Vish!

"An artist is a person who performs certain things skillfully but doesn't really know how he does it."

"An artist is a person who performs certain things skillfully but doesn't really know how he does it. You learn art by methods that you don’t know how you learn."

VISH

short for vicious circle...

I hear an owl outside my bedroom window...

"Do you know a game called "Vish?" What you do is, everybody has a standard Webster's college dictionary, you sit round a table, and then there's a hat and you pull out, somebody pulls out a word, and everybody looks the word up, then they write down on a pad, the keywords and the definition of that word, then they start looking them up, and the first person who gets back to the original word calls out "Vish," short for "vicious circle" and he wins the round. And the referee, there's always a referee, he decides whether you worked fairly, whether you didn't take an illegitimate shortcut."

"The UnSpeakable World.
Unspeakable also means disreputable..."


"All such philosophers should play Vish. Each player is given a copy of the same dictionary. A referee draws a word from a hat, and immediately the players look it up, take a key word from the definition and look that up, and so on. The first player to get back to the original word calls out "Vish!" (vicious circle), and the referee checks his steps to be sure they are legitimate."

"churches are sexual regulation societies."

"Each player is given a copy of the same dictionary. A referee draws a word from a hat, and immediately the players look it up, take a key word from the definition and look that up, and so on. The first player to get back to the original word calls out "Vish!" (vicious circle), and the referee checks his steps to be sure they are legitimate."

"meaning never enters into his game. All such philosophers should play Vish. Each player is given a copy of the same dictionary. A referee draws a word from a hat, and immediately the players look it up, take a key word from the definition and look that up, and so on. The first player to get back to the original word calls out "Vish!" (vicious circle), and the referee checks his steps to be sure they are legitimate."

The Most Highly Skillful Art Of All

Talk:Vish_(game)

Vish (Game) -- "In the game of Vish (short for vicious circle), players compete to find circularity in dictionary definitions. Irish mathematician and physicist, John Lighton Synge, invented the multi-player, refereed game to emphasize the circular reasoning implicit in the defining process of any standard dictionary."

"All such philosophers should play Vish." - Alan Wilson Watts (In My Own Way: An Autobiography)

Learning The Human Game

*ahem*

VISH!

[Ready For The Next Step]

Dear Harley,

I'M COMIN' FOR YOU.

Click this picture, and then click Like. Do it, or I will eat you. I mean, I might eat you anyway, but clicking Like will bump you down the list.

7.22.12 UPDATE - AT LEAST 11 more, PLEASE.

I have a few episodes written/outlined, and I'm working on a few more. Gonna try to shoot/edit/upload a "Vish-pilot" ASAP. The only thing I'm waiting for is my parents' visit. Once they've come and gone, unless I hear differently from Harley, I AM WALKING TO FUCKING CANADA. I've mapped it out. I know my fitness/capabilities and while it will be hard, IT WILL BE SO WORTH IT. And so goddamned Epic. Befitting of both the Vish name and the EpicMealTime brand. Should take a little less than a month.

Harley, while I would greatly appreciate the help getting up there (bike, motorcycle, car, airfare, piggyback, magical flying baconweave, the money for any of those, etc.) save your generosity til after I arrive. This is some crazy shit, everybody knows that, but when I pull it off it will reach proportions that can fittingly only be described as Epic. I can hear one or both of our voices now, "THIS NUTJOB WALKED OVER 600 MILES. ALL THE WAY FROM PENNSYLVANIA, THE CANADA OF AMERICA." Besides, yer gonna need all that youtube money to feed me, 'cause when I arrive, I'LL BE FUCKING STARVING.

Pretty much unless The Sauce Boss says otherwise, the plan is to spend some time with my parents and then secure my apartment until after I get back, whenever that may be. I'll need to pony up a couple of months of rent and of course a little money for food for the journey. I'll be packing EXTREMELY light. Probably just a single outfit and my phone along with money and a few toiletries. I'll record videoblogs along the way and post them here to keep everyone apprised of my progress. That way everyone can follow along from the comfort of their own homes.

My goal is in sight and I'm getting sick of waiting for Morenstein to pull the trigger. Stime to show some initiative.

Knowing me and my charm it would be all too easy to fund-raise for travel fare and or secure rides along the way, but that won't do. That's not Epic enough.

No no.

When I burst through that door, likely the leanest I've been in years, HUNGRY AS FUCK, barefoot and barechested, I'll scream at the top of my lungs "HARLEY. I'M HUNGRY." and the whole crew will look at me and know "That's a crazy motherfucker right there." CRAZY LIKE A FOX.

I'm tired of waiting for things to come to me. It's time to go for what I want. Vish-style. Zero fux given. BALLS DEEP.

GET AFTER IT.

Rubbin' Elbows? More like Slammin' Shoulders!

My life has been one big fantasy as of late. One long string of wish-fulfillment. Goal-setting is a helluva drug.

So about a month back I got a call from Nancy Mosser to come be an extra on the film OUT OF THE FURNACE. An actual phone call, while I was reading the e-mail they sent in tandem. Usually, when you sign up with Nancy Mosser, you'll get notifications about what's available and then you call them. Well, this time, they called me. From about that moment forward I've been giddy as a schoolchild and for good reason.

Looked up the movie for that link above and now I'm distracted reading about all the other people that worked on it. And now I am editing my own IMDB page instead of finishing this entry...

Anyhoo...

Day 1

Arrive on set.

Within 10 minutes all my dreams begin coming true. Exactly like how they occur in movies and fantasies the globe over.

