男の人は食べています。
I can breathe again.
SomeThing Happening Last Night.
SomeThing Changed Last Night.
A Return To Me.
Healed. Recovered.
I've been sick for about a week now. Real nasty cough compounded with really congested sinus. I'm no slouch. Rest. Fluids. Spicy Food. It's been slow goin', which is not something I'm used to. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Usually my inhuman immune system renders any sickness void in fewer than 72 hours. Not this time around. Perhaps it was to reacquaint me with my humanity or perhaps there was a reason for it well beyond that.
I had some pretty dense dreams last night, and unlike usually where I can recall every minute detail with perfect clarity, last night's subconscious shenanigans were quite blurry. I can only recall bits and pieces. Again, I can really only refer to this feeling as "human." This is what it's like for the rest of you guys, huh? My goodness I can see how frustrating that would be. I often take my gifts for granted, this being one of them. Being a serial (and often unwanted) lucid dreamer the grass of non-lucid dreams seems greener. It's just different grass is all. You guys are jealous of my ability to control and remember my dreams. I was jealous of you lot for having dreams independent of conscious control that fade upon waking. Indeed it was and is a major reason I supplement with cannabis. It dampens the intensity and amount of dreams I dream during the night and pushes them from my mind faster when I awake.
You desire the ability to control and recall, I desire the ability to participate and forget.
Well, this is one instance where I'm missing my natural set of attributes and feeling stymied by my seeming inability to consciously reactivate them.
One day perhaps, once and for all, I will do myself and the world a favor and empirically determine which grass is actually greener. Until then, I'm content to discuss shades and hues and appreciate the differences therein.
The portions of last night's mental magic that I've got a hold on are fragmented, illusory and too vague to be immediately interpreted. Granted that does not dictate that some parts are quite easy to break down amid easily replaying them.
In no particular order, I remember 3 "main" "parts."
There was a monstrously high and tall corporate building that two men worked in or maybe were just meeting in. I say "there was" because I had no direct connection to either of them, nor did I experience any of this "part" from either of their first person perspectives. I was more just a roving observer taking it in. Lacking my usual lush and descriptive language I am going to have to do my best to paint a picture in your mind missing the colors and brushes used to paint them in the first place. There was some sort of a tension to their meeting and it seemed to be a high-stakes one. The one guy I can clearly remember and describe as basically muscular Greg from Dharma and Greg, wearing black slacks and shoes and a light blue button-down rebelliously rolled at the sleeves and worn with no tie or jacket. In the dream this carried the nuance of only him being permitted to dress in this manner in a hypocritical, unspoken, and tenuous way.
There was another man, looking very similar, but tanner, shorter and far more ripped. In the face I seem to recall him looking a lot like the other guy, but the details are, reluctantly, admittedly, hazy. So in the sake of brevity a fitting description might be slightly-latino Greg from Dharma and Greg, haha.
They were discussing things in a very heated yet relaxed manner, as most high-level board-room conversations between two high-powered executives are conducted in real life. A dueling banjoes dynamic began to develop as each tried to one-up the others' proposal or idea, and the longer this continued the more sexual tension began to build. Eventually, as somewhat anticipated at this point the conversation devolved into direct comparisons of appearance. They fiercely named the muscles and movements responsible for their development in an attempt to impress and overwhelm the other to no avail. They punctuated such observations with others about clothing and its source and cost.
The "climax" of this "dream-scene" was represented in a urgent embrace from Greg to Latino-Greg to which Latino-Greg promptly, gently yet firmly cautioned "You're being bossy." In retrospect, that moment changes the rest of the way I remember Greg's initial character. Indeed retroactively his whole personality seems tainted by this exchange. Prior to this point the powerplay dynamics asserting themselves seemed openly tipped in Greg's favor, at this point however it was clear that Latino-Greg had been "in charge" the whole time.
After a rapidfire exchange of boasting one's own qualities while attempting to point out the other's in a way that highlighted one's own, they moved closer and began more intensely examining one another's sartorial choices in the same fierce way they'd been highlighting one another's flesh-suits.
The "true climax" of this moment came when after a compliment on his pectorals from L-G, G un-buttoned his shirt as if to say "Yes. Revel in them and be overtaken by them!" L-G didn't bat an eye as he deftly flicked the button necessary to reveal his own rippling chest, to which G was very much unable to hide the fact that he was genuinely impressed. That prompted the situation to come to a head and Greg tenderly embraced Latino-Greg's neck and upper shoulders in a searching manner preceding a kiss. Latino-Greg neither moved no reciprocated, rather he issued the stern "You're being bossy." Which caused a stern Greg to immediately recoil and recoup. Unable to decide whether he was dejected or intrigued, the character's pacing back and forth in distance from the other's represents the subtle waves washing ashore and flowing back out to sea way in which the memory breaks down and fades away for me.
The symbolism in this one is the most easily read for me. Recently I excised one toxic relationship from my life whilst reuniting with a beneficial one unfortunately moved away from some time ago. In short, I traded one player for another.
Clearly this scene was merely an on-the-nose metaphor for the power play dynamics between myself and these two other men. Less clear however is who was represented by whom, and for what amount of time. Like I advise most of you coming to me for dream interpretation, I must simply not think on it directly and allow myself to subconsciously search through it as I go about my day. A lot easier said than done! I'll keep that in mind next time I'm downplaying its difficulty!
The other 2 main acts are far more disjointed and ambiguous still. As such, my descriptions of them will be fittingly brief and woefully underdeveloped.
At one point I was on a different version of earth or perhaps a rare corner of the actual globe covered in resort and obstacle-course style trappings. Honestly, a pretty typical dream setting for me that I've come to anticipate and have grown quite familiar and comfortable with. Another familiar theme is that it began being invaded by "others." Unlike normally where I could plainly describe them, a blurry sorta-aliens-or-sorta-insects-or-sorta-monsters-or-something-but-definitely-not-humans is really the best I can do! They swarmed upon the resort and most fled or were shot down. A HUD appeared and whether it was self-generated and percieved or a feature from the resort remains to be seen or known, a beeping and red highlight along with awareness of peripheal vision warned me of an "Invader" coming in hot on my 3 o'clock, and unlike normally where I manifest some sort of strength, weapon, or magic, I winced and covered up and crouched in fear. This is not in and of itself unique or ground-breaking as many of my nightmares are categorized not by gore, pain, or dying but by rather not knowing how or refusing to fight back. THAT for me is the true nightmare. This was no different. However in this "nightmare moment" I did something I'm not sure I've done since I was a kid. I "paused" the dream. I spontaneously became lucid and froze the rest of the action into a 3D diorama I was free to navigate at my whim. Hence why I can recall this part with so much clarity. I "woke up." Not enough to open my physical eyes in reality but just enough to bring me back to center on my character overlapping reality and non-reality. I do not cower. I do not fear. I am Josh Vish. I do not back down. I fight back. Consciously holding all that in mind, I unpaused and promptly decked the offending Invader out of the air and several hundred feet away. From that point on the action/visuals fade into a standard battle being won by one side possessing a mighty warrior doing most of the work.
The symbolism best ascertained from this is "believe in yourself and you will be capable of great things." If you cower in fear, then you will be cowardly and afraid. If you stand and fight, then even if you fall, you will be brave and strong.
As almost a subset of the above, the other snippet was illustrating a similar theme in a re-mixed manner. I was in a convenience store amid another "Invasion." This particular store seemed to be in a New York style area or maybe even the actual Big Apple. The people populating it were well aware that conflict was going on but were doggedly determined to continue on with business as usual. Explosions are rattling the walls and immigrants are haggling prices of candybars. America in a nutshell. Well played, brain. At some point marauders/looters had infiltrated the store and seized the owner effectively taking control of the storefront. They forced him to remain at the counter and then attempted to rob and/or maim whichever brave unwitting customer dare approach. I was one such customer, but when I bent down to grab an impulse item, unaware of the situation at hand, they foolishly fired above where I had previously been standing. I dropped to the ground and stealthily made my way around to the swinging door leading behind the cashier. I went unnoticed as they moved onto their next victim. The leader was crouched knees to chest behind the store-owner and too pre-occupied to notice me sidle up mere inches away from him. When I whispered "hey" he jumped and ran in a knee-jerk reaction that forfeited the bluff and minor weapon I had planned on injuring him with.
The lesson here being fighting fire with fire. Scaring the scary. Sneaking up on the sneaky. He was so thoroughly shocked that dream-physics (or my perception of them rather) may or may not have broke down for a moment as he appeared to literally jump out of his skin akin to old Tom and Jerry cartoons. He was so frightened! I derived so much sinister pleasure for being responsible! Like the others, everything seems to blur and fade from here.
I was motivated to capture as much of the experience in text as I could this morning thanks to the conversation held last night.
Vish Fantasy League just cut a toxic player from the team and re-signed a former star.
I can't seem to get the idea out of my head that this is what finally made me better and helped me overcome this illness I'd been battling for an uncharacteristically long amount of time.
I was afforded the wonderful opportunity to reunite with a lost friend. One from an era and group of friends that I'd sadly resigned myself to not ever see again. A while back he'd randomly blocked me on facebook and in response I blocked him in real life. About a week or so ago, he apologized for his actions and contacted me to get together. Not just to explain, but simply to catch up. And catch up we did! Not to put his business out there, because he was very adamant that I not spread his personal life about, but to loosely recount the night we talked on many subjects that I myself am very familiar with but that most Body-Builder/Personal Trainers only have a cursory knowledge of. Fitness talk was expected and unabashed. HOWEVER, spiritual talk and matters of meditation were a very pleasant and welcome surprise! Two, three in addition to fitness, areas of my expertise! I won't include much more detail than that as I've agreed to respect his privacy. Hence not naming/identifying this mystery friend of mine. And endeavoring to speak so generally that even if an enterprising individual were to deduce his idenity that no subject discussed would reveal anything preferred to be kept private.
Something I will describe in paradoxically vague detail is the juxtaposition of our living spaces and how they represent the subsequent juxtaposition of our actual lives. He'd apparently moved near me recently and as such, we're technically neighbors, something which is mildly painful to know I was unaware of during the interim in which he and I didn't speak. "You were this close the whole time?!" Big and empty. He clearly makes and has made more money than me in the past, but the sparse (read: non-existent) decoration in the house communicated an austere asceticism I thought un-befitting of a person mired in proving one's appearance to the outside world. I am neither condescending nor condemning. Indeed, I rather like it. And, praised it and him as such. It just seemed oddly oxymoronic. Like going over Snoop Dogg's house and seeing nary a pot-leaf or cannabis related item anywhere. His family, while not boastful in the least, good honest hard-working blue-collars poised to become and slowly transitioning into respectable white-collars even spread its influence into me as my family is very very very similar. So coming from the same "family" I expected his trappings to be more lavish. That is not to imply, however, that I was somehow disappointed by what I saw. Quite the opposite as I've already stated above.
In our Family, appearance is claimed to not be important but plays a vital unspoken role in establishing oneself as a sovereign member of the group. While gold, cars, and expensive electronics are desired, bought, and enjoyed, they come at the unspoken price of being categorized as luxuries and therefore ultimately unnecessary. This does not change our natural human proclivity to enjoy and praise them though. We just attempt to do so in a diminished manner separate from what really matters. On the opposite end of the spectrum are things like seasonal decorations or other such comfortable amenities. Knick-knacks and brick-a-brack not owned for status but merely for comfort. The disparity between the two often results in a bizarrely triangulated keeping-up-with-the-joneses not merely content to remain unspoken but violently guarded from being directly acknowledged.
Family member "A": "Hey, I just got an expensive new [x!] Come check it out!"
Family member "B": "I think there are better things you could be spending your money on... Or better yet, better to just save your money instead of frivolously spending it at all."
A: "..."
B: U_U
A: "Look at these sentimental value mementos I saved from [Elder Family Member X!]"
B: "Oh wow! Those are so cool! I'm so jealous!"
A: ^_______^
B: ^_______^
A: "I just bought this new [x] so that I can make and store more food for the rest of the family!"
B: "Oh yeah? That's nothin'. I just bought [y] so that I can build and repair more things for the rest of the family."
A: "Pfft. Whatevs. I also got [z] to...."
B: "Well I got [q]"
So on and so forth for an uncalled for amount of time.
So that being said and represented, I mean to simply say I expected him to have more and was pleasantly surprised and proud that he did not.
My apartment with Abbey stands on the far other end of the extreme in that the actual place itself is somewhat in a state of disrepair but is bursting at the seems with free/found furniture and prized possessions accumulated over the course of decades and separate individuals. A wonderfully visual juxtaposition.
Big Nice, Mostly Empty Place vs. Medium Acceptable, Crammed Place
It even seems to me personally to represent both our bodies and our minds compared and contrasted to one another.
Not completely, obviously as there is far more "inside him" than his place lets on and there is urgent potential to graduate to a larger place for myself. - I suppose and surmise, like all things in reality, a balance between the two will naturally equalize. For both parties. Diffusion is after all the only absolute truth. *Tangent* Diffusion is the founding principle of Reality. Everything you perceive (and even what you don't) is diffusion in process somehow. It's the closest thing there is to an absolute universal truth. It's the closest I personally have gotten to a TOE (Theory Of Everything.)
-Just- experienced a synchronicity with the drink he made me after we'd been sippin' maker's mark for a few hours, the Moscow Mule - VODKA, GINGER BEER, LIME. Never heard of it prior to drinking it and then saw it atop a friend's page on facebook today from being posted at roughly the same time we were drinking ours.
