Who Is Brian Quinn?

Sir Brian Quinn - Subterranean Psycho-semantic - Coitus

I had this strange dream a while back. Me and a couple friends were walking around inside this palatial Victorian mansion. Don't know who these friends were exactly but we all knew it was a dream though we weren't sure which of us was the one actually dreaming.

"It must be mine," said one of my companions.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know. I just have this feeling."

"What kind of feeling?"

"Like I know what's about to happen or something. Like it all feels familiar."

"So what's going to happen right now," I turned to him.

Our other companion had wandered up the hallway out of sight though I could feel him nearby.

"You're about to do something sudden," said my companion. "To surprise me, something unexpected, you know, to prove it's not my dream."

He was right. That's exactly what I was about to do. Lick my finger and stick it in his ear. Something like that.

"But you wont because of what I just said. So instead you'll," he didn't finish.

"I'll what?"

He smiled. "That."

"What?"

"That. That right there."

"What? This?" I looked around.

"Yes. And then that. Gosh, it's strange. And then you'll try to do the sudden unexpected thing again."

I had been about to. To show him it wasn't his dream. It was mine. The wet finger in the ear.

"Then you wont because of what I just said."

"You said that already." He had. I glanced around. Something didn't feel right. For a moment I wasn't sure I was dreaming. Maybe it was his dream after all.

"Say," I said. "What if this isn't any of our dreams. I mean, what if you can share your dreams. So maybe we're all sleeping and this dream is going on and we're all taking part."

"No," he replied. "I know I'm not sleeping. I'm on the freeway, stuck in traffic."

"But I thought you said this was your dream?" I said. "And how do you know you're in traffic?"

He shook his head. "I just know. It's weird. Really. This can't be my dream. But it is."

"Maybe that's a dream. You being stuck in traffic," I said.

"Maybe."

"What about him?" I motioned to our other companion.

"Who is he?"

I looked up the hallway. Everything seemed covered in this bleary dream haze, all I could see was a dim shape against a far wall covered in tapestries. "You don't know him?" I said. "He's a friend. I guess."

"A friend? Who are you?" he said, pointing at me.

"Me? Manny. I'm Manny, Manfred Milner. We're friends," though I wasn't so sure. For one thing, I couldn't recall his name either.

He nodded as though my answer were sufficient. "I'll tell you what I think," he said. "I think with dreams there isn't really any now or then or later or anything. No time. Just here. Whether you're sleeping or awake you can still appear in anyone's dream anytime and maybe it's your dream, maybe it's mine. Or it's all just everybody's." He left off, staring down the hallway.

"But that means when I wake up I'm still in this dream, with you and him because maybe he's asleep, or you fall asleep in traffic or something and the dream goes on. That's confusing. I don't think that's right."