Writing, Magazines, Fame!

This whole piece could use some spring cleaning. Also, Hannah and I are starting a new lit mag. It is called Hell Dome. Let us know if you have something awesome to put in't.

I dreamed that I was sitting with a woman of indeterminate age. She had short hair, stark white and muddy purple. Her face was a woman's face, I remember no details; neither of us had bodies, we were concepts like many things in my dreams.

She posed a question, "If science exists, what place does god have?"

This may not have been the question she asked. As I try to remember, details sway, and I wonder if she in fact asked what place science has in a world of belief. Even this question is merely a permutation of a possibly false remembrance; I feel now that the act of writing the question betrays and cheapens its basic nature.

It was a space, a dream, and I was being questioned about something which mattered.

I don't know how I answered, but there was a pause, and we watched each other and she had dark black hair now. It flowed into the dream night around us and I woke myself asking

"Was I correct?"

Now, I finish writing, and realize the correct response which may have lengthened the dream or eclipsed the reality I woke to this morning. Before this too fades; I should have asked

"Was I true?"