[Un-named Collaboration X] I was going to include my business proposal to/with this individual but the toxic individual that I've removed from life is prone to reading this very blog and pilfering its ideas to claim as his own. So unfortunately I must remain hushed until developed enough to debut. Suffice it to say, I think that the two of us working together would be extremely mutually beneficial.
男の人は食べています。
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Sunday, February 26, 2012
For a night, I was Wolverine.
I legitimately had a dream that I was Wolverine last night.
It was -VERY- vivid. I can still recall the odd juxtaposition created by my superheavy skeleton anchoring me to the earth and my mutant musculature making me feel light as a feather. (Think of one of the floatier characters in Smash Bros. with both a Metal Cap and a Bunny Hood.) I can still taste the stogie I was chewin'/smokin' on. I can still feel the way the leather jacket and fitting blue jeans I was wearing stretched and strained over my animalian form. The pleasant sound/feel of my cowboy boot heels striking the metal deck underneath.
But most of all, I remember that split-second icy cold feeling between my knuckles when I would pop one of my claws. A pain so sharp and quick that it was quickly overridden by the pleasure chemicals secreted directly afterward. Indeed, in the short time that I inhabited Logan's bestial body, I became quite masochistic with how liberally I'd allow pain to be inflicted upon me. It was such a rush. And, I'm getting ahead of myself here, whenever heavy pain was issued, in the form of sustained gunfire or massive lacerations, the dull hot throb gave way to blinding white anger that we all know and love as his signature Berserker Rage. Mentally it's a very complex thing to semi-anticipate/look forward to taking a beating just because you know once you reach a certain level, you're unstoppable. It's like in old-school games where after your character takes enough damage, your sprite blinked quickly and you were momentarily invincible. Oh how I welcomed that state.
Anyhoo, it was night and I was on a huge metal freighter. I was on a mission, to find someone or something, though I can't remember exactly what. I was too enthralled in the physical sensations being bestowed upon me by my brain.
It was to be a stealth mission, but being nigh invulnerable, I didn't bother with any camouflage or tactical clothing. Just ma wifebeater, ma jeans, ma boots n ma jacket. And of course my claws.
I sauntered slowly, but purposefully, each footstrike rooting me to the floor in a way I can only describe as magnetic. When I wanted to be attached to ground, I was. When I wanted to break free, I did. It was intoxicating.
The occasional guard would wander into view and/or I'd burst into a room with one or two of them. More often than not, before they could even draw their weapons, I'd already swooped in and dipped a single claw into their neck or thereabouts. Gently setting the lifeless body down.
Toward the end though, right before I woke up, shit got hectic. I had already killed about a dozen or so men and my stogie was quite short. I'd acquired a key, a keycard, some important papers. I felt the mission was coming to a close, and thus, got a little reckless. I'd just popped the top of the room I was in and spryly jumped up to the surface. I had about three seconds back in the salty sea air, when *ZAAAAAANG!!!* my right eye reflexively closed and the white flash in my left eye quickly subsided. I'd been tagged. The ringing had just begun when *THOT, THOT, THOT* traveled down my still vibrating skull. The first two hit my metallic bones and ricocheted back out, but the last one tore through my sternocleidomastoid and was now accompanying the rush of blood filling my throat. I lost my cigar. All I tasted was metal. I swallowed the projectile and a good couple gulps of blood as I ducked low to see where I'd been hit from. The dense little rock shredded all the way down and I welcomed the pain.
I was losing my composure.
I could see him now. Little pussy, high in his tower with his rifle. I sprinted at the base, claws at the ready. There were only three supports I needed to sever and I knew gravity and physics would do the rest. Before I reached the first, I felt a nice hot spray of lead cut up my back from my left hip to my right shoulder. EXCELLENT. I slashed the metal beams quickly and spun before witnessing the result.
An all black-clad soldier had just swung up out of the hole I cut earlier and from the movement and his scent I could tell he wasn't human.
I planted my feet. He'd come to me.
He was sprinting in fast, but not faster than I could see, and his hands both went to one hip. He was drawing a katana, and with decent form. Still, I had him.
*CHA-THOOM!!* a nearby concussive blast caused me to throw my arms up in an x to shield my precious eyes (I'd need those for this fight) from the steadily mounting heat.
I could smell it. My own flesh cooking. Goddamnit. I really liked this jacket.
He was right on top of me, and the moment he brought his blade through the air, he switched sides. Instantaneously. He cut deep into my left shoulder, I could feel the muscle disconnect. That side is gonna be useless for a few minutes. I barely had enough time to block a strike at my head, don't even remember where it came from, but I do remember his sword meeting my metal-laced radius. That surprised him and bought me a much needed moment to get my bearings. I don't know how he switched sides at the last moment. Maybe a teleporter?
The bleeding on my shoulder had stopped, but the muscles weren't functional yet. Also, I could feel hot sticky liquid pouring down my right side.
The distinct coppery aroma queues me in that it's MY blood.
NOW WE'RE STARTIN' TO PARTY.
I DIDN'T EVEN SEE ANYONE TAG ME THERE.
I shake the tatters of my coat off.
He begins his onslaught. He's fast, real fast, but I'm all warmed up now. I'm not sure how he's doing it, and I really don't care, but he has some sort of a mirror power, every blow he throws transfers to the exact opposite side right before it lands. Maybe I don't need my eyes after all... The other men's screaming, both agony and orders is washing back into my ears and we've settled into a nice little flow. I'm learning to predict his moves and he's steadily backing away. Usually I can smell fear at this point, but for some reason his scent remains neutral, still his body language tells me he's scared. I AM EXCITED. I ramp up my assault and he's on the defensive.
The steel lands in my left side, a little below my armpit, I feel the pain, but with everything else that's going on it feels like a slap on the back before a big lift at the gym. I bring my left arm down on the other side and pinch in tight. GOT YOU.
I retract two claws on my right hand and dip in under his ribcage, aimed right at his heart. I get a quick fast jolt and my whole body vibrates as he peels off and backhandsprings.
OOOOOh.
I'm getting ready to re-engage him when it starts coming down. Raining down dense little rocks all over my body. I go to that -other- place, the one I go to when -this- happens. And for a moment, I am perfect. I am calm. I am free.
I can hear the gunfire for a bit and even feel my body being bandied about by the large-caliber bullets assailing it. I raise my arms and welcome the silver stones striking me from all angles.
HERE WE GO.
There are only split second images. Mirages of visuals. Terrified faces holding up hands with fingers severed clean.
When I come to, I'm surrounded by mangled corpses and one sparking mass. A robot or cyborg of some sort. His torso is -here- his head and limbs are -there-.
I'm breathing deeply and I feel amazing, just the way I do after yoga. I can feel all the tiny holes in my flesh lacing themselves back up and for a moment I wonder, "What next?"
Then I remember, I'm not Wolverine. I'm Josh Vish. And I wake up.
MAN, I love dreaming.
It was -VERY- vivid. I can still recall the odd juxtaposition created by my superheavy skeleton anchoring me to the earth and my mutant musculature making me feel light as a feather. (Think of one of the floatier characters in Smash Bros. with both a Metal Cap and a Bunny Hood.) I can still taste the stogie I was chewin'/smokin' on. I can still feel the way the leather jacket and fitting blue jeans I was wearing stretched and strained over my animalian form. The pleasant sound/feel of my cowboy boot heels striking the metal deck underneath.
But most of all, I remember that split-second icy cold feeling between my knuckles when I would pop one of my claws. A pain so sharp and quick that it was quickly overridden by the pleasure chemicals secreted directly afterward. Indeed, in the short time that I inhabited Logan's bestial body, I became quite masochistic with how liberally I'd allow pain to be inflicted upon me. It was such a rush. And, I'm getting ahead of myself here, whenever heavy pain was issued, in the form of sustained gunfire or massive lacerations, the dull hot throb gave way to blinding white anger that we all know and love as his signature Berserker Rage. Mentally it's a very complex thing to semi-anticipate/look forward to taking a beating just because you know once you reach a certain level, you're unstoppable. It's like in old-school games where after your character takes enough damage, your sprite blinked quickly and you were momentarily invincible. Oh how I welcomed that state.
Anyhoo, it was night and I was on a huge metal freighter. I was on a mission, to find someone or something, though I can't remember exactly what. I was too enthralled in the physical sensations being bestowed upon me by my brain.
It was to be a stealth mission, but being nigh invulnerable, I didn't bother with any camouflage or tactical clothing. Just ma wifebeater, ma jeans, ma boots n ma jacket. And of course my claws.
I sauntered slowly, but purposefully, each footstrike rooting me to the floor in a way I can only describe as magnetic. When I wanted to be attached to ground, I was. When I wanted to break free, I did. It was intoxicating.
The occasional guard would wander into view and/or I'd burst into a room with one or two of them. More often than not, before they could even draw their weapons, I'd already swooped in and dipped a single claw into their neck or thereabouts. Gently setting the lifeless body down.
Toward the end though, right before I woke up, shit got hectic. I had already killed about a dozen or so men and my stogie was quite short. I'd acquired a key, a keycard, some important papers. I felt the mission was coming to a close, and thus, got a little reckless. I'd just popped the top of the room I was in and spryly jumped up to the surface. I had about three seconds back in the salty sea air, when *ZAAAAAANG!!!* my right eye reflexively closed and the white flash in my left eye quickly subsided. I'd been tagged. The ringing had just begun when *THOT, THOT, THOT* traveled down my still vibrating skull. The first two hit my metallic bones and ricocheted back out, but the last one tore through my sternocleidomastoid and was now accompanying the rush of blood filling my throat. I lost my cigar. All I tasted was metal. I swallowed the projectile and a good couple gulps of blood as I ducked low to see where I'd been hit from. The dense little rock shredded all the way down and I welcomed the pain.
I was losing my composure.
I could see him now. Little pussy, high in his tower with his rifle. I sprinted at the base, claws at the ready. There were only three supports I needed to sever and I knew gravity and physics would do the rest. Before I reached the first, I felt a nice hot spray of lead cut up my back from my left hip to my right shoulder. EXCELLENT. I slashed the metal beams quickly and spun before witnessing the result.
An all black-clad soldier had just swung up out of the hole I cut earlier and from the movement and his scent I could tell he wasn't human.
I planted my feet. He'd come to me.
He was sprinting in fast, but not faster than I could see, and his hands both went to one hip. He was drawing a katana, and with decent form. Still, I had him.
*CHA-THOOM!!* a nearby concussive blast caused me to throw my arms up in an x to shield my precious eyes (I'd need those for this fight) from the steadily mounting heat.
I could smell it. My own flesh cooking. Goddamnit. I really liked this jacket.
He was right on top of me, and the moment he brought his blade through the air, he switched sides. Instantaneously. He cut deep into my left shoulder, I could feel the muscle disconnect. That side is gonna be useless for a few minutes. I barely had enough time to block a strike at my head, don't even remember where it came from, but I do remember his sword meeting my metal-laced radius. That surprised him and bought me a much needed moment to get my bearings. I don't know how he switched sides at the last moment. Maybe a teleporter?
The bleeding on my shoulder had stopped, but the muscles weren't functional yet. Also, I could feel hot sticky liquid pouring down my right side.
The distinct coppery aroma queues me in that it's MY blood.
NOW WE'RE STARTIN' TO PARTY.
I DIDN'T EVEN SEE ANYONE TAG ME THERE.
I shake the tatters of my coat off.
He begins his onslaught. He's fast, real fast, but I'm all warmed up now. I'm not sure how he's doing it, and I really don't care, but he has some sort of a mirror power, every blow he throws transfers to the exact opposite side right before it lands. Maybe I don't need my eyes after all... The other men's screaming, both agony and orders is washing back into my ears and we've settled into a nice little flow. I'm learning to predict his moves and he's steadily backing away. Usually I can smell fear at this point, but for some reason his scent remains neutral, still his body language tells me he's scared. I AM EXCITED. I ramp up my assault and he's on the defensive.
The steel lands in my left side, a little below my armpit, I feel the pain, but with everything else that's going on it feels like a slap on the back before a big lift at the gym. I bring my left arm down on the other side and pinch in tight. GOT YOU.
I retract two claws on my right hand and dip in under his ribcage, aimed right at his heart. I get a quick fast jolt and my whole body vibrates as he peels off and backhandsprings.
OOOOOh.
I'm getting ready to re-engage him when it starts coming down. Raining down dense little rocks all over my body. I go to that -other- place, the one I go to when -this- happens. And for a moment, I am perfect. I am calm. I am free.
I can hear the gunfire for a bit and even feel my body being bandied about by the large-caliber bullets assailing it. I raise my arms and welcome the silver stones striking me from all angles.
HERE WE GO.
There are only split second images. Mirages of visuals. Terrified faces holding up hands with fingers severed clean.
When I come to, I'm surrounded by mangled corpses and one sparking mass. A robot or cyborg of some sort. His torso is -here- his head and limbs are -there-.
I'm breathing deeply and I feel amazing, just the way I do after yoga. I can feel all the tiny holes in my flesh lacing themselves back up and for a moment I wonder, "What next?"
Then I remember, I'm not Wolverine. I'm Josh Vish. And I wake up.
MAN, I love dreaming.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Barefoot in The City
I slept all day today. ALL day. From like 10:30AM to 11:35PM.
