It comes to the question from Miss Tynes which comes to mind as this is written — the question of if sometimes we dream in color,  when it comes to nightmares sometimes they don’t want to be seen in color.  It would be in the eyes of the thoughts which are when one is staring at their closed eyelids that it would be in the nightmare that would show in the graphic truth.  In this darkness which enclosed around ones mind as the sleep comes — the nightmares slowly grip in the sleep,  but this dream that I had when I was asleep was one where I was laying on a shrinks couch and he was looking at the writings which I had penned about the nightmare I had earlier in the month.  The picture of which would come to my mind is that he had me count back from one hundred.    I was covered with a blanket and all I heard was the word, “sleep.” 
     “Count back from one hundred and relax — that one would be allowed to float off,”  the doctor said in a relaxed voice — “take yourself back the point where the nightmares started.”   This was something I did not want to do because I knew how the graphic truth was in the back of the mind.  The forthcoming thoughts that would be in the nightmares written in the pages of reality — that it was the genesis of the end.   The doctor in the dream looked much like an ex that I had dated awhile back,  don’t remember her name but that was not important.  Though it was the method that the doctor told me to breath in was that similar to what the holistic therapist had me do — though it was different here.  The doctor wanted me to bring out the images from the nightmare I had earlier in the month, namely the entry that I had written on November 11th.   It was frightening because it seems like the pattern is the number 11.
     The thoughts that would be in the mind when I was going limp — the rest of my body acted as if my neck had been snapped.  Mentally — my body was not able to move but it would be when the horror would slowly begin to draw itself out — that it would be in the dream where I could see the slow crumbling.  The rapid phasing in and out of the towers and the tarot card.  It would appear so fucked up in the back of ones mind — when it would feel from the eyes of a small child when someone takes away their teddy bear.   When everything would appear in the back of the mind — when everything is really fucked up.    It would be in the words of the preacher across the hall saying that it would be the panorama of the end.  It would in the panorama  which is in the back of the mind that one would not to see in the dreams but it would be there — the doctor said for me to go deeper back in the dream and draw out what I was able to see. 
      Something that I was too afraid to do because of the nightmares which came up were in a dark sequence — that in the panorama which is of the crumbling.  The details were too graphic to really describe but it would be in the journals from the points of views of those who were in the black ashes and burning glass.  The nightmare in the panorama — it would be the images of the preachers on the street saying that the end is coming, the end is here.   T  he morning of suffering and tomb that is 120 floors — and fire burning away flesh like a candle.  It would be in the sleeping dream when we see the graphic truth,  from this would be in the minds when one would see the war coming into the mind — in the black executions when we could not do a fucking thing but watch 3,900 people die.  In name of what God is one supposed to die — killing in the name of religion.  What is seen in the smoke is the baphomet,  that it would be in the eyes of those knowing it was not their time — no one knew honestly when it was their time.
      In the graphic truth which is cutting deeper as a razor across the flesh, that it would be in the dark gathering in the nightmares watching within the panorama.    When everything looks so still — even when they are running like hell, it appears in slow motion; in black and white.  It would be in the smoke and burning flesh is what  I would smell as they would scream as everyone around them dissipates into dust,  near to incineration.  It is in the burning glass which slowly dismembers the ones falling out of the building into their death.   In the nightmares of the horrors divine,  it would be in the fears written from the eyes of the angels of pain.  It would be in the eyes of the angels crying their tears of blood — in the nightmares written, the dead of many is the beginning.   The panorama draws near when one would see the fires falling — and the nightmare sinks in too deep but one would be afraid to awaken.   It would be in the mind would be written in the graphic truth.  I stand there in the horror with them as they know they were not going to live — but I could not feel any of the ashes burning my flesh,  because this was part of the dream inside the panorama.
       Then I was hearing a disembodied voice saying it is okay and was shaking me awake — I could feel the flesh of the persons body flaking off of me, it smelled like it was burning and it turned out to be the doctor.  I was thinking what the fuck — then I woke again in the dream and she was normal.   Then she wanted me to write everything down as I had seen it — it was nothing that I would really describe in words.  All I can see and word is that in the horror would be the burning glass and the cinders which was once a person.  I could see in the back of my mind of how fast the flesh burned off of their bones and how fast their bones turned to dust in the cinders.  Nothing that I can describe can pull the horror out of my mind — not even within many hours in sessions with a shrink.  As I had laid in the spa on October 18th,  I did not tell the therapist of the nightmares playing out in my mind as I had laid there — it would still be fresh in the mind as it would be there, getting heavier on the soul.  That it would be if the nightmares were that close to what one would do if they were dead and in hell.  The towers were falling like Sodom and Gomorrah.
      I kept hearing the doctor saying,  “Nickolaus — it is okay — you were dreaming, and nothing more”  but as I was sitting up from being covered with the blankets I was still wrapped and was looking in absolute horror.    That I was thinking in my mind — “No — it cannot fucking be —  GGGGGGodddd — nnooooo!!!!!”   It would be in this that I would sit in horror in the description playing out in the mind.   She was telling me that I will heal but this is something that would still cast its welcome burden.  The doom written out in the mind when it fogs up the dreams in ones sleep — that it would be the scars of time.  It would be coming in the thoughts descending from the pits of hell that would best be the words written in the eyes of the dead when they know that they would never have their voices — that their dreams all had been raped and molested before their eyes.  That it would be in the horror written out in the picture from the panorama of smoke.  It would be the black figure looking and pointing back at me — that its shadow stares at me, that shadow being the spirit of death itself.   Only that one describes in that would be the nightmare in the nightmare — horrors between the mind and nightmarish horrors that stand between the ones who are alive and the ones who are in the mass cremation.
     When it rains ashes, fire and glass — the snow that is on the ground is not snow but a frightening gray ash,  which appears as a nuclear winter.  When fires rain from the skies — one would know that the nightmares of blood had only begun;  when death is just the beginning of everything.  The beginning of the end of everything — the panorama which shows the death caused by the hatework.   In the horror and fright which burns itself into the human soul — it would be the look in the eyes of the ones who cannot do a fucking thing but run like hell when they see the panorama.   It would be in the black panorama where everyone around them stands still; as they would appear frozen in time when the horror grows like a blob of smoke.   In my sanity the question remains — why was I the one who had to see the most graphic truth inside the dream,  that it would be all to harrowing to describe but it sits in my mind strong as the day it had happened — the revelation of the horrors in the freakish nightmares of those who would walk around charred but not alive.
      Among the horror which is there among the nightmare — the cemetery prayers written in the mind would stand in the horrors, that it would be when the horror is without end.   That in the nightmare would be closer to death — the smoke grows closer when we are no longer able to breath.  The charred immolation would be when the flesh turns numb from the flames.  When the flames grow higher — that is when one would realise that the second horror is born,  when the funeral pyre grows from the tower.  While trying to run — it would appear as one would be in place and not going anywhere.  When one would see the angel in black wings — the angel of death;  it would be when I would feel its cold fingers I would find myself awakened in my bed.  It would be about 6:30 PM when I woke up and the television was glowing bright — Punishment: Cruel and Unusual was airing during that time,  the horror from that is what kept me awake long enough to do the writing in the journal that I am writing now.   That it would be the panorama playing in the mind as one would see the death of a journalist in the dream at the same time as one would see the rest of the panorama.