Last night I had a dream.

It made no sense, as dreams often do.
Yet it bordered on truth,
as they often also do

Mike, or whatever his name is–the guy in Castle-Esposito’s partner–
was up to no good.

There was some kind of knowledge he could get from a computer that was in Castle and Beckett’s possession that would make him rich for the rest of his life. He was trying to access it by creeping out to their barn on a very dark night.

All kinds of adventures took place, many involving lights on and then suddenly off, extension cords and flashlights

But the thing that stuck with me afterward was”how could he have done this?”

Trust is such a bedrock of reality.

I trust in gravity.

I trust in science, although I know science much better than to trust in all its most extreme conjectures or those who would say they are much more than just that.

I trust in orgasms, and those who give or gave them to me,
although some who once gave them to me I now know to never trust again.

I trust in people
I trust that they always do their best
bad as it may be.

I trust my brain for that’s all I have to bow down to logic with,

which I seem to trust above all.

Is that Frodo’s ring?
Must I cast it into the fire to ever regain bliss?

Truth is central, too..
What is real if it is not 

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