During this sleep I had some of the most intense partially lucid dreams/nightmares I've ever had. Which has been a steadily increasing trend as of late. Each batch is more fierce than the last. During the peak of my lucidity in the dreams the most prevalent thoughts are a combination of, "This cannot be happening." and, "There is no way this is being generated purely by my brain/mind." A form of doubt comes into play. My keen sense of observation and constant watch on myself even extends to the unconscious realm and while there, I cannot, for the life of me, make a decision as to "where" dreams come from. I can only recall snippets now. They are over-saturated, brightly-colored, hyper-kinetic flashes of frenzied activity. Very reminiscent of my DMT trip and prior experience with psychedelics. From the height of my enhanced awareness, I remember being plainly impressed with the amount of detail and clarity in the sights I was seeing. A thought crossed over with me. One that has done so many times before. -- Either dreams come from "somewhere" "out there" or I am in possession of one of the most impressive brains to have ever existed. Possibly THE most. Thanks to my psychedelic training I'm able to recognize subtle differences between "reality" and non-reality. A big portion of what clued me in today was the sense/feeling of the dream being more "real" than reality. Something that greatly hearkens back to DMT. It felt almost like a superreality, a more pure form of the existence we all experience daily. 1080p HD compared to old silent films. Anime to children's drawings.
I've always had an incredible ability to recall with frighteningly accurate clarity the detail of my dreams and it is with the utmost confidence of a scientist steeped in years of intel and research that I can proffer: my dreams were not like this growing up. Something has changed. Perhaps is changing. Maybe doing DMT opened some sort of floodgate, maybe our proximity to 11.11.11 11:11 and 2012 is affecting ALL of reality. Maybe approaching my own personal deadline of 27 is a factor. Perhaps it is all or none of these things. Truth is, I do not know. There is also the factor of you. I have not met you yet, but we're due to meet soon. Time for you only moves forward, but for me I can already feel the ripples of a "coming" event. Too many variables to form a valid hypothesis at this time.
What I do know is that I feel like a teenager again. Unsure. Questioning the validity of the world around me. I have not abandoned the teachings of my training and as such have not lost the feeling of serenity I've fought so hard to earn, and yet still I can watch myself thinking these thoughts and feeling these feelings and my assessment is: huh, this again.
When I was an actual chronological teenager I'd received a slow trickle of media that allowed me to eventually break my own fourth wall. Well before the reality-bending of The Matrix, Dark City and Vanilla Sky there was The Maxx. An animated series on MTV's Liquid Television that, frankly, probably should not have been watched by my young developing mind. The series followed the adventures (and misadventures) of the titular character The Maxx.
A man that sat on the fence between reality and dreams. A very poignant expression of life imitating art in what I have become in my summer years. In reality Maxx is a bum, living in a cardboard box and semi-dependent on a social worker named Julie. In The Outback (the series' name for the Dream Realm) The Maxx is a wild superhero that often protects the alternate version of Julie known as The Jungle Queen. The symmetry between this and my two most recent relationships is not lost on me. The overall thought/feeling I took away from the show at that age, and that has continued into adulthood but since withered, is: the inability to differentiate between what's real and what isn't. Does one assign loyalty to the "real world" or The Outback? Teen years are difficult for all of us and I was no exception. The Maxx came to me at the exact moment I was beginning to call everything into question. Looking back, it's easy to see that it catalyzed the slow process that eventually resulted in "me".
The "two" worlds have since blurred for me and I'm fast losing my ability to separate them. Everything seems hopelessly intertwined and the feeling one is usually granted upon waking, that of being anchored back in reality, has been absent as of late.
I understand why humans are so dedicated to their rigid schedules of day and night, rest and work, youth and age. They're focal points. Breadcrumbs. Basically the whole point to this human experience. Just like when I was younger, when I start careening through space and time, my mindset becomes equally adrift. When I have a steady job, the ability to get to a gym and a girlfriend with whom to attach experience, things seem perfectly normal. Psychedelic experiences are limited to the occasional intense dream and of course actual ingestion of substances understood to create such states. However, amid the chaos I am now experiencing, and have experienced at regular intervals throughout my life, the lack of a discernible timeline throws everything into question. Mundane things take on an additional layer of profundity and simple human interactions become laced with synchronicity and meaning. The feeling of trying to be able to pay attention but not being able to has spilled over from dreams into the world. It's like when you go to a party or an amusement park or anything new and disordered. You have a certain amount of the experience that your brain will let you have in the actual moment funneled into sharp spots of presence and then you have the remainder to be experienced as time wears on and you are fed the overwhelming amount of stimulus you ingested earlier in portions acceptable for integrating interpretations.
My life is in boxes and I'm unsure whether or not to unpack. I've been at this apartment for a little under a week now and not too much is unpacked. An organic existence has developed inside my planned one. All useless possession have fallen by the wayside and just the essentials are being utilized. Kitchen, bathroom, clothing. Everything else remains untouched. I'm reminded of my brief stint in jail, or family vacations, or either of my periods of living away from home subsisting on only the bare essentials.
A question develops: Do I need all this shit?
The clear, immediate answer is no.
But I know better than that. Given enough time, everything would just accumulate again. So my charge becomes not attempting to rid myself of all of it, or even to grow so wealthy as to acquire more, instead I must strive to purify. Keep what is crucial to the existence I've created for myself.
Still though, even knowing this, the visceral visual of everything neatly packed n' stacked is hard to ignore.
A big part of me wants to leave everything be. Just unpack when and where the need for an item arises. Another part desires to request off a string of days and to get everything completely set-up how I see fit. This struggle would have defined stress in my youth, but in my maturity I view it from the third position and pick and choose when and where to ally my support without ever losing my sense of calm.
The lines between "me" and "out there" are starting to blur. I mean even more than they already had. Everything seems a perverted extension of myself. Upon waking, and still reeling from the severe states suffered while sleeping, I was still not fully "here". Reality still felt like a dream. Since showering and sitting down to type this, things have greatly settled down.
*Tangent: typing to me seems to be the very definition of the mode of existence we experience as humans from birth to death. Slow, purposeful, calculated attempts at capturing something that is inherently incapturable. When we are Moon-Faced Buddha, typing/life seems slow, boring and monotonous. When we are Sun-Faced Buddha, typing/life seems an elegant way to progress forward and simultaneously anchor ourselves. When you've had overwhelming dreams/nightmares, you long for waking life. When you've had a string of drawn-out tedious days in the Conscious Realm you pine for sleep and astral adventure. Such is the ebb and flow of life. Such is the expression of the very duality we are here to experience. Yin and Yang. The fundamental balance of opposing forces understood to create unity through perceived separation. /Tangent*
I was fully dressed from this morning, (I had to cover the portions of my anatomy deemed unacceptable for exposure to society in order to politely send off a young lady that had spent the night) and still very much out of it when I first decided to reach for my phone and rejoin the reality game. Motivated by hunger and confused by recent mental escapades I sauntered around my apartment aimlessly until settling in on a bag of baked goods acquired from work last night. I set in on them and leaving my front door wide open, traipsed down the stairs and out onto the double-wide sidewalk partitioning off commercial/residential space from the road.
Something snapped back into place.
"What are you doing?"
I dunno. Eatin' muffins/doughnuts and lookin' around. What are you doing?
"Where are your shoes?"
Uh, upstairs. We never wear shoes, don't act like this is something new.
"True, but typically we endeavor upon shoelessness mindfully. We are AWARE and actively CHOOSING to NOT wear shoes. You just plodded down here barely awake."
*eating, thinking about acquiring more food, wondering where everybody is, questioning the validity of his waking state*
"Go back up stairs, write a blog, title it 'Barefoot in The City' and focus on this ambiguity between wakefulness and dreaming."
*nods, heads up stairs*
The static routine that tends to bore and drive toward altered consciousness was absent and instead the unease and desire for stability was prevalent. It would appear I have achieved that. Sitting here, for the past few hours, typing this, has certainly done its part in anchoring me back to what we humans collectively refer to as reality.
Since quieting my minds investigation, a different focal point has emerged. Cyclical behavior. Days, weeks, months, seasons, years.
Cycles. I've done this before. In California. At 19. A theory is beginning to emerge. Perhaps I am destined to repeat my actions endlessly until developing an awareness that supersedes them and allows me to elicit real change.
While my overall progress has spiraled ever upward, that is only from the perspective of a certain vantage point in space. Rotated and taken top-down, I've been moving in circles.
My nonlocal nature is asserting itself as I simultaneously feel like I did as a young teenager living at home, a young adult in California, a twentysomething in my first apartment, how I will likely feel at my modest Vish mansion and in the property I will own in Japan.
It's a very weird, very hard to describe feeling mired in juxtaposition. I feel independent yet lonely. I feel free yet unsure of where to go. Calm and yet somehow confused. Deep inside I know everything will work out, but just below the surface I am anxious to get the show on the road. Sometimes I am so stereotypically human it disgusts me.
This susceptibility to the fickle flow of my mind serves to remind me why I support my own personal marijuana habit. Regular use of cannabis allows me to compartmentalize more efficiently. To definitively enter things into either reality or nonreality. As it stands, when left sober for long periods of time I veer toward the extremes most aim for with psychedelic use. Put simply: When unable to get high via cannabis, I am high all the time. Cannabis does not cancel out my high it merely allows me to schedule to experience it at times when it is more convenient for me to do so.
It would appear that I'm going to keep gravitating to the depths of this valley until my oscillation chooses a side to commit to. While punctuated by periods of perception wherein my immediate involvement is not necessary and the lack of such does not create unrest, overall I keep coming back to the same place. I am continually confronted with having to make a choice. And that choice is represented by a question. A question that is asked in more direct terms in our youth. -- What do you want to be when you grown up? -- At this point along the graph it has take a more broad scope of inclusion. -- What do you want to do?
While when I was younger this question served to torture me, I've grown enough to understand that if that is the main conflict in your life, deciding what you want to do, you are pretty well off. Then, it was something to "solve" or "fix", now, it's just something to think about. To grant dedicated thought to.
I am sure that I will figure everything out and be okay.
I am not sure I am awake.
During this sleep I had some of the most intense partially lucid dreams/nightmares I've ever had. Which has been a steadily increasing trend as of late. Each batch is more fierce than the last. During the peak of my lucidity in the dreams the most prevalent thoughts are a combination of, "This cannot be happening." and, "There is no way this is being generated purely by my brain/mind." A form of doubt comes into play. My keen sense of observation and constant watch on myself even extends to the unconscious realm and while there, I cannot, for the life of me, make a decision as to "where" dreams come from. I can only recall snippets now. They are over-saturated, brightly-colored, hyper-kinetic flashes of frenzied activity. Very reminiscent of my DMT trip and prior experience with psychedelics. From the height of my enhanced awareness, I remember being plainly impressed with the amount of detail and clarity in the sights I was seeing. A thought crossed over with me. One that has done so many times before. -- Either dreams come from "somewhere" "out there" or I am in possession of one of the most impressive brains to have ever existed. Possibly THE most. Thanks to my psychedelic training I'm able to recognize subtle differences between "reality" and non-reality. A big portion of what clued me in today was the sense/feeling of the dream being more "real" than reality. Something that greatly hearkens back to DMT. It felt almost like a superreality, a more pure form of the existence we all experience daily. 1080p HD compared to old silent films. Anime to children's drawings.
I've always had an incredible ability to recall with frighteningly accurate clarity the detail of my dreams and it is with the utmost confidence of a scientist steeped in years of intel and research that I can proffer: my dreams were not like this growing up. Something has changed. Perhaps is changing. Maybe doing DMT opened some sort of floodgate, maybe our proximity to 11.11.11 11:11 and 2012 is affecting ALL of reality. Maybe approaching my own personal deadline of 27 is a factor. Perhaps it is all or none of these things. Truth is, I do not know. There is also the factor of you. I have not met you yet, but we're due to meet soon. Time for you only moves forward, but for me I can already feel the ripples of a "coming" event. Too many variables to form a valid hypothesis at this time.
What I do know is that I feel like a teenager again. Unsure. Questioning the validity of the world around me. I have not abandoned the teachings of my training and as such have not lost the feeling of serenity I've fought so hard to earn, and yet still I can watch myself thinking these thoughts and feeling these feelings and my assessment is: huh, this again.
When I was an actual chronological teenager I'd received a slow trickle of media that allowed me to eventually break my own fourth wall. Well before the reality-bending of The Matrix, Dark City and Vanilla Sky there was The Maxx. An animated series on MTV's Liquid Television that, frankly, probably should not have been watched by my young developing mind. The series followed the adventures (and misadventures) of the titular character The Maxx.
A man that sat on the fence between reality and dreams. A very poignant expression of life imitating art in what I have become in my summer years. In reality Maxx is a bum, living in a cardboard box and semi-dependent on a social worker named Julie. In The Outback (the series' name for the Dream Realm) The Maxx is a wild superhero that often protects the alternate version of Julie known as The Jungle Queen. The symmetry between this and my two most recent relationships is not lost on me. The overall thought/feeling I took away from the show at that age, and that has continued into adulthood but since withered, is: the inability to differentiate between what's real and what isn't. Does one assign loyalty to the "real world" or The Outback? Teen years are difficult for all of us and I was no exception. The Maxx came to me at the exact moment I was beginning to call everything into question. Looking back, it's easy to see that it catalyzed the slow process that eventually resulted in "me".
The "two" worlds have since blurred for me and I'm fast losing my ability to separate them. Everything seems hopelessly intertwined and the feeling one is usually granted upon waking, that of being anchored back in reality, has been absent as of late.
I understand why humans are so dedicated to their rigid schedules of day and night, rest and work, youth and age. They're focal points. Breadcrumbs. Basically the whole point to this human experience. Just like when I was younger, when I start careening through space and time, my mindset becomes equally adrift. When I have a steady job, the ability to get to a gym and a girlfriend with whom to attach experience, things seem perfectly normal. Psychedelic experiences are limited to the occasional intense dream and of course actual ingestion of substances understood to create such states. However, amid the chaos I am now experiencing, and have experienced at regular intervals throughout my life, the lack of a discernible timeline throws everything into question. Mundane things take on an additional layer of profundity and simple human interactions become laced with synchronicity and meaning. The feeling of trying to be able to pay attention but not being able to has spilled over from dreams into the world. It's like when you go to a party or an amusement park or anything new and disordered. You have a certain amount of the experience that your brain will let you have in the actual moment funneled into sharp spots of presence and then you have the remainder to be experienced as time wears on and you are fed the overwhelming amount of stimulus you ingested earlier in portions acceptable for integrating interpretations.
