I had a dream that someone blew my brains out. It felt so real. And I actually died. It didn't hurt, but I felt wind go through my head.

For some reason, though, I either didn't die or came back as something less than living.

I remember dusty roads, a blue sky, air the colour of blue-chrome, a cold sort of look, a lonely and old sort of look, a baseball field with a curved fence (the one that looms behind the batter's plate/mound/whatever).

I also think I sought revenge. Woke up before things started making sense.

I knew the guy who shot me. Way back from childhood.

They say every face in a dream is one from real life. Dreams do not come from nothing.

Speaking of dreams, I saw Inception tonight. Very good film.

I can't think.