I can plainly see a line, so like a good little sheep I walk over and insert myself in it. A crew member asks me if I've signed in yet and when I respond that I have not, he tells me to go to another line. I was in line for wardrobe. I go over to the sign-in line which is about 20-30 people long and before I've settled into my spot, another crew member asks "Has he seen wardrobe?" and pulls me out of the line. I politely inform that I've yet to sign in and am quickly poo-poo'd off. They pull me out of the line and bring me back over to wardrobe. I'm wearing a wifebeater and the boys and girls of the wardrobe department are making no attempts at subtlety. Within seconds they begin undressing me. A gentlemen that I'm going to assume was gay, asks me with a signature slight lisp "Can we use these muscles?" Nodding and pulling my shirt off of me before I've had time to respond. Certainly, I say. That's what they're there for. They hand me another wifebeater and after I've put it and the other items handed to me on, two of them (a male and a female, both seemingly quite eager for this part of the process) begin "juicing" me up. A process involving rubbing me down with dirty rags.

Inside of a minute I am wearing different clothes and there is a woman purposefully applying product to my beard and twisting it into fours. I stare back over at the other extras, who are all staring at me like a hungry puppy stares up at the dinner table.

As I'm whisked away to go sign in, I can hear my fellows complaining. "But it's so hot! That guy gets to wear a wifebeater!" The scene we're were there for is set in November, so everyone else is wearing long-sleeves and pants, regardless of it being 70/80 degrees out.

I get signed in and go back over to the extras line.

"Sweet beard, dude."
"You're ripped, dude."

Thank you, thank you.

Not even a half an hour on site and already I feel like a doted-on celebrity.

After more beard/muscle praise we're all corralled to a school bus that will take us to the actual location that we're shooting at.

Sometime around there we're informed of the rules. We were literally told not to address celebrities. "Don't ask for pictures, don't ask for autographs." The caste system began asserting itself.

I would detail the place we went to, but as the movie has yet to come out, I don't want to ruin anything for you, so instead, I'll speak generally.

We were there to be spectators for two underground fights. One between two actors I'd not heard of prior. And another between Casey Affleck and one of the guys from the previous fight.

The two stunt guys were cool as fuck and keen to eye me up as I mirrored their stretching routine. This was the beginning of the shoot and therefore the beginning of 15 hours days and balancing shooting with my day job. My fitness was beginning its decline. Regardless, I was still decently jacked and receiving no shortage of confirmation of that. "Haha, so are you one of the fighters?" and many variations of that contributed to what was one of the longest Ego-stroking sessions of my life. In between takes my fellow extras would ask for fitness tips or forcefully tell me of their routines/diets. Shortly thereafter, the crew began joining in. Crew would walk me away and introduce me to other crew. Everyone shook my hand, looked me in the eye, told me their name and asked me for mine. Handshakes were firm and compliments were flowing like water.

Now despite our stark direction from the crew earlier, one of the ADs granted me exception. Everyone was told not to touch the actors, or to get too close or to do anything like Mary Tyler Moore tugging on her ear. "If we see you doing something to stand out on camera, you will be asked to leave." Regardless, T.Coe, whom I later came to affectionately refer to as "Coach" (the moniker bestowed upon him by the crew), leaned in and gave me special direction.

"Hey. You're doing great. Have you acted before?"

Indeed.
"It shows."
Thanks.
"Hey, don't be afraid to get in there. Don't be afraid to touch them. Get a lil crazy."

Again, I'd detail how I went crazy, but I'd rather you wait and see on the big screen. This is, after all, how we get paid and how I hope to be paid in the future.

Well after the first take wherein I "got crazy" the extras near me started doing the same. After cut was called, Coach came over and bluntly scolded "NOT you guys, okay? Him." Boy I was starting to feel like a snotty little shit at this point, and indeed I could feel a disconnect forming between me and my fellow extras.

I was the privileged guy. The special case. The exception. They were the faceless horde.

Sorry my friends, but we all get our due and this one was mine.

After a few takes, the energy was beginning to wear off of everyone whereas I kept resetting and giving 100%. It did not go unnoticed. After this first day, we switched around a bit. People that were across the way on day one eagerly offered, "Great energy, man." "Yeah, you really set the bar."

NOW THAT IS SOME PRAISE I CAN HANDLE.

Beard/muscles praise is nice, but.... it's just a beard, you know? This, this was something I was doing.

After that "Great energy." became the new go-to compliment that I'd receive and eventually lose feeling for due to semantic saturation.

We took breaks to eat and there the hierarchy became even more evident.

Now, I can't remember if it was that first day or the next as all the days blended together, running on 4 hours of sleep or less, but at some point, again when energy was waning, people were settling into modes of psyching themselves up between takes.

In between one take, Casey dropped to the ground and pounded out a couple of grueling pushups. Obviously to give himself a little pump and get his head in the game. Well when it looked like he wasn't even gonna reach ten before standing back up I dropped to the dirt and started bangin' some out myself. Heads snapped toward me. I had crested ten and was onto twenty in under a few seconds. My form was borderline plyometric as I was coming several inches up off the ground each time. The moment got the better of me and I screamed (what is fast becoming a signature move of mine) a fratboy "Woooo!" and followed with "Let's go Affleck! Don't quit!"

Literally the entire group turned their heads my way.

I stood back up and bounced in place a bit. I was pumped. Fired up. Lovin' and livin' life. My actions had not yet fully registered with me. I could see something moving through the crowd like a wave does at a stadium. Unrest. When it made it's way to me it was the extras flanking me on either side.

