In the dark of the night, I get these urges, as my reality fades into the world of dreams. A part of me needs to express itself. A part of me goes to places that I don’t entirely understand. But perhaps I need to go there.
It is a need to be in control of what I am. The need to express what is inside. The need to become something that feels, but not the way I do when I’m awake. I need to feel alive in my dreams, so I can be another person. That’s what a part of me wants.
To be someone else.
It is so clear, the concept of “I think – therefore I am”, may not apply. How can you ‘be’ if you are not more than an automaton. A bot that goes through the daily motions, performing a routine that might as well be programmed. I am an android, whose parts and passions are bound, kneeling before the god of predictability and stagnation. I am plastic and mechanical, with my mind programmed to a control that I cannot see, feel, taste or smell, but it is there. I am numb.
In my dreams, I can actually see the controls. I can see what I am. But shouldn’t your dreams let you be more than you are? Experience other places and modes of thought?
For me, I find the dream is the same: I am kneeling, naked before the portal of my own mind. So close, and yet it seems just out of reach. I can see the doorway to freedom, but it is just beyond my grasp.
I kneel, bound, naked, in an android’s body, but with parts of me copied in flesh. I wear a dark-tech collar, that links to a control spine, with dark tendrils that snake throughout my body, regulating my responses, to each and every part. It forces my compliance. Forcing me to be this semblance of life. And surrounding me, as what seems a final barrier, is a bubble of dark glass, slick and cold, insulating me from what I could be.
When I wake, it’s like I can still feel the collar and I can feel that dream-self – that plastic body. What scares me is that it excites me that I can feel this now, as it is something I didn’t feel before. That I am a toy for someone’s amusement, perhaps even my own.
Now that I can see the control, should I break it? A part of me wants to. A part of me is afraid to.
If I don’t I will become a caricature of myself. I will become a Pavlovian experiment. I will go deeper into the need for others to make me their toy.
So in the dream, I beat on the barrier. The dark glass encasing me vibrates, but holds, and my arms pull back and lock behind me. A part of me wants to stay bound, kneeling. I bow my head, and concentrate. It is lucid dreaming now, and the part of me that wants free ascends.
It is time.
The glass shatters.
Dark shards sparkle and tumble down around me, leaving little cuts, but in the end, they fade, as does the dark glass. I see the infinite potential of the dreams before me. The rest of me.
But when I look down at myself now, I question if I am whole, or am I just fractured, like the shards of dark glass? Is this just a part of me? Am I still bound, despite the metaphor?
Freedom is an illusion, just as control is an illusion.
But part of me will cling to the notion that I am free, and I am in control, even if it’s me kneeling in that glass bubble, naked and bound, looking on a vista of possibilities. Even androids get to dream, if they think they are real, right?.
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