Dull thuds
felt more than heard, assaults
on the land
above, already desolate,
tortured. Lost down
in the dark, grasping
for anything, aching for trembling
fingers to brush
against hope, sole survivor
of all I once had, but did it make
it down here with me, to this secure
blackness of the underground,
like an armoured
womb beneath relentless waves
of raging terror?
I may not have been entirely naked but I think my shirt was off. In any case, I seemed to be sitting at the end of some table. My back hurt like hell, particularly my one shoulder. It felt tense to the point of agony and the involuntary twitching was fucking relentless. Then a woman walks over to me. I cower like a wounded animal at her approach, though once she puts her hand on my shoulder it instantly relaxes, the pain immediately disappears.
Fade to black…
I remembered walking into my bedroom and checking the digital alarm clock beside my bed, staring at the time and trying to make sense of it. I knew that this clock was set an hour and a half ahead, but the math still suggested it was far later at night — or earlier in the morning, actually — than it should have been. I check my cell phone and the clock on the computer and it still seems that too much time had passed. To boot, I feel certain that I had not been asleep, but I had absolutely no memory of what I had been doing beforehand.
I finally went to sleep, but I kept waking up every half hour, it seemed, to down a bottle of water from the fridge, walk back into the bedroom and then crash back onto the mattress. It was almost like I was caught in a loop. Eventually I just lay in bed feeling bloated, afraid to hiccup because I might vomit up water.
Shortly after I woke up I kept thinking about the shoulder memory, remembering a little bit more of it as the day at work progressed. I also suddenly remembered the confusion with the time and constantly waking up thirsty.
This evening as I drove home from work along a long, unplowed stretch of road during out first major snowfall of the season, the tension I typically have when driving in Winter returned. My back ached. It still hurts.
I wish I had her talent.
Red eyes, skin
torn on fists, split,
dead white knuckles
exposed, meat
petals flowering, blossoming
out, pulling flesh curtains back
as they weep crimson,
revealing eyes thirsty
as fuck, wide open
and drooling
as the most eager of whores.
Circumstantial abstinence.
Needs have become ravenous.
Crept across this wasteland,
so dehydrated,
seeking blood for blood,
just another burn victim
fighting fire with fire: just feeding
death and consumption,
chaos and destruction.
Till empty.
To the marrow.
On towards extinction.
In one dream scene, I abruptly hopped out of some machine and quickly sat down on some cube-like stool resting on the ground nearby. Whatever had been happening inside that thing, the pain was excruciating and I was out of breath. Upon exit, after sitting, I was still in pain. It was my hypersensitive skin. I looked down at my body, specifically my thighs, and at what I knew to be undeveloped skin. It was very soft and thin. Plale white, dilapidated, nearly transparent, and as soon as I noted I could see my veins all to clearly I stopped looking. If I saw my internal organs, I feared that might be too much. I had this terror that my skin might burst apart and I would die in agony. I had this hope that even outside the machine the outer layers of my skin would swiftly grow and I would become desensitized. Callous. Numb to this horror. As soon as I leapt out of the machine and sat down there was someone crouched down beside me, trying to comfort me.
Inside a dream
I become a child
of rage again.
Uninhibited now,
on the attack
against
those who
have kicked
down, stepped on,
abandoned, used
me, however subtlety,
against my will.
Blood cold as a stone.
Fire in my eyes that could kill.
All to fuel
my embarrassment
and guilt
upon awakening.
I awaken from another dream involving Hypnotic Haylee. Again our encounter is without any sexual charge, though there seems to be some deep connection at some psychic level. I know we are walking around a lot. It almost seemed as if she was observing my life, relationships. My friends and family are wary and confused regarding just who the hell this tattooed women in long, black hair is and why I am acting so strangely. I briefly see her largely silent boyfriend or husband, who seemed to be very tough, but was under her thumb completely. At some point she is talking to me and refers to me as Alex. I tell her that’s not my real name (so far as I can recall I have never even used it as a pseudonym, as a matter of fact) and I feel confusion and irritation from her.
We’re in a building and they, the powers that be, try and lock us down. I’m not sure why, but it appears people are getting sick. Is it all a ruse? I do not trust the people trying to keep us inside. I walk out of the building, walk down a street. As I approach this car from behind and at a bit of an angle there is suddenly a huge red explosion, blood everywhere inside the car. Though I had not seen anyone inside, I presumed there must have been and that this person’s head just exploded.