"Yer fucked man."
What?
"Yeah they're gonna kick you off set. Everyone was watching you."
But it was in between takes!
"Yeah but that guy *gesticulates toward fight choreographer* looked over here and he HATED it."

Oh?

"Yeah and Casey looked perturbed too."

Really?

So I waited a few takes and then walked over to Casey and the Fight Choreographer. As I was approaching, the looks on the faces of the crew said "What the fuck? First you screamed at him, now you're walking toward him? Do you have a death wish, kid?"

I poke Affleck. He turns around.

Hey dude, did I fuck with your concentration or anything?
"Not at all man, I really appreciate the energy."

See! That's what I thought! We're here, we're supposed to full of testosterone and meth and I know everyone's tired. I was just tryin to keep morale up.

The Fight Choreographer chimes in... "Yeah, yer fine, man."

I walk back over to my spot, Big Dick Swingin'.

Balls just draggin' on the floor.

Yeah, that's what I thought.
We do some more takes and we wrap for the night, 15 hours later. I sleep for like 6 minutes and then head back out.

The next day is when things intensified.

Day 2

The wedge between me and my fellows was becoming more and more apparent.

Lots more praise was received and people were still pulling me away to introduce me to people. People knew my name before I knew their's. The crew and the stand-ins had taken a liking to me and would sneak me food and or grant me access to the swanky bathrooms. The jealously was plain on the other extra's faces. But fuck 'em, you know? Be happy for me you jealous little shit. Snot my fault you never lifted weights. Not my fault you still insist on bringin a thin strip of metal to your face daily. This is my time to shine, let me have it.

And a good group of them did. Indeed we all added each other on facebook and would talk and chat in between takes and at meals.

One of my favorite memories of this day (and it was filled with many) was when one of the men cast as one of the Slavics came up to me, shook my hand and told me I was his hero.

For what?

"Dude, you were in a push-up contest with Casey Affleck. Yer the man. We're supposed to be looking certain ways, but every take I can't take my eyes off of you. I kept looking over to see what you'd do. Yer an animal, man."

Wow. Set filled with celebs and I'm your hero? Thanks, guy.

So we got to talking about how we regarded the celebs and such and then the topic of Willem Dafoe came up..

Willem Dafoe is a goddamned force to be reckoned with. A sight to behold. The man is a samurai. Intense, focused and unfaltering. When crew would be scrambling to remember marks or subtle wardrobe changes Willem would always speak up, and from one fellow observer to another, he was always right. The man was the only other person on set besides me that was soaking in as much as I was. He was completely aware, completely present. I started this project expecting to meet Christian Bale, and wondering how starstruck I'd be, I left it with an immense and newfound respect for Willem Dafoe. The man was truly an inspiration. And from the way he creepily (Willem Dafoe is creepy as fuck. Nice guy, but gives me the willies) stared at me between takes he could sense my energy too. At first I thought he was gay and maybe just into me, but as the day wore on I realized something we all realize in middle school or sooner. You can't see that someone is staring at you unless you are staring back at them, too. He was essentially acknowledging my presence and keeping watch on me. As I was doing to him. It was a powerful moment in my life. I could notice him looking my way whenever he and I would reset. Everyone else kinda never hit the highs we did and also sorta stayed zazzed up in between takes. Willem and I, samurais that we are, hit our marks and then returned to our spots to await the call of action again. The more I watched him watching me, the more respect I gained for him and myself. 

The dude that told me I was his hero, claimed Willem was an asshole.

"He's an asshole. They'd already called cut and he still looked us in the eye and yelled at us."

What'd he yell?

"Get out of the way, you fucking zombies!"

Hmm. Weird. Is he method?

"Method?"

How are you supposed to feel towards his character on camera?

"We're not supposed to like him."

So you're supposed to regard him with disgust and scorn, right?

"Yeah."
And now that he said that to you, how do you feel about him?
"..."

Which means now, when you're on camera your genuine looks of disdain will shine through. No acting necessary.

"..."
Willem Dafoe just got inside your head. He did your job for you. You're a fucking pawn to him.

My broner raged on.

We eventually wrapped for lunch and what happened then is the only time I'm really comfortable name-dropping.

I FUCKING PLAYED SOCCER WITH WOODY FUCKING HARRELSON. FUTBOL WITH A MAN THAT PLANTED CANNABIS ON THE WHITE HOUSE LAWN.

We'd just finished eating, when I noticed a pink ball being tossed around in the distance, giant manpuppy that I am, I jogged toward it. "What are they playing?", I inquired as I passed staggered groups.
"Kickball."

KICKBALL?! I increased my pace, I was now at an 85% sprint.

KICKBALL FUCK YEAH.

As I drew closer I could see that it was a soccer ball, not a dodgeball. I peeled off my shirt and shoes and began rolling up my jeans on the sidelines.

"That's Woody Harrelson out there. You can't go out there." A spectating extra offered.

Watch me.

I get out there, and I'm stuffed from lunch, tired from the long days/no sleep but something deeper and greater than my flesh keeps propelling me forward. When will I ever have this opportunity again? The super cute Brenna Lee Roth, cheered me on from the sidelines. This was real life. This was my real life.

"Let's go, beard!" she called after me as I chased the ball as if my life depended on it. I haven't played footy in years and barely knew what teams were, but we had a fucking blast. At one point the ball wooshed past Woody and I came in hot chasing it,
BOOM
I slam in to his shoulder. Reality turns to bullet-time. We're both shirtless and slightly sweaty and as parts of his skin stickily pull away from mine and other parts effortlessly slide past, I look him right in the eye, and what I saw there very well may be my favorite memory from the entire shoot. The look on his face was one of shock mixed with boyish pleasure. Pleasantly surprised. His face said "Thank you. Fucking thank you for not treating me like a little prissy pansy like everyone else on set does." At least that was my interpretation. He coulda been thinking, "YOU DARE SHOULDER WOODY HARRELSON?!" either way, next play he made a bee-line for me and shouldered into me. Wow. Either Woody Harrelson is playing with me or mad at me. Either way, WHO CARES, I AM PLAYING A GAME WITH AN A-LIST CELEB.

