Nothing is real anyway. It’s all just electrical signals in the mind. That’s why it feels odd to run into someone you had an unexpected sex dream about. The sharpness of the memory, the remainder of lust, the paranoid need to keep it secret: all just signals, each as strong as your awareness that it never actually happened. Different kinds of desire can seem interchangeable, I think, like how the familiarity of this man feels a bit like the intimacy of having dream-fucked a friend.
