There exists a collective-dream, not a utopia, nor a dream of liberation, rather a melancholic rhythm that dances  elliptically. The immanency of the image, of she or he who sleeps, so deep that it pulls me apart, I loose all knowledge of myself; simultaneously it is I who watches this image of another. I dream that you travel, I always travel, never stay. Do you want to know this?  You sometimes come to me, adore me,fear me. The collective-dream remains throughout. I always wanted to be funny,to be sweet,whatever happened to me. I became so divisive, on top of nothing much at all. As you all sleep… I write. You all dream. You all dream, in much the same way you live – you all dream as I write.