(Entered in paper journal at 6 PM at home in Harlem.)
Dream 1
I stood along a greenbelt or some park-like area that ran beside a street. Planes filled the sky and began crashing down. I had to dodge one.
Now I was in the backseat of a car. In the driver's seat was Stephen King. There were two or three other people in the car. Everybody except I spoke about this new disaster with the hijacked airplanes.
Suddenly I remembered I had dreamed this and written it in my dream book. I felt frightened of the coincidence and guilty that I had done nothing, with this foresight, to stop the disaster. But I also thought I might be able to do something now that I recognized everything.
I burst out in tears. I tried to tell Stephen King clearly that I had had precognitive knowledge of the disaster. King got upset and told me that psychic phenomena aren't real and are only for novels.
I was ashamed to have been told this by King. But it was also like I hadn't even heard him. I shuffled through my dream book, trying to find the dream in question.
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