My life is in boxes and I'm unsure whether or not to unpack. I've been at this apartment for a little under a week now and not too much is unpacked. An organic existence has developed inside my planned one. All useless possession have fallen by the wayside and just the essentials are being utilized. Kitchen, bathroom, clothing. Everything else remains untouched. I'm reminded of my brief stint in jail, or family vacations, or either of my periods of living away from home subsisting on only the bare essentials.
A question develops: Do I need all this shit?
The clear, immediate answer is no.
But I know better than that. Given enough time, everything would just accumulate again. So my charge becomes not attempting to rid myself of all of it, or even to grow so wealthy as to acquire more, instead I must strive to purify. Keep what is crucial to the existence I've created for myself.
Still though, even knowing this, the visceral visual of everything neatly packed n' stacked is hard to ignore.
A big part of me wants to leave everything be. Just unpack when and where the need for an item arises. Another part desires to request off a string of days and to get everything completely set-up how I see fit. This struggle would have defined stress in my youth, but in my maturity I view it from the third position and pick and choose when and where to ally my support without ever losing my sense of calm.
The lines between "me" and "out there" are starting to blur. I mean even more than they already had. Everything seems a perverted extension of myself. Upon waking, and still reeling from the severe states suffered while sleeping, I was still not fully "here". Reality still felt like a dream. Since showering and sitting down to type this, things have greatly settled down.
*Tangent: typing to me seems to be the very definition of the mode of existence we experience as humans from birth to death. Slow, purposeful, calculated attempts at capturing something that is inherently incapturable. When we are Moon-Faced Buddha, typing/life seems slow, boring and monotonous. When we are Sun-Faced Buddha, typing/life seems an elegant way to progress forward and simultaneously anchor ourselves. When you've had overwhelming dreams/nightmares, you long for waking life. When you've had a string of drawn-out tedious days in the Conscious Realm you pine for sleep and astral adventure. Such is the ebb and flow of life. Such is the expression of the very duality we are here to experience. Yin and Yang. The fundamental balance of opposing forces understood to create unity through perceived separation. /Tangent*
I was fully dressed from this morning, (I had to cover the portions of my anatomy deemed unacceptable for exposure to society in order to politely send off a young lady that had spent the night) and still very much out of it when I first decided to reach for my phone and rejoin the reality game. Motivated by hunger and confused by recent mental escapades I sauntered around my apartment aimlessly until settling in on a bag of baked goods acquired from work last night. I set in on them and leaving my front door wide open, traipsed down the stairs and out onto the double-wide sidewalk partitioning off commercial/residential space from the road.
Something snapped back into place.
"What are you doing?"
I dunno. Eatin' muffins/doughnuts and lookin' around. What are you doing?
"Where are your shoes?"
Uh, upstairs. We never wear shoes, don't act like this is something new.
"True, but typically we endeavor upon shoelessness mindfully. We are AWARE and actively CHOOSING to NOT wear shoes. You just plodded down here barely awake."
*eating, thinking about acquiring more food, wondering where everybody is, questioning the validity of his waking state*
"Go back up stairs, write a blog, title it 'Barefoot in The City' and focus on this ambiguity between wakefulness and dreaming."
*nods, heads up stairs*
The static routine that tends to bore and drive toward altered consciousness was absent and instead the unease and desire for stability was prevalent. It would appear I have achieved that. Sitting here, for the past few hours, typing this, has certainly done its part in anchoring me back to what we humans collectively refer to as reality.
Since quieting my minds investigation, a different focal point has emerged. Cyclical behavior. Days, weeks, months, seasons, years.
Cycles. I've done this before. In California. At 19. A theory is beginning to emerge. Perhaps I am destined to repeat my actions endlessly until developing an awareness that supersedes them and allows me to elicit real change.
While my overall progress has spiraled ever upward, that is only from the perspective of a certain vantage point in space. Rotated and taken top-down, I've been moving in circles.
My nonlocal nature is asserting itself as I simultaneously feel like I did as a young teenager living at home, a young adult in California, a twentysomething in my first apartment, how I will likely feel at my modest Vish mansion and in the property I will own in Japan.
It's a very weird, very hard to describe feeling mired in juxtaposition. I feel independent yet lonely. I feel free yet unsure of where to go. Calm and yet somehow confused. Deep inside I know everything will work out, but just below the surface I am anxious to get the show on the road. Sometimes I am so stereotypically human it disgusts me.
This susceptibility to the fickle flow of my mind serves to remind me why I support my own personal marijuana habit. Regular use of cannabis allows me to compartmentalize more efficiently. To definitively enter things into either reality or nonreality. As it stands, when left sober for long periods of time I veer toward the extremes most aim for with psychedelic use. Put simply: When unable to get high via cannabis, I am high all the time. Cannabis does not cancel out my high it merely allows me to schedule to experience it at times when it is more convenient for me to do so.
It would appear that I'm going to keep gravitating to the depths of this valley until my oscillation chooses a side to commit to. While punctuated by periods of perception wherein my immediate involvement is not necessary and the lack of such does not create unrest, overall I keep coming back to the same place. I am continually confronted with having to make a choice. And that choice is represented by a question. A question that is asked in more direct terms in our youth. -- What do you want to be when you grown up? -- At this point along the graph it has take a more broad scope of inclusion. -- What do you want to do?
While when I was younger this question served to torture me, I've grown enough to understand that if that is the main conflict in your life, deciding what you want to do, you are pretty well off. Then, it was something to "solve" or "fix", now, it's just something to think about. To grant dedicated thought to.
I am sure that I will figure everything out and be okay.
I am not sure I am awake.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
dreamtimespace
It's been a long time since I've felt compelled to write down a dream that I've had, but this one was just too trippy/vivid to pass up. To let dissolve back into the æther. This is also the first time in a while that I've felt like I was experiencing something, instead of actively creating it. Much like I sometimes do when I write fiction. All of us have realistic feeling dreams, I'm sure, but this felt less like a "dream" and more like being a roving "consciousness" or "perspective". Like I was somewhere else in time and space, maybe in a different shard of the multiverse, a piece of existence that splintered off from this "reality" long ago. Or maybe just very far in this universe's timeline.
In the beginning I was a uniformed officer, a female, going down to the surface of a planet. Not sure if I beamed down or took a physical drop-ship or what. When I touched down, there was a man with African features but blue skin (faintly fluorescently glowing a la Dr. Manhattan), also wearing a "starfleet" uniform. He was quite jovial and eager to show me something. He challenged me to a footrace. (Apparently I am keen on speed and racing on all planes of existence and in all manners of conscious experience, haha.) I of course accepted. I kept pace for just a few moments before he was able to reveal what he was so excited to show me. He zoomed off ahead in a blur, and moments after leaving my line of sight returned running the exact opposite way. He remarked, "I just ran around the entire planet 30 times."
I don't know if I was told in words or if I just understood it, but the planet was giving certain crew special powers.
Around this time two things happened simultaneously, as they only can in dreams' nonlinear dreamtime. Stuff just comes at you in a "ball of information" and you understand it free from sequence. Half-liberating/half-frustrating. Anyway, so on the one hand the event that I will describe after this one began occurring now as well as the one I am presently going to detail. I had flashed out of the woman's body/perspective and into a man's. One of the crew that had apparently been on the planet's surface for 3 days by himself with no communication to/from the ship. My/his uniform was showing obvious signs of wear/dirt and a clear cunning had developed in my/his demeanor. One of the giant "bugs" from the next part had dropped a small shelled creature of some sort, and through a method of flipping and reflipping it I was creating small maggot-like things inside a viscous liquid in the shell which I understood to be edible. As I was eating the foul tasting things I was looking at the drop point where the rest of the mostly female crew were set atop Chocobo-style giant birds (that I can't too clearly remember) idling in place in much the way a rider on a horse does, and they were complaining about their 3 hours sequestered from communication with our ship. I felt contempt at their menial cries of "I'm hungry." and "I'm bored." as I remembered my past three days of survival. Survival without attaining any powers, I remind you.
Now at the same time that little sequence was goin' down back in the female's body I was experiencing the following. Shortly after the glowing crewman returned the ground began shaking and vibrating. A horde of something was clearly on its way. Na'vi-like alien natives begain arriving in droves on giant bug-like creatures. They were like round millipedes. Huge furry "lids" with numerous legs around the rim. Large enough for humanoids to ride on. From afar they slaughtered a good many of the crew with long-range weapons. As they drew close, however, a curious happenstance took place. Simply being in close proximity to any member of the crew was electrocuting them. It appeared quite painful, and was largely the reason they retreated. Their skin could be seen short-circuiting in and out of Predator-style invisi-camo. It also appeared to be biological rather than technological.
Back in the man's body, we all began experiencing nightfall. And what a gorgeous sight it was. Words will certainly fail to fully describe what I saw. As the light left the sky, several planets became visible. The first of which was turning blood-red in country-shaped segments from top to bottom. On the planet's horizon a twisted city came into view. It was very far off, and looked to be built with primitive materials but with advanced architecture. Skyscrapers of adobe and wood. All twisted like the cream swirling in coffee. The word seems trite and I feel glib resorting to it, but the only way this can be described is: trippy. We didn't know if the city was actually convoluted that way or if it was some optical illusion being caused by the planet. The darker it got the easier it was to see other planets in the night sky. These next ones that came into view were a far cry from the Mars like one from earlier. They had huge squares and rectangles all over them. Some were just dotting the surface like pixels, (think digital camo), while others were huge protrusions off the planet's surface rivaling the planet in size. It was clear something intelligent had done this.
I began "flashing" away from the planet. Captain Picard was giving a speech on the ship and I was viewing the actual happenings directly in space. Galaxy-size machines were harvesting planets a la the machines in The Matrix that were harvesting fetuses. A giant claw type apparatus, large enough to grip a planet like one with sufficiently sized hands might grip a basketball, was rolling planets in space, to and fro and depositing them into machines. Linear time REALLY falls away at this point for me as many of the following events/experiences all seemed to happen at once. I will do my best to sequence them in a way that can be understood.
On the ship the Captain was haranguing someone on the coming Singularity. And event he referred to as the "Zero Point". (Which I will be using from now on.) He outlined basically what I said in my previous blog post: that humankind (nay intelligent consciousness) is moving towards completely connecting the known physical universe and then willfully disseminating it.
Somewhere else on the ship I was settling down into a mechanical chair bathed in a red-orange light that was hooked way high up into the ceiling and not touching the ground. When the light hit you normal vision ceased to be. You could see in all directions at once. 360 degrees of visibility. Something I will never be able to describe so I won't even bother. (It'd be like explaining colors to a blind person.) Well what I experienced was understood as normal run-of-the-mill late-night "TV". It was multi-colored women, naked or in various stages of undress and equally as many varied poses. A bit banal, but when taken in this format, exciting nonetheless.
Seated somewhere near me was a woman that I had a sexual experience with at some point in time, but exactly when I couldn't tell you.
She resembled some female celebrity whose name escapes me at the moment. She had dark hair and very thin Nordic features. Very pretty. Very attractive/alluring. Very upper-class. Body and mannerism wise she resembled Miss Parker from The Pretender. She had a professional business woman's attire on and was somewhat elegantly smoking a cigarette. We got into an argument about her smoking around others and then there was some paddle-play and heavy sexual tension. I don't think any actual sex occurred, but it was still a very sexy experience.
This is all going on as the machine is harvesting worlds and the captain's giving his speech and as scenes of the next big "act" are flashing around montage-style as well.
Suddenly I am someone (not sure of gender though I wanna say male) and I'm in a room in a hospital with a group of people setting up futuristic camera equipment. An older woman with a stark white bob and bangs is showing signs of irritation and frustration at loading the "film" into the "camera". They were small clear rolls resembling packing tape. It was understood that loading them improperly exposed them and rendered them useless. It was also understood that this was a difficult task. I gave her a very sympathetic hug and calmed her down, reassuring her that I would have someone bring up and entire case of the stuff later.
We were setting up for a shoot of the event that will punctuate this dream and is indeed also its climax.
There were many smaller events that occurred during this, like catching eyes with a female patient, and being "caught" by another female patient, but in the name of brevity I will gloss over those.
I was a doctor and walking through the hospital. I'd already seen/witnessed what happens later, rather was experiencing it while also doing this, but I'm pretty sure this chronologically occurred first. I was in a room with an older doctor and someone else and a writhing patient on a bed. She had an electrode reminiscent of a headphone plug fitted into her temple. She was delirious and spouting off gibberish, but very much alive. Whether or not her state was drug-induced or part of some ailment is unknown to me. Knowing what was about to happen to her, I was there to effectively resign my position and wash my hands of it.
In the dream I just knew how what I was going to do would be received and that's why I did it. I had on a futuristic lab coat zipped all the way up to my neck. I began slowly and purposefully unzipping it. The older doctor's eyes widened. He began speaking, "You know that anyone who has ever removed their jacket has not finished my course, right?" I nodded assent. He looked at me with eyes that asked, "So you would still remove your jacket?" My eyes said "yes." back to him. I went on to tell him that I wanted to have nothing to do with this even if it meant my residency/career. He looked disappointed/angered but allowed me to leave.
