also, I was back in school, which was a series of single story, white buildings with no glass in the windows and no doors in the doors, and most of the other students were black and one of them got really angry with me for eating food off the table.
No great insights. No new poems. But a bit of a mental vacation.