3/16/2024 –
In this first dream scenario, I’m at the classic Real World high rise scenario. Here I set up my room, then I head out for a few days to hang with my wife. When I come back my brother is now in the same room as me as I wake up in the middle of the night. Wait a minute, why are we sharing rooms? You have your own room with your wife. I show him as much and he’s gone for a while but now he’s back.
I then realize that I have my own room but my brother tells me someone else has taken it. Wha? I need to head down there to see what’s up as I clearly got there first. When I show up though there are like six women living in the tiny space with all these bunk beds set up and I do not know what to do about the sitch at all. Maybe they should have it. Again with the theme of not being able to rest in peace.
Now another utterly bizarre scenario. I’m lying on a large messy bed watching TV and playing with a cat when this guy who’s place I’m staying at walks in with what I think is his new grandchild. This is freaky because it’s this incredibly tiny little skinny baby that has far more motor skills that it should at its size. Honestly, this should seem kind of creepy but it’s not. I’m immediately enamored with how cute the freak child is. So we’re playing with it on the bed for a while and I’m not so sure the smoosh faced long haired white cat should be on the bed at the same time as the baby but my friend isn’t concerned so I suppose it seems OK.
Then the baby wanders to the opposite side of the bed. The guy tries to stop him from falling off the side but he does anyway and then vanishes into thin air. Like, what the fuck happened to the baby dude? It should be on the blanket on the floor and the short fall shouldn’t have hurt it, but you know, it should actually be there. I’m freaking out about this far more than the bro who’s grandson it is, which I’m definitely finding off. We keep looking for a while and it does seem to have just magickly vanished.
In the next sitch I’m having sex with this pretty but dumb pale skinned young woman with fake pink long hair and tattoos and it’s like that’s why I’m having sex with her. It is her youth and stupidity that I’m fetishizing and it’s not working. I figured I’d be able to get off on this but I’m balls deep and it’s not happening. Such a complicated metaphor there and I am then straight up told in a liminal state that they’re just pointing out potential weak points in my psychology. Fair enough. Maybe there’s something there on an unconscious level.
3/17/2024 –
I’m buying weed from a guy I used to way back in the day and he hooks me up with a QP that he admittedly doesn’t think is great weed. I’m cool with it and I head out but for unexplained reasons it’s like a time warp happens and the next time I’m needing to re-up he’s now in this odd red roomed hotel lobby.
Immersed in this environment I become immediately aware that my dealer’s operation wouldn’t function at all without the support of this shady hotelier, who seems entirely comfortable with the arrangement. Now I’m aware that this also involves the sex trade and then I’m in this amazingly eerie red room dimension that’s seemingly intentionally invoking Twin Peaks imagery.
The secret back room of the hotel with all the secret sex and drug shenanigans.
I bask in the eerie spectacle for a spell before I move on, back out into the city streets. As I exit the red glow it’s like I’m in an alternate reality Seattle Center and there are people fighting for narcotics right out in front of me.
“Hey man, that guy’s got a pill and he’s not sharing anything.”
They start getting aggressive with one another and I see cops coming in to break it up.
“Fuck.”
I think to myself. Then I realize that wait a minute. I just have weed in my bag. There’s nothing they can do. I think about walking in the opposite direction but just keep moving right past them as they disperse the disruption in peace caused by the infernal jonesing. A hidden hell realm lurking behind the scene with the sex and narcotics trade? You don’t say. Only the millionth time I’ve tapped into that particular strain of ick.
Now I’m in Florida and there’s a huge controversy between Florida State and some unspecified smaller Florida university. There’s an upcoming big football game between the two and based on all the records and the rules of play, the smaller university should have the home field advantage. But Florida State pulled some shady backroom power moves and managed to get it instead. I gotta be honest, as someone who remembers how shit was rigged in Florida in the year 2000, I’m not super thrilled with this vision.
Also, I’m pretty sure Florida State football did in fact just go undefeated but didn’t get chosen for the college football playoffs this year. Yup, looked it up and true story, but they did then get hammered against Georgia in a bowl game proving their exclusion was justified. I uhh, I’m going to try not to think about that metaphor too much.
3/18/2034 –
Typical thing where I’m lying in bed but slightly phase out of my body into another form of existence, in the process getting that distinct sensation that the human reality is counterfeit. Obviously I’m a part of this much larger reality of consciousness and only temporarily bound to my humanity. Obviously. I did a podcast earlier in the day and that energy is crackling right outside my window on another plane.
In the next situation I’m answering my door and I have this elaborate computerized security apparatus. There are at least 4 or 5 white plastic boxes containing unidentified tech all attached to the wall near my door. I’m not sure what any of this does but there is an extending bar of plastic with a social media style “block” icon on it. I’m not sure how one would block someone from coming to your door but that’s the vision. Probably metaphorical for psychic self-defense.
Moving on to the next scenario, I’m now on vacation with my mom and it’s taking forever to pack out our stuff. The main thing I remember is this cabinet full of snacks. We’re just going to leave this all here? I guess it doesn’t matter. All of this is pretty snoresville honestly.
Eventually I find myself in an odd sitch where I’m in a classroom at work. I’m seemingly working and in some sort of class at the same time. A large work meeting/training I suppose. Anyway, we’re all handed these white binders filled with AI dossiers about us to our own bafflement. What?
It gets even more baffling as we dig into them as they’re utter shit. It’s a list of all our career prospects, interests, and my favorite: potential romance options. Except that it’s all pretty much dead wrong. It actually took me a minute to even figure out why my one potential dating option showed up and it’s like: uhhh, that woman who runs an art gallery downtown that friended me 10 years ago? I haven’t seen any of her posts in ages nor have I ever met her in actual life. This entire dossier on me is essentially garbage.
I’m so confused by all this and I look around at this other woman near me in class. A lot of the other students aren’t as perplexed but we’re commiserating on how absolutely wrong these dossiers are getting absolutely everything. Then we learn that the whole exercise was sponsored by Gatorade. Of course. Now we’re outside watching some sort of Gatorade themed parade holding our white binder folder dossiers. This other woman and I are just shrugging our shoulders at each other:
“What..the..fuck..is..this..trash?”
What the fuck indeed and yeah, wow, so hard to decipher this complicated metaphor I’ve been presented with.
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