Post every day, right?

The poetess says to blog every day. Write just to write. OK, perhaps I can indulge in some stream-of-consciousness.Oh! I can write about a dream I had the other night!

In the dream, I was in my persona of campus bum, university-fringe-low-salary-slacker guy who occasionally took a class, but mostly took advantage of the easy environment the University of North Texas provided. In the dream I claimed to be a Computer Science major to someone, but I was really exaggerating that as I hadn't taken a class in years (and in real life was a poor CSCI student).

So here I am, in the dream, wandering around this classroom, getting set to study something or other, early in the morning, before other students were making their way through the building. I was in a large classroom, and had taken my shoes off and was basically making a slobbish display of myself, shocking the prim and proper academics and ambitious graduate students. I had my study materials all over a place I had no right to, and felt kind of self-conscious when others showed up.

But as it happened, students coalesced around me, set up their computers, and began working on music theory lessons. The teacher showed up too, but nothing was happening. No music was being played, no lecture was happening. The students just continued to study. I wandered about the room, where I found lots of electronic keyboards in various states of repair, mostly from the 70s. I remember lusting after some of them, wishing I could take them home. Then I realized I was in a flipped classroom - the students were doing their homework in class, having tackled new material last night. I approached the teacher and asked him to demonstrate the lessons, and he began to give me a very baffling explanation that involved the trajectory of tea leaves in a cup that belonged to Abraham Lincoln the last day of his life, and the very bullet that killed him. At the end of the demonstration he levitated an old-style rife bullet, and then it darted to a handheld device, as if it were producing some sort of tractor beam.

Very strange - but I felt inspired. He had spoken eliptically, poetically, but was using formulas, non-linear equations, and words in combinations I'd never heard before. It was poetry, math, and music, all fused together, like the Glass Bead Game. Two phrases came to me as I woke up - "the book of morning", and "the charmed triangle". I'm no poet, but if I were those would be put in a poem.

Anyway, there was my dream, and this is my blog post.