(The Strange Dreams A Traveler Has … continued … This was written from 3:55 AM to 4:20 AM in my bedside notebook.) By candlelight, I’ll try to recall some details. So much of what I dreamt is inexpressible, hyper-dimensional — these bits of pieces of image left in my mind seem to travel in flashes, and though the images are still fresh, they don’t even seem to belong to a dream narrative. And again, as I have before, I ask, is it possible that we dream more than one dream at the same time? Maybe we dream in different channels and perhaps sometimes these channels collapse into one another. 
So, a friend and I were walking in an underground network of passages, not unlike the kind of web I walk through in Tokyo everyday. My friend was smoking the strangest brand of cigarettes – they seemed to come from the pockets of a surfer – there were bits of sand in the pack, and the cigarette tubes all seemed to have the appearance of having been wet and then dried. I grabbed a cigarette, but as is my custom, I suggested we find a better place to smoke in the open air. I guided him out of one of the many possible exits, insisting I knew a good one. We emerged from the exit to such a wonderful sight – across the small street, not more than 40 feet away, waves were crashing against the rocks and we stood in the seaspray. The waves were so strong – it seemed an ordinary day, judging by the skies and the feeling in the air, but the waves were spilling over onto the highway. Above and behind us, there was a steep bank. And during high tide, I got the impression that the ocean would rise up this bank, placing the road 20 or 30 feet under water. Now, the strangest thing, the reason I’m telling you about this dream (cause it’s true that most dreams are unremarkable enough that they’re not worth further discussion) – water creatures could be seen swimming through the air, as if they had not caught up to the tide, as if the low tide had left them behind. And then, I, myself, was able to float in this air that seemed to be haunted by the memory of being water to the point that it exhibited the same properties. I had to kick my legs to get back down to the level of the road, which was by now mostly covered with water and sand, since the tide seemed to be rising. If I stretched my body horizontally, I floated upwards, hovering at the same level as the top of the bank — I guess you could say, it was the surface at which air meets air. A girl, a fellow traveler in this strange scene, panicked because a strange sea creature got caught in her hair. And how strange this creature was – about the same diameter as a plum, it seemed to be a hybrid of a furry spider and an octopus. But a surfer I barely remember speaking to later in the dream insisted it was quite common for these creatures to get in your hair, and that they were in fact quite harmless.
 And now fortunately after 30 minutes of writing and straining to remember, I have faithfully recounted the contents of the dream. And now I excuse myself to return to sleep, though incredibly hungry. I’ll wake up again in 5 hours, and instead of exiting sleep and ending up near an ocean, I’ll simply be in the same place as usual, and bravely I’ll have to face everyday life, the scariest thing of all.