1/18/2024 –
One of those situations where everything seems super surreal and bonkers, as if time is moving in both forward and reverse simultaneously. This all involves some sort of family gathering (shocker). The main thing I remember is that at one point there’s like this stage area and my sister is in a kitchen on the stage cooking. This is a game and she’s impersonating someone. I’m supposed to guess who she’s doing an impression of. I am completely confused by this entire exercise so I keep asking:
“Are you supposed to be a celebrity? Just a regular person? What the hell’s going on here?”
Again, she’s cooking in a kitchen on a stage, doing an impression and I’m supposed to guess who she’s impersonating, which I never manage to do. In fact, I have no idea what comes of this game but the next thing I remember I’m chasing this voluptuous musician from the Seattle psych rock scene a decade ago through this place where we’re hanging out. Eventually she’s naked and I’m slapping her flesh with the reddish mud colored paint in my hands every time I manage to catch up with her. It’s naked paint tag. She’s a very full bodied woman and I have no problems with this part of the dream.
Down the road it gets a bit more quotidian though and seems to be an analysis of how my auto-immune depressive personality affects my relationship with my family. I keep almost telling them that they’re lucky I even bother spending time with them because of it. Now, this is complicated because there is this other thing where my family doesn’t give a shit about me but then again, I suppose I have to contemplate that I am a depressive weirdo and that does have something to do with the entire dynamic. I was always very “counter culture”, as if such a thing even exists anymore. This always created tension.
Mainly though, it has something to do with how boring I find normal life, which is what I’m almost telling them but not. I find your lives very boring. This transitions into another situation where everyone else is full but I’m still super hungry and can’t find more food. Again, just poignantly pointing out to me how my Hashimoto’s disease has influenced my entire life, which is only something I’ve been mildly aware of for the last 4 years. Going through periods of unquenchable hunger is just a part of that fun hand I’ve been dealt.
Then one other thing I remember involving some band. It’s like I hear a band on the radio and I start warping back in time to when I saw them live, then into the present where I’m listening to them through the living room speakers again. I seem to be hung up on the fact that I only saw them live once but the time loop thing where I keep warping back to that sparsely attended concert, then back into the present is certainly making my head spin. And this mind fuck/time fuck sensation is why I’m only remembering small chunks of this particular night of astral excursions.
1/19/2024 –
A liminal declaration that what’s going on in this realm is punishment, followed by the motivation behind the sentence:
“Maybe the prisoners will feel shame.”
While pulling out of a sleep state later I’m now told:
“People have spirits.”
I’m contemplating this transmission in another liminal state in the mid morning sitting at my desk smoking a cigarette before I realize that wait a minute. I’m not sitting at my desk smoking a cigarette, I’m lying in my bed in a trance state on the other side of the room. I don’t even smoke cigarettes. It actually takes me a sec here to process the fact that I’m not sitting at my desk taking a drag because I feel like I’m bilocated. Cigarette smokers sure do have a tendency to ignore the consequences of their addiction until it’s already too late though, don’t they?
I’m now told we’re going to lose our home. Environmental collapse. Seems about right.
When I pull myself awake an hour or so later I’m in the midst of another vision. Here I’m looking at someone wearing this choice t-shirt. It features a picture of a futuristic looking ancient civilization from above. A city of intricate pyramid rock dwellings with glowing interiors illuminated by a white light sunset at dusk. Whatever did happen to that whole vibe?
1/20/2023 –
I’m watching a band up on a fairly large stage and I’d say I’m in about the10th ascending row. Good seats and I’m a decent amount above them. They’re playing what I’d consider to be the most standard boring mid-tempo white people guitar rock imaginable and they also look like the most standard slightly scruffy white guys in blue jeans imaginable as well. There are two clean guitarists strumming at roughly the same thing and I look over to the guy on the right and start for some reason fixating on just the part he’s playing. My lord is it half assed.
Further down the road I’m in the classic scenario where I’m staying in a fancy European hotel with my family and I’m packing all of my shit up so I can leave, which is far more tedious than it ever should be. Eventually I do make one final sweep where I’m just throwing a few piles of random junk into a large white plastic bag. This is ridiculous because I’m throwing like waffles on top of clothes and sneakers and shit but at this point I don’t care. The white plastic bag goes into the van and we’re off.
The next thing I know I’m watching a telepathic educational film with another student. These blocks of information are merging with our spirit and educating us to all the horrific abuses of this one bald and haggard looking white prison guard. Near the end of this, the instructor sort of pulls us aside and is all:
“And now let’s fast forward to the end to see how all this turned out.”
And we’re taken to a sort of run down house in Austin, Texas and the guard is lying dead on his small concrete front porch in the mid-morning sun. It’s a rather gruesome and jarring site and we’re getting the vibe that he killed himself from the inner torment but it isn’t explicitly specified. What I can say is that I’m suddenly not super sure I want to continue with this class because it’s disturbing but it is in fact right in tune with the prisoners feeling shame bit from the night before tho’.
One other thing. In nearly the same fashion these white blocks of telepathic information are now downloading a different lesson plan into my spirit. This time it’s a lesson about this thin young middle eastern woman with angular features and chin length straight black hair. I wouldn’t guess that she’s more than 22. She’s a rapper and what’s significant is the amazingly unique nature of her flow. I’m seeing how the words are pieced together with the beat in the most off kilter fashion imaginable in these astral dialogue box windows. I can’t actually hear anything but I’m imagining the peculiar cadence of her surprisingly deep voice. It’s like a written music review that I can visualize and feel but can’t hear. And yet, my mind is inventing what I’m imagining this would sound like based on what I’m being shown.
Oh the strange and necessary futility in writing about sound.
Also, while you're here, do you like psychedelic industrial noise rock? Of course you do!
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