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Me, reading the idea I wrote down the previous night: What the fuck does “dog fruit beer” mean?
What the fuck does “dog fruit beer” mean?
Correct battery horse staple!
I woke up to, ‘chair cat power spin fun’ in my notebook one morning.
Look, Sigmund! Look at the sky!
Many years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with absolute proof of God’s existence. I went back to sleep and woke the next morning remembering that I had proof, but not remembering what the proof was.
Being the agnostic that I am, I have to move forward without any belief in anything and disregard the memory.
If God wants me to believe, they have to resubmit their proof of existence.
Maybe in writing. In triplicate.
And then one day, nearly two thousand years after one man had been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice to people for a change, a girl, sitting on her own in a small cafe in Rickmansworth suddenly realised what it was that had been going wrong all this time and she finally knew how the world could be made a good and happy place. This time it was right, it would work, and no-one would have to get nalied to anything. Sadly, however, before she could get to a phone to tell anyone, the Earth was unexpectedly demolished to make way for a new hyperspace bypass and so the idea was lost forever.
A friend and I were on a phone call and discovered the meaning to life. Absolute, certain, irrefutable meaning of life. There was no questioning it, no misunderstanding it.
It is gone. Neither of us can remember it. All we can remember is that the conversation started by me describing the “cloacal kiss,” the mating method of chickens.
Neither of us were high or drunk or (above normal) sleep deprived.
probably to valiantly but ultimately fail to defeat entropy. to do actions that hold back entropy at all cost
That sounds like some Lovecraftian story: briefly glimpsing knowledge beyond human limits, then losing it forever.
Amd then go violently mad about it
In an interview, Francois Truffaut asked Alfred Hichcock if he ever used his dreams for film material. Hitchcock said, no - never. Truffaut asked why. Hitchcock said that once he woke up in the middle of the night after a dream containing a brilliant idea for a movie. So he got up and scribbled it down. In the morning, he remembered he’d written something down, and read his note. It said, “Boy meets girl”.
Don’t worry it probably wasn’t as good as you remember.
That reminds me of how a few years back I wanted to keep a dream journal to learn lucid dreaming. One morning I got out of the bed writing down the dream(s?) I had in detail and was happy with how much I wrote down. Then some time later I woke up with my notes nowhere to be seen to find out that I wrote the notes in a fucking dream, fuck. I’m still disappointed about that. I don’t even remember what the dream was about. I probably would remember if I had the notes. >:(
There’s also the opposite to this, when someone else reads your stuff and says they really like a certain part, and you look to see what it was and it’s something you wrote 'cause you just needed a transition from point A to point B and you put zero thought into it/don’t even remember writing it.
Nobody ever likes the bits you agonized over for ages and thought were really good lol.
Oh boy i can’t wait to tell my girlfriend tomorrow.
Tomorrow: …hmmm
It’s never truly lost, you’ll come upon it again in the future when you’re busy or writing something entirely unrelated. Such is the way of things.
Always have notebook next to bed.
Or a phone.
A simple note-taking app on a phone easily replaces the notepad, and you probably already have one next to your bed and in your pocket almost everywhere you go.
Or some tater tots.