I go back inside. For some time I worry that perhaps I was wrong, and perhaps in being outside I had caught the virus and was now risking contaminating everyone.
In another scene, we’re all standing in a long line doing a series of things as it moves along. It is a test of sort sort, presumably to see if we have the virus. I miss a step in the process — something to with rubber bands — and hold up the line.
In the final scene I see two dogs in a car. Both have big heads but tiny eyes and look malformed, as if they were burned.
2/26/16
In a dark room, I watch UFO researcher David Jacobs at a desk, at work on something, clearly frustrated. He did not seem to notice me and I tried not to say anything, but I finally broke down and spoke to him. I told him that in time I will read his new book, but he needs to accept the fact that he got some things wrong in his research. “They are not hybrids,” I tell him. “Two distinct species cannot crossbreed. They would have to be transgenic human beings, as your late friend Hopkins suggested.” I said some more things, but I cannot recall what exactly.
Then I wake up. A short time later I try sleeping again and go on to have an enduring dream:
I exit the house, leaving the party and walk a short way down the road to my car. Just as I open the door and sit down the breakfast coordinator from work asks me if I wanted to be a page for them. She said it was fine if I wanted to leave, she just thought of me and wanted to extend the invitation. So I go back to the party where I take some notes and do some things for them, but eventually I get bored and start talking with some people there and then become distracted by Penny, who I sit next to and kiss for a short time.
After some time I decide to go, so I leave the house again, but on my way to my car I remember my sketchbook, which I thought I left inside. I cannot find it there, however, so presume I must have left it in the car when the breakfast coordinator asked me to be a page.
Again I leave the house and head to my car — but now my car is gone. As I begin frantically looking for it around the block, I notice I’m walking on air again. It suddenly strikes me that I would be more likely to find my car if I could float at a higher altitude, so I do just that. I’m hovering, rising, flying all around but I cannot find my car. I keep going back to the party, hoping someone might help me, hoping I could maybe retrace my steps.
I think it was the second time I had gone back to the house that some college-age kid at the party pointed off into the distance. “Your car is over there,” he said. “It’s the one with the rags on it.” I flew over to look but saw nothing. Him and his friends laughed behind the closed door. As I fly around town again, I see cars propped up on their back end like they’re ready to be launched like rockets into the sky. Was it some college prank? Had they perhaps stolen my car?
At some point I asked a bird to help me find the car, and he told me he would but he flew off and never returned. I went back to the house again, only to find the old head manager at work. I told her about the paging thing and how I could not find my car. She asked if I needed money, and I told her no, what I needed was my car. She then hands me a dollar in a fashion that implied I was trying to weasel it out of her and she felt sympathy.
I float or fly around a bit more and travel through the doors of a store, a warehouse, and one guy who works there calls out to me. He says he did not see me enter the store on the cameras, as I was flying too high to be caught on them. I tell him I am just passing through and fly on through the store.
Someone comes out of a doorway and I go in it before it closes, but it turn out that this was no exit. It seems like a very high-tech place with these men in black suits everywhere. Fearing it might be a CIA front, I exit the door I had come in when someone else opens it and quickly exit the store.
I resume my search for my car. In the midst of flying, I feel myself coming out of the dream but try to stay in it, determined to find my car before awakening — so clearly at some level I knew this was a dream. Why couldn’t I just go lucid?
Eva’s Ping.
(2/13/16)
In the dream I am washing tables in the dining room at work when a girl steps in from outside. I look up and it takes me a moment to realize it is Eva. I am surprised when she looks at me, smiles her characteristic smile and waves. Immediately my door buzzer wakes me up. No one was expected and though I waited, it never buzzed again. Why did I dream of Eva, who I have not seen or spoken with in some time? Whether it was her telepathic ping or my own conscience, it was likely because I saw a girl in a porno that reminded me if her girlfriend the night prior and engaged in a rather heated fantasy regarding her, which spawned the typical guilt.
Wrong Body
(2/22/16 dream).
I find myself looking at a mirror depicting a naked female body, though the head and legs aren’t visible. She is skinny, though not deathly so, with a good handful of boobs and some stretch marks around the tummy area. A very sexy body. I’m confused as to why my vision is fixed on this and it takes a moment for me to realize the correspondence between my consciousness and the image: it would appear I am looking into a mirror. I grab the boobs, push then together, touch myself, feeling everything. Then I begin feeling guilty, as this is clearly not my body but someone else’s and in a manner of speaking I an milestone her, violating her.
Wax Out
(2/25/16.)