In the room that had been set-up to record everything a group of doctors outfitted in the appropriate sterile gowns and adorned with futuristic goggles, mechanical arms and such were all poking and prodding and crowded around an operating table. On the operating table was the young woman from earlier. The lower half of her face was covered with medical paper or material or whatever and something was over her eyes as well. Her head was strapped down as were her hands, which were raised to be at nearly the same level as her head. The top of her head was cut open and several pulsating, glandular type organs were pulled out of it and attached to wires. From about two inches below her wrists and the neck down, the area of her body facing up was completely skinned. Muscles and tendons, shiny and shimmering in the light, oozing with blood and other body liquids, veins spiderworking overtop. Her rib cage was split open and her organs were exposed. She was writhing and squirming and very clearly awake/in pain. How aware of this she was I don't (and don't want to) know. The doctor I quit to is narrating, "This is the first live dissection of a human being recorded..."
This was all occurring as the captain was giving his speech, the planet-harvester was doing its work and we were on the surface of the planet.
Now at some point, either before this entire dream or perhaps intermingled with it (who knows) I also had a mini-dream where I was watching TV. There was a "Best Of" and/or "Most Extreme" style show for mixed martial arts on. Some guy was being billed as the victor but looking far worse for wear. Indeed he looked like he lost. Bad. A large gash on his head was so thick and wide it looked like a strip of flesh had simply been removed, but upon further inspection (and better camera angles) it was revealed to be hanging on still attached. Blood pouring down his face and body this was the least of his apparent injuries. His left hand also appeared to have been severed clean off. The gaping wound still generously issuing thick spurts of blood. Again, it was only an optical illusion, for when he raised both his hands in victory (quite oblivious to his injuries) you could see the hand was still attached and flopping around lazily on his wrist. As he raised and lowered his arms without any sign of caution or worry for the dangling appendage it swung to and fro according to each indelicate pose. All the while heavily spraying dark swathes of blood all over. To my relief everyone in the crowd seemed just as shocked as I was.
Like most people, typically, I am okay with simply letting my dreams fade upon waking. This one, however, I had the intense urge to capture in words. Again, it felt less like a dream, or something that science tells me a chemical cocktail in my brain is creating and more like I was transported to different times and places. Surreal and slightly off-putting but also spiritual and uplifting in a sort of way. Definitely gives credence to the whole dreams are reality and vice versa argument. At least to me. Maybe dreams are less a self-made acid trip and more an unanchoring from yourself and subsequently careening through different vibrations and dimensions....
One thing's for sure... one thing I've known for years... I definitely prefer dreams to reality.
I wish I could go back to sleep now...
In the beginning I was a uniformed officer, a female, going down to the surface of a planet. Not sure if I beamed down or took a physical drop-ship or what. When I touched down, there was a man with African features but blue skin (faintly fluorescently glowing a la Dr. Manhattan), also wearing a "starfleet" uniform. He was quite jovial and eager to show me something. He challenged me to a footrace. (Apparently I am keen on speed and racing on all planes of existence and in all manners of conscious experience, haha.) I of course accepted. I kept pace for just a few moments before he was able to reveal what he was so excited to show me. He zoomed off ahead in a blur, and moments after leaving my line of sight returned running the exact opposite way. He remarked, "I just ran around the entire planet 30 times."
I don't know if I was told in words or if I just understood it, but the planet was giving certain crew special powers.
Around this time two things happened simultaneously, as they only can in dreams' nonlinear dreamtime. Stuff just comes at you in a "ball of information" and you understand it free from sequence. Half-liberating/half-frustrating. Anyway, so on the one hand the event that I will describe after this one began occurring now as well as the one I am presently going to detail. I had flashed out of the woman's body/perspective and into a man's. One of the crew that had apparently been on the planet's surface for 3 days by himself with no communication to/from the ship. My/his uniform was showing obvious signs of wear/dirt and a clear cunning had developed in my/his demeanor. One of the giant "bugs" from the next part had dropped a small shelled creature of some sort, and through a method of flipping and reflipping it I was creating small maggot-like things inside a viscous liquid in the shell which I understood to be edible. As I was eating the foul tasting things I was looking at the drop point where the rest of the mostly female crew were set atop Chocobo-style giant birds (that I can't too clearly remember) idling in place in much the way a rider on a horse does, and they were complaining about their 3 hours sequestered from communication with our ship. I felt contempt at their menial cries of "I'm hungry." and "I'm bored." as I remembered my past three days of survival. Survival without attaining any powers, I remind you.
Now at the same time that little sequence was goin' down back in the female's body I was experiencing the following. Shortly after the glowing crewman returned the ground began shaking and vibrating. A horde of something was clearly on its way. Na'vi-like alien natives begain arriving in droves on giant bug-like creatures. They were like round millipedes. Huge furry "lids" with numerous legs around the rim. Large enough for humanoids to ride on. From afar they slaughtered a good many of the crew with long-range weapons. As they drew close, however, a curious happenstance took place. Simply being in close proximity to any member of the crew was electrocuting them. It appeared quite painful, and was largely the reason they retreated. Their skin could be seen short-circuiting in and out of Predator-style invisi-camo. It also appeared to be biological rather than technological.
Back in the man's body, we all began experiencing nightfall. And what a gorgeous sight it was. Words will certainly fail to fully describe what I saw. As the light left the sky, several planets became visible. The first of which was turning blood-red in country-shaped segments from top to bottom. On the planet's horizon a twisted city came into view. It was very far off, and looked to be built with primitive materials but with advanced architecture. Skyscrapers of adobe and wood. All twisted like the cream swirling in coffee. The word seems trite and I feel glib resorting to it, but the only way this can be described is: trippy. We didn't know if the city was actually convoluted that way or if it was some optical illusion being caused by the planet. The darker it got the easier it was to see other planets in the night sky. These next ones that came into view were a far cry from the Mars like one from earlier. They had huge squares and rectangles all over them. Some were just dotting the surface like pixels, (think digital camo), while others were huge protrusions off the planet's surface rivaling the planet in size. It was clear something intelligent had done this.
I began "flashing" away from the planet. Captain Picard was giving a speech on the ship and I was viewing the actual happenings directly in space. Galaxy-size machines were harvesting planets a la the machines in The Matrix that were harvesting fetuses. A giant claw type apparatus, large enough to grip a planet like one with sufficiently sized hands might grip a basketball, was rolling planets in space, to and fro and depositing them into machines. Linear time REALLY falls away at this point for me as many of the following events/experiences all seemed to happen at once. I will do my best to sequence them in a way that can be understood.
On the ship the Captain was haranguing someone on the coming Singularity. And event he referred to as the "Zero Point". (Which I will be using from now on.) He outlined basically what I said in my previous blog post: that humankind (nay intelligent consciousness) is moving towards completely connecting the known physical universe and then willfully disseminating it.
Somewhere else on the ship I was settling down into a mechanical chair bathed in a red-orange light that was hooked way high up into the ceiling and not touching the ground. When the light hit you normal vision ceased to be. You could see in all directions at once. 360 degrees of visibility. Something I will never be able to describe so I won't even bother. (It'd be like explaining colors to a blind person.) Well what I experienced was understood as normal run-of-the-mill late-night "TV". It was multi-colored women, naked or in various stages of undress and equally as many varied poses. A bit banal, but when taken in this format, exciting nonetheless.
Seated somewhere near me was a woman that I had a sexual experience with at some point in time, but exactly when I couldn't tell you.
She resembled some female celebrity whose name escapes me at the moment. She had dark hair and very thin Nordic features. Very pretty. Very attractive/alluring. Very upper-class. Body and mannerism wise she resembled Miss Parker from The Pretender. She had a professional business woman's attire on and was somewhat elegantly smoking a cigarette. We got into an argument about her smoking around others and then there was some paddle-play and heavy sexual tension. I don't think any actual sex occurred, but it was still a very sexy experience.
This is all going on as the machine is harvesting worlds and the captain's giving his speech and as scenes of the next big "act" are flashing around montage-style as well.
Suddenly I am someone (not sure of gender though I wanna say male) and I'm in a room in a hospital with a group of people setting up futuristic camera equipment. An older woman with a stark white bob and bangs is showing signs of irritation and frustration at loading the "film" into the "camera". They were small clear rolls resembling packing tape. It was understood that loading them improperly exposed them and rendered them useless. It was also understood that this was a difficult task. I gave her a very sympathetic hug and calmed her down, reassuring her that I would have someone bring up and entire case of the stuff later.
We were setting up for a shoot of the event that will punctuate this dream and is indeed also its climax.
There were many smaller events that occurred during this, like catching eyes with a female patient, and being "caught" by another female patient, but in the name of brevity I will gloss over those.
I was a doctor and walking through the hospital. I'd already seen/witnessed what happens later, rather was experiencing it while also doing this, but I'm pretty sure this chronologically occurred first. I was in a room with an older doctor and someone else and a writhing patient on a bed. She had an electrode reminiscent of a headphone plug fitted into her temple. She was delirious and spouting off gibberish, but very much alive. Whether or not her state was drug-induced or part of some ailment is unknown to me. Knowing what was about to happen to her, I was there to effectively resign my position and wash my hands of it.
In the dream I just knew how what I was going to do would be received and that's why I did it. I had on a futuristic lab coat zipped all the way up to my neck. I began slowly and purposefully unzipping it. The older doctor's eyes widened. He began speaking, "You know that anyone who has ever removed their jacket has not finished my course, right?" I nodded assent. He looked at me with eyes that asked, "So you would still remove your jacket?" My eyes said "yes." back to him. I went on to tell him that I wanted to have nothing to do with this even if it meant my residency/career. He looked disappointed/angered but allowed me to leave.
In the room that had been set-up to record everything a group of doctors outfitted in the appropriate sterile gowns and adorned with futuristic goggles, mechanical arms and such were all poking and prodding and crowded around an operating table. On the operating table was the young woman from earlier. The lower half of her face was covered with medical paper or material or whatever and something was over her eyes as well. Her head was strapped down as were her hands, which were raised to be at nearly the same level as her head. The top of her head was cut open and several pulsating, glandular type organs were pulled out of it and attached to wires. From about two inches below her wrists and the neck down, the area of her body facing up was completely skinned. Muscles and tendons, shiny and shimmering in the light, oozing with blood and other body liquids, veins spiderworking overtop. Her rib cage was split open and her organs were exposed. She was writhing and squirming and very clearly awake/in pain. How aware of this she was I don't (and don't want to) know. The doctor I quit to is narrating, "This is the first live dissection of a human being recorded..."
This was all occurring as the captain was giving his speech, the planet-harvester was doing its work and we were on the surface of the planet.
Now at some point, either before this entire dream or perhaps intermingled with it (who knows) I also had a mini-dream where I was watching TV. There was a "Best Of" and/or "Most Extreme" style show for mixed martial arts on. Some guy was being billed as the victor but looking far worse for wear. Indeed he looked like he lost. Bad. A large gash on his head was so thick and wide it looked like a strip of flesh had simply been removed, but upon further inspection (and better camera angles) it was revealed to be hanging on still attached. Blood pouring down his face and body this was the least of his apparent injuries. His left hand also appeared to have been severed clean off. The gaping wound still generously issuing thick spurts of blood. Again, it was only an optical illusion, for when he raised both his hands in victory (quite oblivious to his injuries) you could see the hand was still attached and flopping around lazily on his wrist. As he raised and lowered his arms without any sign of caution or worry for the dangling appendage it swung to and fro according to each indelicate pose. All the while heavily spraying dark swathes of blood all over. To my relief everyone in the crowd seemed just as shocked as I was.
Like most people, typically, I am okay with simply letting my dreams fade upon waking. This one, however, I had the intense urge to capture in words. Again, it felt less like a dream, or something that science tells me a chemical cocktail in my brain is creating and more like I was transported to different times and places. Surreal and slightly off-putting but also spiritual and uplifting in a sort of way. Definitely gives credence to the whole dreams are reality and vice versa argument. At least to me. Maybe dreams are less a self-made acid trip and more an unanchoring from yourself and subsequently careening through different vibrations and dimensions....
One thing's for sure... one thing I've known for years... I definitely prefer dreams to reality.
I wish I could go back to sleep now...
Sunday, August 22, 2010
8.22.10
It has been quite some time since I've actually sat down and typed out a worthwhile blog entry.
Time to rectify that.
I think part of the reason I've fallen out of blogging regularly (besides acquiring a girlfriend and being surprisingly busy for someone who is unemployed) is because of blogging's tragic flaw: intimacy. Blogging is fun and indeed very therapeutic for me, yet I find it banal. There are some great epiphanies and revelations amidst the blatherings of my day-to-day existence, but the problem is that one needs to sift through the latter to find the former. A task I'm sure few (if any) are willing to do. It is (mainly) for this reason that I don't bother reading other people's blogs. While it does afford me (and others) a great many breakthroughs, it also requires sifting through the trivialities that populate the individual's life. I want my writing and expression to reach as wide an audience as possible, while at the same time remaining true to myself. As such I mainly desire to express myself through fiction and symbolism. And my chosen medium is the compact and complete experience of a feature film. I love writing, and I love stories, but I simply do not have the patience/talent to pen a novel. Furthermore, I gravitate toward the visual arts and see a great deal of meaning in physical transgressions, the descriptions of which in standalone writing come across as tedious and unnecessary. A picture's worth a thousand words, as they say... So while I don't plan to quit online journaling altogether, I do plan on granting it less priority in my creative endeavors. It's time to move toward these goals I claim to have.