We got called back to set and as I'm unrolling my jeans and putting back on my shoes, someone addresses me,

"The balls on you, sir. I wish I coulda just ran out there like that. Weren't you scared?"

No. What's the worst that could happen? He'd just point and shake his head and I would've obediently turned around. "Any shot not taken is a goal not scored."

I've always taken that saying to heart.

Once we got back to set, the buzz of my actions made its way back to me a couple of times and sustained the high I'd had from the very moment they pulled me out of line.

I was standing next to a dude named Eliot and he totally ruined my attempts at staying calm in between takes. He and I were cracking each other up left and right and even some of the people around us. Funny dude and we both hope to work together in the future.

During a meal break I also accomplished something nearly as memorable as pushups with Affleck and soccer with Woody. The moment I perceived the hierarchical breakdown I desired to shatter it. And shatter it I did. I did exactly what I wanted. It was literally like a scene out of a movie. Extras on one side of the tent, crew/celebs on the other. Middle table vacant. You know exactly where I set my tray. Right at the head of that middle table. And just like I wanted and just like you'd want, representatives from each group began congregating on me. "You played soccer with Woody Harrelson!" I know man, I know. We sat and ate and chatted until it was time to shoot again.

Toward the end of one of my other personal favorite highlights began occurring. The crew and specific members of the crew at that, began shaking my hand and complimenting my work. I'd died and gone to heaven. "Great energy." "Pleasure working with you." Glad-handing and dick-sucking were in no short supply.

I fully expected that to be the last day of shooting, but instead in keeping with it being a fantasy experience, I was asked to come back the next day.

In between takes I continued to joke with Eliot and in between scenes I continued to flirt with Brenna. Interesting girl. Little troublemaker. A real firecracker. Hung out in the extras tent, encouraged bad behavior. My kinda gal.

Days 3 and 4

The beginning of day 3 we shot some scenes in a Buick and I became infamous for my Jamie impression. Jamie was the AD and the most stereotypical British AD ever. He spoke in an even disaffected tone but peppered everything with properly pronounced swearwords that seemed somehow simultaneously elegant yet extra laughable in his accent. So most of this day was driving back and forth and slaying my fellow extras with my impression. Twice, not once, but TWICE I'd accidentally fooled a crew girl. "Wait, when did he say that?" He didn't, that was Josh. "He literally sounds exactly like him." If I ever work with him again, I'll be sure to zing 'im.

After we wrapped the Buick scene, they walked us way the fuck back in the cut and left us there. Informing us that they'd call us when they needed us. So after about 2 hours in the COMPLETELY dark woods, alone, we began growing restless. Somebody played some tunes with their phone and eventually a pipe was lit and passed around. Most stuff was done, and besides I wanted the memory for posterity. I took as many hits as the circle allowed and got nice and high realizing the beauty of being paid to hang out on quads and smoke weed in the woods. There will be few moments in my life that simplistically beautiful. Life was literally perfect at that point. The perfect end to a perfect experience. I also got smacked with an unexpected life lesson. The dude that was passing around the weed was a longhaired, tattooed, sunburned ginger answering to the name of "Red". I'd written Red off as a good ol' boy and largely resolved myself to treat him with professional courtesy, nothing more. Well after he pulled out ganja he skyrocketed up in my book and then after we were high and got into talking, he brought up ancient aliens and lost civilizations and such. Here is this guy that I wrote off as some dumb hick and now here I am smoking his herbs and engaged in interesting conversation with him. Boy was my face....... red. That'll show you, Vish, you cocky, elitist sunuvvabitch. You looked down on him and now you realize he's into all the same shit as you. I felt bad, as I rightfully should, but still very thankful for the harsh lesson. It's one I won't soon forget.

So essentially at the end of Day 3 and then all of Day 4, I/we got paid to have a sleepover in the woods. We got paid to smoke tree and drive quads. For 2 days, that was my life. Get a ride with Jeff to Raccoon State Park and then sit in the dark puffing flowers, talking about shit and occasionally riding quads. Unbelievable.

Thank you Life. Thank you Universe. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Allah. Thank you Tom Cruise. Thank you Mom. Thank you Dad. Thank you Me.

Also, in addition to getting paid to poke smot and hang out in the woods, Days 3 and 4 consisted of getting paid to eat things like this:

On day 3 before shooting the buick scene I gave my phone to a crew girl and she snapped some pics for me. If anyone from the production is reading this and has a problem with these, please, let me know right away, I'll take them right down. As they don't give anything about the plot away, I see no harm in sharing.

My butts was a dirty butts.

This is where she took over:

Each of those lights was about the size of a recliner.

I loved the juxtaposition of the new equipment and old building/nature.

White tent to the right in the background is where the extras were held.

This pic makes it look like these guys were just sitting around, but truth is the crew hummed around set like bees or ants.

In between Days 3 and 4, a buddy of mine came into some quality cannabis and was kind enough it to deliver to me at work. I gave him my card and permission to go into my place and he rounded up the cash and made the purchase for me. I'd somehow already just come into free pizza and my buddy Joe had just purchased a six-pack to enjoy out front. So after a text to a fellow stoner, I smoked in the basement, drank a few beers and finished my shift the happiest and most efficient any one has ever finished a shift ever.

