Dreams are weighty things.

They come and stay with us all too briefly, and leave us thoroughly ruffled, windswept. Today I am heavier than the night before, having been pinned down by my own subconscious for what felt like hours. 

Early this morning, I watched construction workers commuting to work on the underground, sleepily swaying in their seats, like buoys, riding small internal currents. 

Dreams are jet streams. 
Are dreamers the jettisoned? 

They make me feel vulnerable just looking at them. I want to shout- your stop is coming up! But they are preoccupied: they find small soundless solaces in shutting their eyes.

I’ve been thinking about some kind of dream physics: about floating and sinking, about weight and sleep edges and that’s how I came upon these images. Is the rock rising or falling? Is it still or have we caught it on a trajectory? Sometimes our way into a dream is a precarious ladder. We might emerge from it on a zip line. Metaphysical modes of transportation. We are it seems travellers. 

Is waking emerging or being washed-up? 

Lucie Treacher, September 2020.