The "I don't want to talk about AI" thread, and the new topic is: should we really be talking about our dreams?

You know which dreams I hate? I mean, really, really hate?

The ones where I wake up. But I'm not awake, so I have to actually wake up still. The worst I remember was dreaming of waking up seven times before I actually did wake up.
 
Well, I don't know about that. He described putting the mayo on the bread and mustard on the bologna. Didn't mention the sex of the bread, meat, or condiments.

Mayo feels like a very masculine condiment. For one, it ends in O and in languages that have gendered words, O is typically on masculine words. Secondly, it's a white, thick liquid and well, you know.

Stick bread has to be masculine. Buns with a slit, obviously feminine.

I'm not sure on bolonga. It ends in A so I'd say feminine but then it isn't pronounced like it ends in A.

I feel mustard could be bi - it's a very versatile condiment.
 
You know which dreams I hate? I mean, really, really hate?

The ones where I wake up. But I'm not awake, so I have to actually wake up still. The worst I remember was dreaming of waking up seven times before I actually did wake up.
D= I absolutely loath those dreams. And I always know I'm dreaming when they start happening, but I can't wake up. Which in a way just makes them worse! As they keep cycling round and round till I actually wake up, and then it takes me a while to be sure I've woken up for real this time.
 
You know which dreams I hate? I mean, really, really hate?

The ones where I wake up. But I'm not awake, so I have to actually wake up still. The worst I remember was dreaming of waking up seven times before I actually did wake up.
Or the ones where you try to scream but your voice is weirdly paralysed
 
Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
 
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