Beer was free, pizza was free. Herb was dank and reasonably priced. All brought to me whilst on the clock. That's right, I got paid to drink pizza and eat beer. #Vishlife

And to think, none of this would've been possible without that cowboy-hat-n-chux clad friend of mine (and favorite Betten): Jeff.

Me and Jeff

And no, jackass, it is not "Jeff and I". It would be, if that was a sentence. Like say, "Jeff and I went to the store." Because you wouldn't say "Me went to the store." Well, Cookie Monster would. And maybe the Hulk. But you're not Cookie Monster or Hulk, I am. This is a picture. If it was a picture of just me, I'd caption it as "Me" so saying "Me and Jeff" is applicable here. Class dismissed.

On a completely unrelated note:

This was Uncle Phil's face when I told him that he was Shredder.

Berserk - The Becoming [NIN] AMV

Setting/Achieving Goals

11.3.11 
Yesterday, a buddy agreed to bring his truck over and to help me move. The truck only had a six foot bed. So, we took a few trips and then called it a night. Thankfully, he arranged to have access to a larger truck for today.

One of things we did manage to move was my couch. Whenever bed time came, I slept on the floor of the partway emptied out place. This morning, when I awoke, my landlords were standing over me. Which, in their defense, is not that creepy cuz a.) I was supposed to be gone on the 31st and b.) I sleep like the dead.

Compounded with that, I accidentally missed work. An entire shift. No-call, no-show. That never looks good.

And yet, despite all that, I had a great time today. Joey Booker helped me move, I have to say, with a raging broner, the dude is the bee's knees. It was like hanging out with myself. Funny, high-energy, full of vitality. I loved it. A grueling experience for most, was a hang-out/story-time for our optimistic asses. Ever the consummate gentlemen he treated me to bacon pizza not once, but TWICE, during our moving ordeal. Once yesterday and once today. I am rather shocked at what it essentially feels like to hang out with me. I almost never want to hang out with a "normal" person ever again. That young man, single-handedly took what was a daunting and somber task and turned into a funtime partytime cakewalk. It was so nice to for once be on the outside looking in. Take a look at dis rah-dikaluss mafucka right here:


Fantastic. I am definitely stoked to hang out with him without the need to ask favors or complete tasks. That kid is goin' places.

A few months back I started walking on my hands again. After breaking my wrist 3 years ago, I was told that I would NEVER again be able to walk on my hands and that I'd possibly never be able to lift weights. When I was granted one more month in my place, I challenged myself to handwalking the entire length of the apartment before I left. DIRECTLY (I have a witness, haha) after moving EVERYTHING out (2 dudes, 2 trips, 5 hrs total) I had Booker record this:


It's kind of amazing to me that I literally did something I was told by medical professionals that I would never do again. I'm having a real hard time not dwelling on the awesomeness of overcoming such a prognosis. Such is the power of Consciousness. Of Intent. If you fully and truly set your mind to something, NOTHING can get in your way.

Booker had to book it somewhat early and I had one last item left to transport. My big corkboard. He was kind enough to drop me off and after completing the handwalk challenge I was up for another hurdle to clear. Unfortunately I was not prepared for reality.

When he dropped me off, and I entered my old apartment, now completely bare except for the corkboard, I was overwhelmed with loneliness and memories. I broke down into tears (rare) and even began talking to myself (INSANELY rare), I eventually gathered my composure and set off on my quest. Not before ungracefully calling my ex and suffering a subsequent text barrage wherein she requested that we cut ties completely. I let the difficulty of the task at hand distract me away from that. I do love a good challenge.

It took me a damn long time to walk it over. I had to switch hands every thirty seconds or so. By the time I'd actually made it to Brookline blvd. it was around midnight and my forearms/hands/shoulders were screaming/burning. That trek was harder than the day of moving and the handwalk challenge combined.

The corkboard ended up serving as as conversation starter/topic of interest. A group of three dudes randomly inquired as to what I was carrying and a conversation developed. The readily available, and visually digestible, collage of all things Vish quickly ingratiated me to them. They were somewhat young and my frank/humorous nature seemed to take them completely by surprise. I spoke candidly about "beatin' ma dick" and then we waxed philosophical on the mathematics of a properly proportioned posterior. Mentions of Alexis Texas, Kristina Rose, Rachel Starr, Pinky, and Kim Kardashian followed. I do so enjoy a good rump.

*pauses to think about bums*

Anyhoo, a cop drove by and told us to keep it down. One of the dudes got lippy. The cop dismissed us and set in on the young buck. Myself and the other two rolled up to my crib where they practically fell in bro-love with me. Topics of discussion ranged from ass to cannabis to martial arts and philosophy. Such an amazing feeling to literally have it be your first day in a new neighborhood and to already be making friends. I offered to smoke them out for free and I hope they take me up on it. The concept seemed quite novel to them, and in our short time I already seemed to have a positive impact on their way of thinking.

Eventually I sent them home though because some buddies contacted me about middle-manning for them. The English language may be direct and nice for spelling out things plainly, but it's somewhat lacking in attaching beauty to events the way more Romantic languages do. There is something quite sublime about smoking for free in the company of people you enjoy. This seems an obvious and oversimplified concept, but there's much more to it than words are capable of communicating.

They came, we blazed, they left.

Shortly thereafter, I got a call from my "old" neighbor to help find her cat. I struck off her way but as I anticipated, the moment I was almost there, I got a call that they had already found the fickle feline. Happy she found 'im I about-faced and headed home, content to categorize the jaunt into the "health and exercise" section.