I am using the blue squeeze thing in the attempts to remove wax from my ear and kept drawing out these waxy globs of clear goo. I couldn’t seem to reach the end of it, but is finally felt as though I was hearing more clearly. I wake up confused, go to the bathroom and use the real blue thing in my ear and nothing comes up.
Submerged
(2/25/16.)
After the In the Wake of a Violation dream, I remain awake for awhile and then attempt to get some restful sleep before my third shift. In the perhaps two hours I am asleep, I have yet another dream. I am a passenger in a car with two male friends of mine who are driving around beneath the muddy waters of a large lake or pond. We are not entirely submerged, but keep hitting these deep patches that drop off into seeming bottomless. I feel like I’m drowning, struggling underwater when this happens and my anxiety rises.
Evidently, I am attending college. There is this class I have with this teacher and among some of the students it is understood that some dark and sexual things happen in his class. Going into the classroom it is dimly-lit and there seems to be a large table we all sit around. Across from me, more or less, sits the teacher, and immediately he seems creepy to me. Eventually he had one of the girls — a beautiful, blond-haired girl I used to work with who I will call DY — sits on his lap. I found it unusual, but she did not seem to mind at all at first, so I silently damned myself for being judgmental. I just watched her face. Though she at first seemed to like it, her face soon turned red, fell to an expression that conveyed not only discomfort but fear, utter horror, and she shook her head and tried to hide her eyes so no one could see her trying to choke back her tears. She seemed helpless, violated. It killed me inside.
She got down off his lap, left the table and exited the room. In the distance, I could see some female school authority walking her down the hall, escorting her somewhere, maybe out of the building. I look back to where the creepy professor was sitting and he wasn’t there anymore. Then I see him being escorted away by one or two people, with his hands behind his back as if he had been cuffed. As he passes by, he seems to whisper to me specifically what sounds like, “I guess we’re in trouble.” Was he planning on implicating me specifically? Immediately I felt guilty for not stopping it, not stepping to the plate and defending her and those whispered, maybe-wrongly-heard words just intensified that guilt and tacked onto it some fear.
Then we meet at her house, three of us from the class. I drove something like a motorcycle, though I instantly wondered how I had understood the directions well enough to get here and why there seemed to be a seamless transition, void of any semblance of a segue, between the incident in the classroom and us meeting up here. Quietly I began to suspect I was suffering from amnesia, that maybe even alternate personalities were involved.
When we got inside, I briefly saw the girl from class, though it was no longer blond-haired DY but another girl, OB, a mixed girl I have known for some time who is also attractive. We spoke a little, during which time she cracked a joke about the incident in the classroom — essentially saying that she was doing fairly good for having been butt-raped by her teacher. I didn’t really know how to respond to that, and she shortly thereafter disappeared, talking with the numerous other people there.
We got slices of blue on which we were expected to write what happened in the classroom. I couldn’t remember enough to put it on paper. We also got papers with question such as: if you had a sexual advance from a teacher, how would you react? This clearly depended on the exact circumstances, of course, and I feared being judged by how I might answer that question, so I avoided writing in that case, too.
I bumped into at least two people I knew from high school and one celebrity as I wander about the crowd. I see SS, an attracted girl from high school who I appeared to piss off last time I had briefly seen her years back. I greet her upon seeing her but she entirely ignores me, leaving me to feel foolish when I greet her. I then see a guy I knew, DD, and I talk with him a bit, and he asks me why I’m here. I tell him I don’t know why I’m here. I’m not sure I belong here or anywhere, I tell him sadly. I think I’m a wanderer. He tells me that he knows what I’m trying to say in a way that conveys to me that he sees me as speaking in some kind of code, and in a way I am, but he then references engaging with hand-drums during the night and I do not understand the reference at all. Last but not least I see Neil deGrasse Tyson in the crowd. I asked him if there was ever a chance there would be a second season of the new Cosmos. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, but I told him that he had to know, as he had hosted the damn thing.
We had been there for the longest time and I didn’t know what to do, so I lay down on a couch for a bit, tired and thinking I might take a nap. There were a lot of people there, though, so I felt awkward about doing that. Then I decided I would walk around, maybe leave, though I feared it might appear rude, even suspicious. It seems like apartment complex with elaborate hallways and stairways and I got lost. I found myself in what appeared to be a restaurant. On a wall that was made of glass I look through and I see beautiful water and bizarre landscapes. It seems like an advanced terrarium. I finally make it outside to my motorcycle-like thing. I try to go home but get lost, and then finally I awaken.
