3/11/2023 -
I have this vision of these 6 tunnels stacked on top of one another in a factory like environment. All of them are plain gray, except for one that's all decked out in freaky hyper-color ridiculousness. This crazy day glow art tunnel? They're still working out the kinks on that one. This is the point to my existence. The succinctness and specificity of this message shouldn't be understated. I get it, there are various template pathways through the human realm. Most of them are normal. I have a constant deluge of insane shizo art always coursing through my experience. I'm sure the new surrealist art explosion human lives will be fully available for mass consumption soon. I love the Near Death Experience "light at the end of the tunnel" metaphor too I must say.
Now I'm I'm watching viral footage of this sports brawl on my phone, except that in the middle of doing so I realize that I'm sitting in the front row of this sporting event and I didn't even notice it was going down. There's barely anyone here. It was happening kind of over my shoulder and about 100 yards away from me and so it was out of my field of vision. But it has got like a million views on my phone. Again with the succinct metaphors. I mean, doesn't that sum up US politics in the social media age rather succinctly?
The next thing I know I'm going to an art house theater to catch the new Cronenberg movie. It's this slow and rather excellent film about a consciousness warping song back in I'd say the late 50's/Early 60's. All I really remember is thin men wearing fedoras and the classic skinny suit look having their minds shifted out of themselves and into other adjacent perspectives by this amazingly eerie wordless tune that's played through their old timey radios. I wish I remembered more of the details. In my opinion it wasn't Cronenberg's best, but also solid. Very slow and understated, ethereal. Definitely unsettling but in a different way than most of his work.
I'm geeking out on it a bit with another theater patron and everything's cool until we realize that it's not. We're relying on this bus to get us all home and it's simply not doing that. It's taking days. We're all bored as absolute fuck and I'm freaking out because I'm supposed to be at work.
Now I'm in this high rise apartment that I'm living in with these other Cronenberg film refugees. At one point I'm sleeping in this amazing glass encased sleep station. So you know those crazy high rise glass bottom pools? This is like a glass encased bed area jutting out from the rest of the building and it's spectacular. I look around and realize I'm in New York City. I mean, what better place to sleep in a glass encased sleep pod high above the city?
The night goes on forever though and we're super bored. It's excruciating. Eventually the morning comes and we're at the bus station. Except that I ferret out that this bus isn't going to take us back to Seattle either. It's actually like an NYC Jimi Hendrix tour or something. Electric Lady Studios is still there I suppose. I'm so pissed that I'm literally calling the woman working at the bus station a cunt, which is about where the dream fades out.
I must say that this is the second time the theme of psychic skeezy-ness being beamed into the minds of entertainment executive suits back in the 60's has now come up on multiple occasions now. I believe this is the history class I'm supposed to be taking in the Invisible College. In fact, the whole point seemed to be that this eerie invasion created the skeezy obsession with violence in today's entertainment. That tracks.
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