A few years back, due to an unfortunate combination of two loophole laws, I lost my license for a period of two years. Those 2 years officially ended today. Approximately 2 years ago I was pulled over for speeding (admittedly guilty) 70 or 75 in a 55mph zone in Ohio. Ohio has a loophole law that any speeding ticket at or above 60mph automatically garners a reckless driving charge as well. This made my ticket exceed $400.00. Shortly thereafter I was pulled over back in PA, for something quite routine/trivial (rolling through a stop sign or the like) and I was affronted with the wonderful news that I was driving on a suspended license.
"Um, no. It's right here." I said to the officer.
He went on to inform me that PA has its own loophole law. Any driver with an outstanding out-of-state traffic ticket totalling $400.00 or more automatically has their license suspended in the state of Pennsylvania. Wonderful. So technically I was driving on a suspended license. This cause my license to be suspended for a full year.
Right around this time my parents were amid moving to Los Alamos, New Mexico and I had just secured a place on Neville Island. A place as secluded as it sounds. One day, after 3 days of not eating, the hunger gripped me and I attempted to make it to the market for sustenance. Not but 30 feet after I pulled out was I pulled over and given an additional year for driving on a suspended license.
"Why drive on a suspended license, dummy?" You may ask. "Why not have a friend or family member help you out?"
Well at the time, my parents were in New Mexico, my sister and I were not on good terms (foreshadowing), my girlfriend didn't have her license and my best friend Kevin lived quite a ways away.
"Why not walk? Or bus?"
Tried both of those, food went bad before I could get it home. Again, like I said, I was rather distant from anything other than industrial parks, housing and factories. Even so it was a poor decision, though I've allowed myself to excuse it due to being delirious from starvation.
Also around this time my sister totalled her car and was in desperate need of one. Being a nice fella this seemed like no-brainer. Why have my car sit out in front of my place taunting me and gathering dust when it could go to good use and help my sister? So I let her borrow it.
That was about 2 years ago. Much has transpired since then. I've known I was eligible to get my license back on 8.22.2010 (today) for well over a year, and as such so has everyone else in my life. I have been looking forward to this day more than anything. These past two years have been quite stressful. I took them in stride and stayed as positive as I could so as not to wallow in my sadness and let it eat me up during them, but the truth of the matter is they fucking sucked. Horribly. Imagine being 25 years old and not being able to provide for yourself? To have your well-being dependent on the willingness of others. What a nightmare. It was like being 16 again. Except not being in school. And expected to be support yourself. And not having the privilege of living with your parents. Again, I kept my head up and did the best I could, but inside I was slowly being chipped away.
A month or so back, as the date was drawing near, my sister came to me with a proposal. I could have the car back or she could sell it for me and give me half. I don't know how I didn't scoff right then and there. Damn nice-guy attitude. It only took a day or two for me to realize that I needed the car to secure a job and start paying back these debts I've accrued over the years and that even if I could do it without a car why would I give her half the money for selling my car? I told her plainly and simply, no thank you. I will just take the car back.
Enter the biggest, brattiest hissy-fit if I've ever seen in my life. Real or fiction. Warning: what you're about to read may taint your opinion of the entire human race. Or at the very least my sister and my immediate family.
With just a week or 2 remaining I get an e-mail (Yes, an e-mail. Not a visit. Not a phone call. Not even a text message. AN E-MAIL.) from her--- you know what? I'm not even going to bother recounting/summarizing it, I'll just copy and paste. I'll add my own parentheticals in brackets in green.
"Josh-
I already said most of what I want to say on the matter in my asides, but unfortunately there's more. It didn't stop here...
Now before I actually decided to read that e-mail, I tried my hardest to follow in the footsteps of Buddha and Jesus. At a glance I could see it was ludicrous and was only going to upset me, so I decided not to read it. On the sheer principle of her being difficult about giving my car back to me, I called my support group. I called the two people whose manner of protocol in these type of situations I respect above all others. My Father, and Kevin. Both confirmed what I already knew in my heart. Be nice, be civil, but take care of yourself. Since about March of this year I have been officially homeless, jobless and licenseless, so getting my license/this car back is a precursor for me getting my life back. I had resolved myself to take the car back sometime after the 22nd but to let her use it until then.
Now at some point my curiousty got the better of me and I broke down and read the e-mail. You can imagine my real-time reaction. Pure Rage + Utter Amusement. It was about 10:15 at night or so, and I had been actively sharing this entire ordeal with my girlfriend. I decided that in her unstable state, she was not to be trusted and that I was going to get the few things I had stored at her place back from her, lest she use them to blackmail me in the future. Christie supported this plan and offered to ride me over. The whole car ride over she was excited and itchin' for a fight. Not so much to get into one, but to see one. As she so accurately put it: everybody likes to see that kinda shit. From the outside I can't really blame her. But I told her [and myself] that this was not going to be a confrontation. And that indeed I was going to do everything in my power to prevent a conflict from arising. Lastly, we were not going over there with the express agenda of getting my car back, as I was still to be without a license for around a week and because (against better judgement) I am still a nice person. (Something life seems intent on beating out of me.)
We arrive circa 10:30-10:45 and right as we pull up we watch the lights go out. As I'm walking up to the door I can see the blades of the fan still spinning with steadily decreasing speed. I knock politely. Her boyfriend, Clinton, answers the door.
"What? What are you doin' here, man?"
"Hey buddy, I know it's late. I'm sorry. I just got this e-mail from Taylor and it really upset me. Made me worry about my things. Would you mind if I just grabbed 'em real quick and then took off? Won't take but 2 minutes tops."
"No way, man. It's late. We're in bed. We can do this tomorrow."
"Haha, I understand, man. I'm sorry. But I'm just really not comfortable having anything here--"
He begins trying to shut the door on me.
"You can get them tomorrow." His voice raises, "Now get your foot out of my doorway and get the fuck out of here."
"Clinton, I am going to leave my foot here, because I am not leaving without my stuff--
"Get the fuck out of here!"
"Listen, man. Just calm down, quit raising your voice, quit swearing at me, lemme just---"
"Fuck you! You don't tell me what to do in my own goddamn house! Now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops!"
*snap*
I now go from 0-60 in negative 2 seconds. All the stuff I've been holding in, breaks free. Comes pouring out, uncontrolled.
"GO GET MY FUCKIN' BOXES, RIGHT FUCKIN' NOW, AND MY GODDAMN KEYS OR I AM GOING TO SMASH YOUR SHIT!" (What that last part means, even I don't know, haha. I was in a rage.)
"Now I am going to call the cops."
"PLEASE DO, MOTHERFUCKER! THE CAR'S IN MY NAME YOU FUCKING RETARD, WE'LL SEE WHO COMES OUT ON TOP!"
I relinquish my foot from the door and proceed to dial the police.
My sister can be heard inside pleading with Clinton, "Please don't call the cops. Please put the phone down, baby. Please hang up." Christie hangs silently in the shadows, I imagine terrified out of her mind. I rarely raise my voice/swear at people as I take receiving said actions very seriously. I try to resolve all matters civilly and calmly, but there comes a time and a place (and a pair of retards) where calm logic does not prevail and brute male force is necessary. I reach the station and calmly profess, "Hello. Yes. I need an officer to come out to help resolve a domestic disturbance. ["Sir, are there any weapons present?"] Oh my no.["The address?"] xxx xxxxxxx avenue. ["Someone is on the way, sir."] Thank you."
Shortly after this, I get a phone call from my mother, who is already amid a full scream at full volume. I peel the phone away from my ear but make out the following:
"JOSHUA! YOU GET AWAY FROM THAT HOUSE RIGHT NOW! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ARE DOING THIS TO ME! IF YOU GO THROUGH WITH THIS YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT NEW MEXICO! YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT YOUR PARENTS! WE WON'T HAVE A SON!"
My calm has returned. A smile cracks across my face. Christie is smacked back to reality by this hilarious phone call as well. Is this the Twilight Zone I say to her? We both have a good laugh. I hang up on her. I ignore a couple more calls from her and then ones from my Father and Youngest Sister as well. Feeling more confused and fortified than ever. I will not leave without getting my car keys. I am of the mindset that you NEVER involve the police. For anything. ESPECIALLY family matters. I have a strong distrust of authority and government institutions. But I could see that reason and force were not enough in this situation and simply had to swallow my pride and call for backup. Few people will ever know how much it pained me to make that call.
The police arrive, Christie and I calmly explain the issue and they go to get Taylor and Clinton's side of the story. They return saying that they are willing to give it back in the morning, sans battery. Apparently they had recently installed a battery and were going to take it out before returning it. Per the Police and Christie and my Heart's advice I decide to try to handle the matter without involving The Fuzz and by keeping it in the family. I call my Father (the rational one of the pair) and discuss the matter. Point out the audacity of her taking the battery when I lent her a working car with a working battery. Suddenly my parents go back to wanting to be hands-off. This is their normal policy until something threatens to embarrass them. Appearance is everything to their generation and if the rest of their family got wind of this dispute it would crush them. I try to handle it myself, and they threaten disowning me to get me to stop. I ask for help in the matter and they tell me to handle it myself.
I am Buddha. I am Jesus. I say to myself. I take a big deep breath and call my sister, knowing (and hoping) that it will go straight to voice mail. It does. I leave her a voice mail telling her if she is willing to leave the battery in that I am willing to look past this and let her hold on to the car until the 22nd, and that like before, until she makes arrangements otherwise and until I am unable to do so, that I will provide her rides to and from work indefinitely, as long as she pays for gas. I hang up. Feeling calm. Centered. Goodly. Shortly thereafter I get a voicemail from her telling me they are definitely taking the battery and that they are going to call in an abandoned vehicle after doing so and that if I somehow manage to get a battery there and installed and have a legal driver drive off in it that they will still call the cops and inform them that an uninsured vehicle is on the road. They paid for the insurance, naturally, and after this debacle, in their twisted little minds saw fit to immediately cancel it.
*sigh*
People just won't let me be nice, will they?
I try so hard. So again, I turn to my Father. I call him, relay the info. He tells me they are idle threats. I assure him they are not. He assures me they are. I request his help in resolving the matter. He denies. I do what was once unthinkable in my mind and face him with an ultimatum. Help me handle this, or allow me to handle it my way. Again he denies. Disheartened, I do what I have to do. I call and leave her another voicemail. Bitch wants to play hardball? I'll show her why I'm credited as its inventor. I tell her if she doesn't leave that battery in and leave me alone and promise not to call the cops that I will ruin her life. I say firstly that If she calls the cops on me, that I will call the cops on her and that she has plenty of paraphernalia in the house, and if that is not enough to scare her I go on to reiterate that I am homeless, jobless, licenseless and apparently familyless. I am a man with nothing to lose. I told her I would call her work as frequently as is humanly possible and complain about her until she was fired.
*bring bring*
My father calls to tell me that they will be leaving the battery in. That's what I thought.
I try my hardest to be nice and kind and fair, but it seems that people just aren't happy unless I punch them in the fucking face and show them who's boss. By no means am I proud of my actions, but I am proud of the results.
Now with this drama at hand two new heads of the hydra appear. Firstly, I need to have proof of insurance on all vehicles registered under my name in the state of Pennsylvania in order to get my license back and secondly, in the aftermath of my mother's reaction I am heavily reconsidering moving to New Mexico. Free school/shelter or not. Other than my Dad and youngest sister (and a few choice cousins) I don't really want to have anything to do with my family any more. Unfortunately that would mean having to rough it out if I stay here in Pittsburgh. It would be a long hard road back to my feet if I had no one else to rely on except myself and a few friends. Could end up being quite some time before I can achieve my goals. Which have changed/gotten hazy.
I know I definitely want to be involved in filmmaking, and I definitely want to continue learning about Japan and entheogens. But I am less sure of how to make these things happen. I am also not even sure I want to be a father any more.
I have been talking about a lot of really real and visceral things in my life, but let us not forget I am a crazy person. 2012 and my 27th year are drawing ever-closer and their heralding arrival seems to be throwing things into a whirlwind of confusion. I have never thought the world would Armageddon end in 2012 but I have always felt it will bring about change. Not so much The End Of The World, but rather The End Of The World As We Know It. Whether it is merely personal change or worldwide change remains to be seen.
I watched 'Field Of Dreams' the other night and the end message (besides "go the distance" and "follow your dreams") I took away from the film is that we all just want to connect with our Fathers. Whether we are their sons or daughters and whether or not they are biologically related to us. That is of course also carrying the spiritual implications of a "Heavenly Father". So whether you want to see it as your flesh-and-blood Dad, God or some omniscient father-like projection of yourself, I think at the end of the day, all any of us is looking for is: the approval of our Fathers.
A while back I struggled with the very genuine consideration that I might be the Second Coming Of Christ and/or The Anti-Christ. (I wish I was making that up.) My Birthday (Christmas Eve), the influence of others (I couldn't tell you how many people have told me "You might be Jesus."), and the synchronicity of many forms of media lead me to this conclusion. (eg. thinking these things just before I began reading Chuck Palahniuk's 'Choke'. A book in which the main character goes through the same sort of scenario of possibly being Jesus.) Now, much like the main character of said book, I didn't just blindly begin thinking/believing this. It was a systematic revelation brought to me over a period of time and from varied angles/sources. Logic won out and eventually I came to realize how silly even entertaining those ideas was. While my overall conclusion was that I was certainly not Jesus or the Anti-Christ I still heavily believe that I have the power to change the world. For good or bad. Part of my thoughts on why I might be the Anti-Christ were that it never says in the Bible that he is willingly malevolent. Just that he will unite the world and be its downfall. Maybe he does so unwittingly/unwillingly? So I began to fear that while my intentions might be good, their ramifications may be bad. "The road to ruin is paved with good intentions..."