I was plenty high while walking and the effects of such a state combined with music and physical activity made for a powerful experience. One I usually take for granted. Walking, after such a long physical day, being high and listening to music felt just perfect. I was the master of my own destiny, forming my own path with my own two feet.

When I got back home, the concept of buildings seemed overly simplified.
"It's just outside that's inside is all."
Specifically what brought this revelation on was the stairway up to my new apartment. I live above a couple of businesses and it's pretty evident to me that over time, as things grew closer and closer together, the stairway materialized out of necessity. What was once probably wrought-iron steps on the side of a brick building has become wooden steps inside a building directly next to another building. The "coats" of "growth" seemed more noticeable.

On the way there, the sidewalk width, the road width, business, traffic, people all made perfect sense to me. The organic progress was immediately apparent. Hey people walk here a lot, lay down some concrete. Hey a lot of people walk here, lay down some additional concrete to increase the width of the path.

My buddies that I'd smoke with earlier had been texting me intermittently about ideas for some characters I'd explained to them. The Josh Vish show seems more inevitable than ever. What an absolute blast making it would be.

Another bonus of my new place is free wi-fi. Granted I have to sit dead center in the middle of a room I hadn't planned on using, but hey, it's free. Shutcho mouf n enjoy it, ya silly bitch.

I've waited long enough to publish this that a few days have passed, and with them more adventure/stories have occurred as well.

11.4.11
My old landlords refunded me the utility deposit they asked of me at the beginning of the month. The refund was granted in the form of a single hundred dollar bill.

Look at Ben Franklin. That smug motherfucker. Judging you. His pursed lips and solid stare practically scream "You're a fuckup." His face says, "What are you going to spend me on? It'd better not be petty. I hope you're using me wisely."

Fuck you, Franklin. I'm my own man, I'll spend you on whatever I want. Don't judge me.

And the game is on to figure out how I want to spend it. A vacuum cleaner is at the top of the order because I need one and I really wanna clean this place. I also need food. Decisions, decisions.

Tonight was the Annual After-Halloween Party.
One of the girls hosting it offered to pick me up. She's SUPER cute and nice and even popped my Phantom Fright Nights cherry not too long ago. I was broke as a joke and she picked up the tab. I was tired out of my mind before she suggested the evening but I could not pass it up. And my God am I glad I didn't. What a fun fuckin' time. Being at Kennywood at night is kinda magical. I mean being at Kennywood is in and of itself magical, but compounded with Halloween decorations/lights and workers in costumes, it was surreal. I was sober, but due to my lack of sleep and the novelty of the event it very much felt like one big drawn out psychedelic trip. It was epic. We had a blast for sure.

So when she offered me a ride, I'd just got home from work and she had just clocked out herself and was headed my way. I got in a superquick shower, showed her the place for a little bit and then decided on a "costume". We decided to get some pizza as both of us were hungry as fuck and had plenty of time before the shindig officially began. When we got to her place, the stress of having to set up/clean up was getting to her and I was eager to help. I did what I could yet largely felt ineffective. I communicated this and she told me a way in which I could help. She proffered some duckets and her keys and bade me acquire more beer.

Crew morale was the name of the game so I didn't want to prolong or increase her stress by asking for directions. I drove to where I remembered and then drove the strip back and forth to no avail. I came upon a CVS that I know a good friend lives near and here's where things got really adventurous.

Not finding the beer distributor on my own, I called my buddy and asked if he was home. He was. I asked if he'd come down and guide me to beer. He would. He did. He came down and popped in the car and while guiding me to the suds store told me of my serendipitous/synchronous timing. He and his girl had just ordered Chinese and were about to blaze. --- Sometimes I just really really REALLY love my life. --- So we went and purchased all the necessary provisions and headed back to his place. We headed upstairs and moments later the food arrived. They both insisted on sharing and being financially well off enough, for the first time in a month or so, I was able to throw a few bux their way for hospitality. I think of it less as "paying" them and more like keeping them in business. We smoked, we ate, we chatted. Our time was too brief, but unfortunately ice was melting in the car. They suggested I rock a custom-made Finn hat, and they didn't really need to twist my arm. Indeed, this was already shaping up to be quite The Adventure Time.

Hat in tow, high, beverage and ice in car, I headed to the party. Fortuitously enough I arrived just after the scheduled start point and thankfully many others had already arrived. My entrance wasn't as grand as I'd imagined (Kicking down the door, holding all three cases of beer, both bags of ice, shirtless, barefoot and capped FOR ADVENTURE TIME.) What actually occurred was decent enough though. After comedically interpreting an overhead insult as aimed at me (someone yelled 'slut') I furiously tore off my clothes and began setting up the brews in a bucket. Already the energy had been established. Ladies were starin'/touchin' and I was feelin' great.

A couple of dudes were apparently excited to see me specifically and indeed upon my arrival bromance was thick in the air. I was told that my youtube account and facebook profile were followed closely and that, and I quote, "I don't even fuck with Twitter, because I get everything I need from your facebook." My beard was complimented, as was my physique. The Ego was getting HEAPS of strokes from many different people.

My favorite moment of the evening however had little to do with fitness or appearance. One young man that had already expressed his fondness for my facebook and youtube videos went on to cite my encouraging his decision to quit smoking tobacco as pivotal in the execution of it. Absolute music to my ears. That is one of those bat 'em outta the park moments where something you always want/try to do actually gets done and to a degree beyond what you initially desired. I'm deeply honored and powerfully pleased to have contributed to a person eschewing tobacco use and reclaiming the sanctity of their flesh. Feels good, man.

