"...I didn't ask for this"

"Who am I that Angels would speak to?"

That's the question I ask. Dreams. Again, and again. Holy dreams. I don't seek them, and even don't want them, but they keep invading my cynical angry self. Some presence is trying to make a point. This happens all the time to many...no matter if they want it or not.

Beware inking down of your dreams. They'll either end up in some future holy scripture, and or as evidence at your trial. This runs through my mind as I try to make a kind of coherent sense of my dreams of late.

If I was still seeing a shrink I think she or he would quickly explain these phantoms away. They always did, but I never bought their crap. No idea where what or who. All I know is it's happening. The details are personal. Each gets a unique message or messages.

Time is not linear, and space warps. The damned thing stretches contracts , and twists. Like origami on crack whiskey, and pastries.

I mean just ask Niels Bohr...he'll give you an earful.

I don't know which is worse. The stupid , and disjointed terrors, and boredom of my regular nightmares. That or this holy crap that won't go away.

Then when it does split I'm empty confused pissed, and want it either back or at least an explanation of the damned intrusions.

Who am I who are we that Angels would speak to.