I have always been told I was gifted. Told I was meant for more. Praised. Encouraged. Looked up to. And it has always felt somewhat like 'The Lord Of The Flies'. Like I was being thrust into a leadership position governing clueless fumbling children, WHILE STILL REMAINING A CLUELESS FUMBLING CHILD MYSELF. I'd be lying by omission if I didn't profess to still feeling this way on some level.
Whenever whoever coined the term 'Delusions Of Grandeur' did so, they did so for me. I am the finest example of this I have ever known. My delusions have transcended merely believing myself to be Jesus or the Anti-Christ. I am now (on some levels) convinced that I am God, Yes, you read that right. Yes, it sounds crazy. It is. I am. I am well aware of all these things.
I was watching a program on serial killers the other night and the host/professor of renown was categorizing them into levels of evil. 'Most Evil' (also the title of the show) was level 22 (my lucky number). I found that, as far as their ability to manipulate/control others with their charisma/intelligence, I shared a lot in common with many of history's most famous psychopaths. Hitler, Manson, etc. There was however, one profound difference: the urge/desire to kill. I am very much like these men except I do not wish to maim/torture or kill people. (Well most of the time, but who doesn't occasionally.) But never past that normal level of just feeling depressed/forgotten and wanting to end the entire world. It's a typical reaction for us narcissists. When we feel wronged by society, we tend to lash out. The difference in my case is, I rationalize before doing something stupid. That's not to say that some catastrophic event in the future might not push me to eradicate the Earth. But that's on the low end of things, my break from reality goes further... much further... indeed THE FURTHEST.
In Zen, we are taught (and we understand) that there are no two things. We have risen above duality. There is no good or bad, no black or white. One cannot exist without the other. A woman is raped at a young age and because of her trauma goes on to found many a helpful institution for similar victims across the nation. A "bad" thing becomes "good". A man hits the jackpot for $300 million and is subsequently robbed and harassed numerous times by numerous people until he has less than he did before he "won" the lottery. A "good" thing becomes "bad". Good and evil are a matter of perspective. I've always wondered how those that believe in a singular all-powerful all-knowing deity could also believe there was a force of "evil" to oppose "him". If "he" is as all-powerful as you say "he" is, shouldn't "he" have accounted for this? That's because they are one in the same. God and The Devil. "God" is merely the Force or Law of the Universe. If your God is one side of the coin and your Satan is the other side of the coin, my God is the coin. Kay, now that you too are free from duality (haha, I hope) let's move on...
We are moving toward something. But what? A singularity. It could be purely spiritual, it could be purely scientific, I think it is both. And I want it. BAD.
Basically without rehashing what you can find on the wiki page, it's going to be the culmination of an event that has been in process for millions of years. Maybe even forever. In fact this may be how the Cycle of Birth And Death Of The Universe in some Eastern Religions actually physically happens on our plane of existence. At some point soon we are going to create an AI so smart that it actually has the ability to increase its own intelligence. And thus it will do so exponentially. Compound that with the likely development of mind-uploading and you've got a recipe for success/disaster. See, when people like me (or maybe just me, depending on how willing you are to feed into my ego-centric bullshit) get uploaded, we are likely going to fuse ourselves with these self-improving forms of AI. If we chose to have physical bodies they would consist of thought-controlled nano-machines able to configure themselves anyway we saw fit. Dreams represented in reality. Once these beings or this being (lines begin to blur at the point) starts assimilating others, the collective will grows outward. Our own planet will be transformed into one uber-organism, completely connected in every way, and will being branching outward. In what might take a few hundred years, or only an instant, the entire Universe will be assimilated. We will be One again. One giant being. Or a continuum of beings. Again, common definitions of life and individuality begin to fall away at this stage. Ah, but there's the rub. Someone (again, likely me) is going to assert that they are different. They are special. They are apart from the rest. Which will probably cause "Us" to willfully split up again. This event, spanning all of a nanosecond (if that, because of our superintelligence) will culminate in the complete joining of every atom in our Universe and the willful decision to split apart, likely resulting in a "second" "Big Bang". Or third. Or sixty-second. Who knows how many times we've done this? Or if there is a way to break out of it.
I certainly don't. All I know is: I am completely overwhelmed by the thought that literally anything is possible.
Time to rectify that.
I think part of the reason I've fallen out of blogging regularly (besides acquiring a girlfriend and being surprisingly busy for someone who is unemployed) is because of blogging's tragic flaw: intimacy. Blogging is fun and indeed very therapeutic for me, yet I find it banal. There are some great epiphanies and revelations amidst the blatherings of my day-to-day existence, but the problem is that one needs to sift through the latter to find the former. A task I'm sure few (if any) are willing to do. It is (mainly) for this reason that I don't bother reading other people's blogs. While it does afford me (and others) a great many breakthroughs, it also requires sifting through the trivialities that populate the individual's life. I want my writing and expression to reach as wide an audience as possible, while at the same time remaining true to myself. As such I mainly desire to express myself through fiction and symbolism. And my chosen medium is the compact and complete experience of a feature film. I love writing, and I love stories, but I simply do not have the patience/talent to pen a novel. Furthermore, I gravitate toward the visual arts and see a great deal of meaning in physical transgressions, the descriptions of which in standalone writing come across as tedious and unnecessary. A picture's worth a thousand words, as they say... So while I don't plan to quit online journaling altogether, I do plan on granting it less priority in my creative endeavors. It's time to move toward these goals I claim to have.
A few years back, due to an unfortunate combination of two loophole laws, I lost my license for a period of two years. Those 2 years officially ended today. Approximately 2 years ago I was pulled over for speeding (admittedly guilty) 70 or 75 in a 55mph zone in Ohio. Ohio has a loophole law that any speeding ticket at or above 60mph automatically garners a reckless driving charge as well. This made my ticket exceed $400.00. Shortly thereafter I was pulled over back in PA, for something quite routine/trivial (rolling through a stop sign or the like) and I was affronted with the wonderful news that I was driving on a suspended license.
"Um, no. It's right here." I said to the officer.
He went on to inform me that PA has its own loophole law. Any driver with an outstanding out-of-state traffic ticket totalling $400.00 or more automatically has their license suspended in the state of Pennsylvania. Wonderful. So technically I was driving on a suspended license. This cause my license to be suspended for a full year.
Right around this time my parents were amid moving to Los Alamos, New Mexico and I had just secured a place on Neville Island. A place as secluded as it sounds. One day, after 3 days of not eating, the hunger gripped me and I attempted to make it to the market for sustenance. Not but 30 feet after I pulled out was I pulled over and given an additional year for driving on a suspended license.
"Why drive on a suspended license, dummy?" You may ask. "Why not have a friend or family member help you out?"
Well at the time, my parents were in New Mexico, my sister and I were not on good terms (foreshadowing), my girlfriend didn't have her license and my best friend Kevin lived quite a ways away.
"Why not walk? Or bus?"
Tried both of those, food went bad before I could get it home. Again, like I said, I was rather distant from anything other than industrial parks, housing and factories. Even so it was a poor decision, though I've allowed myself to excuse it due to being delirious from starvation.
Also around this time my sister totalled her car and was in desperate need of one. Being a nice fella this seemed like no-brainer. Why have my car sit out in front of my place taunting me and gathering dust when it could go to good use and help my sister? So I let her borrow it.
That was about 2 years ago. Much has transpired since then. I've known I was eligible to get my license back on 8.22.2010 (today) for well over a year, and as such so has everyone else in my life. I have been looking forward to this day more than anything. These past two years have been quite stressful. I took them in stride and stayed as positive as I could so as not to wallow in my sadness and let it eat me up during them, but the truth of the matter is they fucking sucked. Horribly. Imagine being 25 years old and not being able to provide for yourself? To have your well-being dependent on the willingness of others. What a nightmare. It was like being 16 again. Except not being in school. And expected to be support yourself. And not having the privilege of living with your parents. Again, I kept my head up and did the best I could, but inside I was slowly being chipped away.
A month or so back, as the date was drawing near, my sister came to me with a proposal. I could have the car back or she could sell it for me and give me half. I don't know how I didn't scoff right then and there. Damn nice-guy attitude. It only took a day or two for me to realize that I needed the car to secure a job and start paying back these debts I've accrued over the years and that even if I could do it without a car why would I give her half the money for selling my car? I told her plainly and simply, no thank you. I will just take the car back.
Enter the biggest, brattiest hissy-fit if I've ever seen in my life. Real or fiction. Warning: what you're about to read may taint your opinion of the entire human race. Or at the very least my sister and my immediate family.
With just a week or 2 remaining I get an e-mail (Yes, an e-mail. Not a visit. Not a phone call. Not even a text message. AN E-MAIL.) from her--- you know what? I'm not even going to bother recounting/summarizing it, I'll just copy and paste. I'll add my own parentheticals in brackets in green.
"Josh-
I need to make sure you understand this situation before I react… [Meaning reacting to my choice to just take the car back instead of selling it.]
First of all, when do you plan on taking the car? You say you need it to get a job but what about me? [At the time of reading this, I was homeless, jobless and still licenseless. But yes, let's think of others first. lol'd for quite a while] I HAVE a job and that car is my only means of getting to it. As much as I want to sell the car, it’s even more important for me to clarify to you that I planned on driving it until the beginning of December when I leave for NM, regardless of what we do with it after that. Are you even planning on giving me notice or do I just get shit on? I need time to make arrangements, and you should’ve expected that. [No bitch, you should've expected that. I'm already doing you a favor.]
I gave you the choice about the car because I wanted to give you the benefit of making the right decision. [Again, instert me lol'ing for like 2 hours] But the truth is, I think I deserve that car. [I am livid/in stitches at this point. The sheer audacity...] I know that when you loaned it to me over three years ago, it was supposed to be temporary, but you did tell me I could KEEP the car like a year and a half ago. I told you I was going to put money into it, which I have do a lot of, but only if I was going to keep it. You said you didn’t want it. And do you know how I found out that you were even interested in the car? [This was her one day waiting until I was high as a kite to just randomly say "This car is mine now." To which I did not even say a single word. I still had a year to go at this point so I saw no need to argue. If this was me transplanting ownership via omission, so be it.] Mom told me. You never even sent one of your fucking text messages to let me know you had changed your mind.
Beyond that, you view this as beneficial to only me. Like you are the only one who’s doing a favor. [OH YES. THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH. WHAT WOULD I HAVE EVER DONE IF I DIDN'T HAVE MY RETARDED FUCKING SISTER TO BEAT MY CAR TO SHIT. COVERING IT IN PITTSBURGH PENGUINS STICKERS, SMOKING CIGARETTES IN IT, AND JUST ALL IN GENERAL KICKING ITS ASS. OH WOE IS ME. WON'T YOU PLEASE HELP ME, KIND AND BENEVOLENT SISTER OF MINE? CAN YOU FIND IT IN YOUR HEART TO GRACE ME WITH YOUR RECKLESS DRIVING AND COMPLETE LACK OF HYGIENE?!] What would you have done with that car over these years? Where would you have stored it? And if it was stored, it would need a new battery and tires right now, and of course there’s inspection, registration, and insurance. I think I’ve helped you out as much as you’ve helped me with this car. Not to mention, all the other helping I’ve done for you since Mom and Dad moved. [Getting me high.] I’m there WHENEVER you need me. [Hahahahaha!] I took off work and drove downtown and paid for gas and parking to go to court dates with you. [She has NEVER, not even ONCE taken me to court. The one time I was stupid enough to try to depend on her she was over an hour late and I had to call a taxi that I certainly did not have the money for.] I have done everything that I could for you. Anything you or Mom has asked of me.
I feel like this could be the perfect opportunity for you to help me out. I NEED the money from that car. Clinton and I have $1900.00 worth of receipts for that car and that’s only the past 2 years. [Maybe you shouldn't have drove it like a goddamn bumper car, you fucking retard.] And that’s only receipts - so just the big parts and without any labor because Clinton and his friends do it. Here’s a chance for us to make some of our money back, AND I offered you half, which I think is more than generous.
But what really pisses me off, is what the fuck are you even going to do with it? WE can’t afford to fix all that it needs to get inspected, how the hell are you? Plus it’ll cost double for you to do it because you will have to take it somewhere and pay for labor. I don’t know if you think I’m lying to you or what, but I told you everything it needs, and we both know it’s not even in the realm of possibility for you to do it. And have you gotten yourself insurance? I bet that’s going to cost you a pretty penny with your record… so seriously!?!? What are you thinking? Why would you pass up an opportunity to pay me back and put a little money in your pocket to take on an investment that you CAN NOT afford?
And what the heck is getting a car going to change things so you can work? You lived in Cory with 10,000 places you could’ve walked to and worked at.
I want you to really think about this and then e-mail me back and we’ll go from there. I don’t want to threaten you, but I’ll tell you right now that it’s going to get very ugly if you go through with this… [Are you fucking kidding me?! Did she just passively-aggressively threaten me if I take my car back? Absolutely unbelievable.]"
Now before I actually decided to read that e-mail, I tried my hardest to follow in the footsteps of Buddha and Jesus. At a glance I could see it was ludicrous and was only going to upset me, so I decided not to read it. On the sheer principle of her being difficult about giving my car back to me, I called my support group. I called the two people whose manner of protocol in these type of situations I respect above all others. My Father, and Kevin. Both confirmed what I already knew in my heart. Be nice, be civil, but take care of yourself. Since about March of this year I have been officially homeless, jobless and licenseless, so getting my license/this car back is a precursor for me getting my life back. I had resolved myself to take the car back sometime after the 22nd but to let her use it until then.