This young man was also quite eager/excited to smoke cannabis with me. I don't know if you know, but I kinda/sorta enjoy smoking marijuana. I mean, just a little bit. The party was well underway and I was feeling great. Another crowd was indulging in ganja and quite willing  to share, again being able to do so for the first time in a little while, I threw a couple bux their way to pay it forward. To keep 'em in business.

Sometime during all the shenanigans, shirtless bro-antics occurred on the back deck/porch and my innerbro was all too happy to oblige. Rugby, wrestling and other forms of cock-measuring stirred up my age old desire to have a physical equal to play rough with.

Basically the night consisted of enjoying genuine conversations with some, silly ones with others, flirting with girls, bonding with bros, drinking shots and beers, hittin' pipes and blunts, and of course, eatin' snax. Floatin' from room to room makin' people laugh, ogling girls' legs/asses. An absolutely amazing time.

After the night had kinda died down a bit and people began trickling off, one bold young lady bravely swooped in for a few smooches before departing. I cannot stress what an insane Ego-boost this celebration was. I practically feel justified in calling myself a celebrity at this point. Definite positive reinforcement for continued development down this path.

I was hoping to cuddle and maybe a little more with the girl that brought me, but unfortunately she goes hard in the motherfucking paint and was passed out by about 2. I lost her amidst the sea of inebriated individuals that populated her bed/floor. No room for Vish. :(

As serendipity would have it however there was room for Vish in another female's bed. Yes that's correct, I was lucky enough to cap off my night by enjoying some cuddles with a cute/funny/smart girl on her comfy bed. I am indeed just that fortunate. On our way to unconsciousness she brought my youtube knowledge up to speed. She showed/introduced me to some of the funniest shit I have ever seen. A lot of it I can't believe I didn't already know. The funnies were almost (almost) more pleasurable than the cuddling. She also went on to display some of her accomplishments and achievements and I must admit they are noteworthy, I am genuinely intrigued, my interest has been piqued.

11.5.11
In the morning, I pressured her (in the good way) to relax a bit, as she definitely seems to be the workaholic type. It felt so nice to wake up next to a soft body under covers on an actual bed again. When sleeping alone, I prefer a couch/futon, but there's not much in existence that compares to the pleasure of regaining consciousness on what is essentially a giant pillow that's been raised off of the floor with a member of the opposite sex directly sidled up to you.

In another example of my/our "small world" getting smaller, she apparently used to date an increasingly close friend of mine.

I had to go to work, so the girl that brought me, then took me home and was also kind enough to take me directly to work. I worked a super short shift today, the purpose behind it was to practice steaming milk. I'm a barista-in-training and despite what some humble caffeine-slangers say, it's very subtle art. I worked with a new co-worker and we seemed to hit it off pretty well right from the start. Conversation flowed easily and he is exactly where I wanna be when it comes to coffee knowledge. A bona fide connoisseur. I will be shadowing him, and him specifically, closely in the coming weeks. So far I've found two worthwhile work-related mentors there.

On the way home I stopped by Molly's to try their by-the-slice offer and let me just say, WOW what a fantastic product. I am thoroughly pleased and will DEFINITELY return for more. Absolute quality food being serving at that establishment. I woulda taken a picture of those delicious slices of 'za, but alas my phone was dead. Between that and the "hand-pies" I've been purchasing at Pitaland I'm really enjoying my new apartment's location. The proximity to street-food that I can eat on the fly (and for pretty dang cheap) is a huge plus. I've been striking a nice little rhythm of waking up a little bit before work, heading out, spending $3-5 on something I can eat while I walk, eating free food at work and then having my tips from the day recoup and typically exceed the day's expenses. I am more than okay with this. Wake up, have certain amount of money in pocket, buy some food, eat free food, go home with more money than when you came. My net worth is steadily gaining currently and obviously I very much enjoy this.

Tomorrow is my first day off since moving in and I hope to at least establish a basic living area. Kitchen, bathroom and a moderate bedroom set-up. I'll let everything else kinda develop organically as I go. I really don't know how I wanna lay everything out. It's a lot of room for one person. I'm heavily considering having a roommate move in. I don't really wanna unpack too much because history has taught me that I don't typically stay in once place for too long. While the location is ideal, the cleanliness, or lack thereof, has me very much entertaining the thought of moving again after winter. I dunno, we'll see.

Remember, remember! 
The fifth of November, 
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot; 
I know of no reason 
Why the Gunpowder Treason 
Should ever be forgot!

One Step At A Time

The apartment is cold, dark and empty. JUST LIKE MY HEART, haha.

I'm in that bodily state of low temperature wherein normally trivial bumps and scrapes attain a brand new layer of pain. Bumping a knuckle here, bonking an elbow there. It all seems to hurt much more when one is cold.

I've never been one for subtlety so I'll just go ahead and acknowledge the obvious symbolism in that.

Things that wouldn't normally hurt or affect us, have much more impact when we're already in a state of distress.


A lot of the trauma of this series of events is due to the proximity of its constituent parts. Any standalone portion of this would be a daunting obstacle in its own right, but all combined together it's like the Voltron of Ass-Fuckery.

I just want some stability, you know?

I've done this (unfortunately) enough times now, that it hasn't fully taken me by surprise or fully taken me off my feet. I am still standing. I have a good idea of what to do. I will go on. That much, I know. The exact details of how, however, are going to need worked out.

I'm doing what I've taught myself to do in these stressful situations: putting my blinders on. Willful tunnel vision.

