From Peter
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Because I have no clue where else to put the fucking thing. Dreams have been light on details that was worse than remembering them all. Two things, one, does this/or any dream in my head go all the way to japan one shot over the ocean in that way. Unlikely; more likely to make several stops or layovers through the different countries two, this dream on a globe assumes the map we use is accurate and also assumes the flat earth map is accurate when the FE hypothesis coming back says we should just double check that representation(mostly).

tl;dr i dont think planes have gas to take chances over the ocean like that even on a globe and both your maps are flat 2d projections.


I need a lawyer to sue my bad dreams. Had one last night, didn't start scary, but ended that way. For whatever reason, I was in trouble and got a bunch of paperwork I had to file in the mail, and as I reluctantly set about the task, I began to procrastinate and in pure dream logic, the setting just shifted to a nasty old house. As I walked around, I saw a room with a creepy painting of a young boy in it, and when I entered, the door shut behind and a disembodied boy's voice said something like 'I'm the prince. Would you like to play with me?" Predictably, I panicked and tried to find a way out when I instantly found myself at a desk with the paper work before, looking at the creepy room on the monitor of my computer as though the haunted house were a video game. I said "What the Hell am I doing, I gotta get back to work!" and woke up.


Should some ripe scholar, gentle and benign,
With candour, care, and judgment thee peruse:
Thy faults to kind oblivion he'll consign;
Nor to thy merit will his praise refuse.
Thou may'st be searched for polish'd words and verse
By flippant spouter, emptiest of praters:
Tell him to seek them in some mawkish verse:
My periods all are rough as nutmeg graters.
The doggerel poet, wishing thee to read,
Reject not; let him glean thy jests and stories.
His brother I, of lowly sembling breed:
Apollo grants to few Parnassian glories.
Menac'd by critic with sour furrowed brow,
Momus or Troilus or Scotch reviewer:
Ruffle your heckle, grin and growl and vow:
Ill-natured foes you thus will find the fewer.