Now at some point my curiousty got the better of me and I broke down and read the e-mail. You can imagine my real-time reaction. Pure Rage + Utter Amusement. It was about 10:15 at night or so, and I had been actively sharing this entire ordeal with my girlfriend. I decided that in her unstable state, she was not to be trusted and that I was going to get the few things I had stored at her place back from her, lest she use them to blackmail me in the future. Christie supported this plan and offered to ride me over. The whole car ride over she was excited and itchin' for a fight. Not so much to get into one, but to see one. As she so accurately put it: everybody likes to see that kinda shit. From the outside I can't really blame her. But I told her [and myself] that this was not going to be a confrontation. And that indeed I was going to do everything in my power to prevent a conflict from arising. Lastly, we were not going over there with the express agenda of getting my car back, as I was still to be without a license for around a week and because (against better judgement) I am still a nice person. (Something life seems intent on beating out of me.)
We arrive circa 10:30-10:45 and right as we pull up we watch the lights go out. As I'm walking up to the door I can see the blades of the fan still spinning with steadily decreasing speed. I knock politely. Her boyfriend, Clinton, answers the door.
"What? What are you doin' here, man?"
"Hey buddy, I know it's late. I'm sorry. I just got this e-mail from Taylor and it really upset me. Made me worry about my things. Would you mind if I just grabbed 'em real quick and then took off? Won't take but 2 minutes tops."
"No way, man. It's late. We're in bed. We can do this tomorrow."
"Haha, I understand, man. I'm sorry. But I'm just really not comfortable having anything here--"
He begins trying to shut the door on me.
"You can get them tomorrow." His voice raises, "Now get your foot out of my doorway and get the fuck out of here."
"Clinton, I am going to leave my foot here, because I am not leaving without my stuff--
"Get the fuck out of here!"
"Listen, man. Just calm down, quit raising your voice, quit swearing at me, lemme just---"
"Fuck you! You don't tell me what to do in my own goddamn house! Now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops!"
*snap*
I now go from 0-60 in negative 2 seconds. All the stuff I've been holding in, breaks free. Comes pouring out, uncontrolled.
"GO GET MY FUCKIN' BOXES, RIGHT FUCKIN' NOW, AND MY GODDAMN KEYS OR I AM GOING TO SMASH YOUR SHIT!" (What that last part means, even I don't know, haha. I was in a rage.)
"Now I am going to call the cops."
"PLEASE DO, MOTHERFUCKER! THE CAR'S IN MY NAME YOU FUCKING RETARD, WE'LL SEE WHO COMES OUT ON TOP!"
I relinquish my foot from the door and proceed to dial the police.
My sister can be heard inside pleading with Clinton, "Please don't call the cops. Please put the phone down, baby. Please hang up." Christie hangs silently in the shadows, I imagine terrified out of her mind. I rarely raise my voice/swear at people as I take receiving said actions very seriously. I try to resolve all matters civilly and calmly, but there comes a time and a place (and a pair of retards) where calm logic does not prevail and brute male force is necessary. I reach the station and calmly profess, "Hello. Yes. I need an officer to come out to help resolve a domestic disturbance. ["Sir, are there any weapons present?"] Oh my no.["The address?"] xxx xxxxxxx avenue. ["Someone is on the way, sir."] Thank you."
Shortly after this, I get a phone call from my mother, who is already amid a full scream at full volume. I peel the phone away from my ear but make out the following:
"JOSHUA! YOU GET AWAY FROM THAT HOUSE RIGHT NOW! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ARE DOING THIS TO ME! IF YOU GO THROUGH WITH THIS YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT NEW MEXICO! YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT YOUR PARENTS! WE WON'T HAVE A SON!"
My calm has returned. A smile cracks across my face. Christie is smacked back to reality by this hilarious phone call as well. Is this the Twilight Zone I say to her? We both have a good laugh. I hang up on her. I ignore a couple more calls from her and then ones from my Father and Youngest Sister as well. Feeling more confused and fortified than ever. I will not leave without getting my car keys. I am of the mindset that you NEVER involve the police. For anything. ESPECIALLY family matters. I have a strong distrust of authority and government institutions. But I could see that reason and force were not enough in this situation and simply had to swallow my pride and call for backup. Few people will ever know how much it pained me to make that call.
The police arrive, Christie and I calmly explain the issue and they go to get Taylor and Clinton's side of the story. They return saying that they are willing to give it back in the morning, sans battery. Apparently they had recently installed a battery and were going to take it out before returning it. Per the Police and Christie and my Heart's advice I decide to try to handle the matter without involving The Fuzz and by keeping it in the family. I call my Father (the rational one of the pair) and discuss the matter. Point out the audacity of her taking the battery when I lent her a working car with a working battery. Suddenly my parents go back to wanting to be hands-off. This is their normal policy until something threatens to embarrass them. Appearance is everything to their generation and if the rest of their family got wind of this dispute it would crush them. I try to handle it myself, and they threaten disowning me to get me to stop. I ask for help in the matter and they tell me to handle it myself.
I am Buddha. I am Jesus. I say to myself. I take a big deep breath and call my sister, knowing (and hoping) that it will go straight to voice mail. It does. I leave her a voice mail telling her if she is willing to leave the battery in that I am willing to look past this and let her hold on to the car until the 22nd, and that like before, until she makes arrangements otherwise and until I am unable to do so, that I will provide her rides to and from work indefinitely, as long as she pays for gas. I hang up. Feeling calm. Centered. Goodly. Shortly thereafter I get a voicemail from her telling me they are definitely taking the battery and that they are going to call in an abandoned vehicle after doing so and that if I somehow manage to get a battery there and installed and have a legal driver drive off in it that they will still call the cops and inform them that an uninsured vehicle is on the road. They paid for the insurance, naturally, and after this debacle, in their twisted little minds saw fit to immediately cancel it.
*sigh*
People just won't let me be nice, will they?
I try so hard. So again, I turn to my Father. I call him, relay the info. He tells me they are idle threats. I assure him they are not. He assures me they are. I request his help in resolving the matter. He denies. I do what was once unthinkable in my mind and face him with an ultimatum. Help me handle this, or allow me to handle it my way. Again he denies. Disheartened, I do what I have to do. I call and leave her another voicemail. Bitch wants to play hardball? I'll show her why I'm credited as its inventor. I tell her if she doesn't leave that battery in and leave me alone and promise not to call the cops that I will ruin her life. I say firstly that If she calls the cops on me, that I will call the cops on her and that she has plenty of paraphernalia in the house, and if that is not enough to scare her I go on to reiterate that I am homeless, jobless, licenseless and apparently familyless. I am a man with nothing to lose. I told her I would call her work as frequently as is humanly possible and complain about her until she was fired.
*bring bring*
My father calls to tell me that they will be leaving the battery in. That's what I thought.
I try my hardest to be nice and kind and fair, but it seems that people just aren't happy unless I punch them in the fucking face and show them who's boss. By no means am I proud of my actions, but I am proud of the results.
Now with this drama at hand two new heads of the hydra appear. Firstly, I need to have proof of insurance on all vehicles registered under my name in the state of Pennsylvania in order to get my license back and secondly, in the aftermath of my mother's reaction I am heavily reconsidering moving to New Mexico. Free school/shelter or not. Other than my Dad and youngest sister (and a few choice cousins) I don't really want to have anything to do with my family any more. Unfortunately that would mean having to rough it out if I stay here in Pittsburgh. It would be a long hard road back to my feet if I had no one else to rely on except myself and a few friends. Could end up being quite some time before I can achieve my goals. Which have changed/gotten hazy.
I know I definitely want to be involved in filmmaking, and I definitely want to continue learning about Japan and entheogens. But I am less sure of how to make these things happen. I am also not even sure I want to be a father any more.
I have been talking about a lot of really real and visceral things in my life, but let us not forget I am a crazy person. 2012 and my 27th year are drawing ever-closer and their heralding arrival seems to be throwing things into a whirlwind of confusion. I have never thought the world would Armageddon end in 2012 but I have always felt it will bring about change. Not so much The End Of The World, but rather The End Of The World As We Know It. Whether it is merely personal change or worldwide change remains to be seen.
I watched 'Field Of Dreams' the other night and the end message (besides "go the distance" and "follow your dreams") I took away from the film is that we all just want to connect with our Fathers. Whether we are their sons or daughters and whether or not they are biologically related to us. That is of course also carrying the spiritual implications of a "Heavenly Father". So whether you want to see it as your flesh-and-blood Dad, God or some omniscient father-like projection of yourself, I think at the end of the day, all any of us is looking for is: the approval of our Fathers.
A while back I struggled with the very genuine consideration that I might be the Second Coming Of Christ and/or The Anti-Christ. (I wish I was making that up.) My Birthday (Christmas Eve), the influence of others (I couldn't tell you how many people have told me "You might be Jesus."), and the synchronicity of many forms of media lead me to this conclusion. (eg. thinking these things just before I began reading Chuck Palahniuk's 'Choke'. A book in which the main character goes through the same sort of scenario of possibly being Jesus.) Now, much like the main character of said book, I didn't just blindly begin thinking/believing this. It was a systematic revelation brought to me over a period of time and from varied angles/sources. Logic won out and eventually I came to realize how silly even entertaining those ideas was. While my overall conclusion was that I was certainly not Jesus or the Anti-Christ I still heavily believe that I have the power to change the world. For good or bad. Part of my thoughts on why I might be the Anti-Christ were that it never says in the Bible that he is willingly malevolent. Just that he will unite the world and be its downfall. Maybe he does so unwittingly/unwillingly? So I began to fear that while my intentions might be good, their ramifications may be bad. "The road to ruin is paved with good intentions..."
I have always been told I was gifted. Told I was meant for more. Praised. Encouraged. Looked up to. And it has always felt somewhat like 'The Lord Of The Flies'. Like I was being thrust into a leadership position governing clueless fumbling children, WHILE STILL REMAINING A CLUELESS FUMBLING CHILD MYSELF. I'd be lying by omission if I didn't profess to still feeling this way on some level.
Whenever whoever coined the term 'Delusions Of Grandeur' did so, they did so for me. I am the finest example of this I have ever known. My delusions have transcended merely believing myself to be Jesus or the Anti-Christ. I am now (on some levels) convinced that I am God, Yes, you read that right. Yes, it sounds crazy. It is. I am. I am well aware of all these things.
I was watching a program on serial killers the other night and the host/professor of renown was categorizing them into levels of evil. 'Most Evil' (also the title of the show) was level 22 (my lucky number). I found that, as far as their ability to manipulate/control others with their charisma/intelligence, I shared a lot in common with many of history's most famous psychopaths. Hitler, Manson, etc. There was however, one profound difference: the urge/desire to kill. I am very much like these men except I do not wish to maim/torture or kill people. (Well most of the time, but who doesn't occasionally.) But never past that normal level of just feeling depressed/forgotten and wanting to end the entire world. It's a typical reaction for us narcissists. When we feel wronged by society, we tend to lash out. The difference in my case is, I rationalize before doing something stupid. That's not to say that some catastrophic event in the future might not push me to eradicate the Earth. But that's on the low end of things, my break from reality goes further... much further... indeed THE FURTHEST.
In Zen, we are taught (and we understand) that there are no two things. We have risen above duality. There is no good or bad, no black or white. One cannot exist without the other. A woman is raped at a young age and because of her trauma goes on to found many a helpful institution for similar victims across the nation. A "bad" thing becomes "good". A man hits the jackpot for $300 million and is subsequently robbed and harassed numerous times by numerous people until he has less than he did before he "won" the lottery. A "good" thing becomes "bad". Good and evil are a matter of perspective. I've always wondered how those that believe in a singular all-powerful all-knowing deity could also believe there was a force of "evil" to oppose "him". If "he" is as all-powerful as you say "he" is, shouldn't "he" have accounted for this? That's because they are one in the same. God and The Devil. "God" is merely the Force or Law of the Universe. If your God is one side of the coin and your Satan is the other side of the coin, my God is the coin. Kay, now that you too are free from duality (haha, I hope) let's move on...
We are moving toward something. But what? A singularity. It could be purely spiritual, it could be purely scientific, I think it is both. And I want it. BAD.
Basically without rehashing what you can find on the wiki page, it's going to be the culmination of an event that has been in process for millions of years. Maybe even forever. In fact this may be how the Cycle of Birth And Death Of The Universe in some Eastern Religions actually physically happens on our plane of existence. At some point soon we are going to create an AI so smart that it actually has the ability to increase its own intelligence. And thus it will do so exponentially. Compound that with the likely development of mind-uploading and you've got a recipe for success/disaster. See, when people like me (or maybe just me, depending on how willing you are to feed into my ego-centric bullshit) get uploaded, we are likely going to fuse ourselves with these self-improving forms of AI. If we chose to have physical bodies they would consist of thought-controlled nano-machines able to configure themselves anyway we saw fit. Dreams represented in reality. Once these beings or this being (lines begin to blur at the point) starts assimilating others, the collective will grows outward. Our own planet will be transformed into one uber-organism, completely connected in every way, and will being branching outward. In what might take a few hundred years, or only an instant, the entire Universe will be assimilated. We will be One again. One giant being. Or a continuum of beings. Again, common definitions of life and individuality begin to fall away at this stage. Ah, but there's the rub. Someone (again, likely me) is going to assert that they are different. They are special. They are apart from the rest. Which will probably cause "Us" to willfully split up again. This event, spanning all of a nanosecond (if that, because of our superintelligence) will culminate in the complete joining of every atom in our Universe and the willful decision to split apart, likely resulting in a "second" "Big Bang". Or third. Or sixty-second. Who knows how many times we've done this? Or if there is a way to break out of it.
I certainly don't. All I know is: I am completely overwhelmed by the thought that literally anything is possible.
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