I began writing in an effort to center myself. I meant that as in here and now, but in general I guess that applies too. Writing focuses me. Makes my thoughts more tangible. When they're inside my head I'm more susceptible to the ebb and flow between them and my emotions. When they're on the screen and flowing off my fingertips, I'm like a scientist or a student assessing a problem. I look at the problem, eliminate as many variables as possible and then proffer a solution, fully prepared to embark upon the process of trial-and-error.

So what I know now is: I have to be out by the 31st. I have no income. I have no place lined up to go. Most of my belongings are already packed and stacked in a way that, I have to give myself, is much more efficient than past versions of myself or current versions of others could accomplish. It's impressive, really.

This sucks, and it hurts, but like a newly christened boxer well into the sophomore years of his career, I've been hit before and I KNOW I will be hit again. And it's like Rocky Balboa tells me,

"It ain't about how hard you hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward, how much you can take and KEEP MOVING FORWARD."

It hurts, my head is stinging, my ears are ringing and I'm having trouble seeing straight, but I'm on my feet. And more importantly, I'm aware that "he" is on his feet too, and gearing up to strike me again. I mustn't give up. I must be prepared. I will get through this. If this series of events hasn't stopped me in the past, why should I let it stop me now? Fatigue? I have too much pride to be beaten by that. If I'm going to be stopped, it's going to be all the way.

So what needs to be done?

First and foremost, I need to eat. I've lost a lot of weight/strength and I can't afford to lose any more.

So... I will make some eggs. I will eat them, and I will do the resulting dishes.

And then I need to secure income, so I will walk around and collect applications from ANYWHERE with a now hiring sign.

I will fill them out slowly and purposefully over this weekend and I will turn them in bright and early on Monday morning.

Lastly, I need to be more mobile, so I will bring everything up from the basement. Including the uniform empty boxes needed to finish packing. I will pack as much as I can tonight before falling asleep, whilst simultaneously trimming the fat anywhere I can. Getting rid of excess possessions. Things I don't need/use.

I may hate this process and it may make me doubt my Higher Self and this entire plane of existence, but that doesn't change my ability to recognize, and be impressed by, my growth and resilience. At each iteration of this cycle I have gotten better. Leaner, faster, stronger. Each crisis only serves to hone my resolve and mold me into a more pure version of myself. Hopefully, one day, there will come a point in my own development where I can never be caught off-guard again. Not living in a state of prepared paranoia, but living in a state of fully relaxed alertness.

The more I watch my life fall apart around me the more remarkable I find my own reactions to it. An objective part of me is literally awestruck at my awesome ability to pick up the pieces and move on. In my head sometimes I think "This is too much. I'm not going to make it. I'm in over my head.", and yet all the while I'm thinking that, I'm watching my hands, consolidate things into neat piles. It's almost like my physical being has a will of its own. And if what I've observed holds any truth it would appear that "he" literally does not know how to quit. At times like that, I'm all too happy to turn the reigns over to him.

There are problems, very real problems, that are going to shift out of my future and shift into my present very soon, but I can't let those distract me from the ones at hand. Cross each bridge as I come to it. What use is it to fret and worry about future bridges when there is one that needs immediate attending to?

I will let tomorrow's problems worry about themselves. For now, I'm going to deal with today's problems. Here and now's obstacles. Right now, the biggest things in my way are hunger, lack of income and loose possessions. All of which I have the power to fix, here, now, today.

The Zen Of Anger

Girls vs. Boys
Crying vs. Yelling/Swearing

If I made you cry, good. You made me angry.

We abuse each other. And take more abuse than we fully consciously realize.

Random Ideas:
Girl that gets paid to have food eaten off of her. "taekwondo body pizza" (how's that for random?) has nightmares that intermingle with sexual fantasies about actually being eaten.

I will never feel guilty for being a man or expressing anger again. Not so long as it is acceptable for women to cry.

It is impossible to speak about the future. Anything we say automatically becomes the past, during the act of talking we experience the present. Thinking about the future is the only way to "talk" about it.

the value of limitation

"god mode" game, gain more and more skills until the "game" becomes boring, starts off as a puzzle, turns into an action-adventure, ends as a littlebigplanet/minecraft-esque create-your-own game, only way to "beat" the "game" is to recreate it inside itself
"infinity" the only thing there is to do when you've reached the end is: to start over. From scratch. "The Journey, not The Destination."

There is an inverse proportion between ability and motivation. The greater your ability to do something, the less your inclination to do it. We only want challenges.

The "meat" of the game is the human realm/level of awareness. Makes players forget they are even playing a game. The parts leading up to and coming after happen in a much shorter span of time. With the latter showing a propensity toward exponential increases in speed.

1 -through the dimensions
2 -single cell
3 -evolution
3a-ecosystem a
4 -consciousness
5 -humans
5a-Christ consciousness
6 -technology
7 -ecosystem b
7a-the singularity a [the direct beginning of the singularity]
8 -planets, solar systems, galaxies, cosmosystem, black holes, spiral power
9 -the singularity b [the near end of the singularity] "waking up"
10-starting over/ [Quantum Unity, Quantum Dispersal]

the "game" of "life"

Sorta like Katamari Damacy and Gurren Lagann rolled into one. (Get it? Rolled? fnar fnar fnar)
Dash of The Matrix.

What do you do once you've rolled everything up? Start over.
Separate it. Willfully disseminate it, then begin anew.


If I'm to be expected to control my anger, why aren't you expected to control your sadness?

I am high off of my anger right now.
I feel incredible.
I am thinking so clearly.

My anger focuses me.

Anger is nothing but misguided passion.

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...