Dream A.

12-12-2016. Monday.

 

Dream A.

 

The dream was set in a variety of locations. Its progression was practically indiscernable from the conversations of the prior night (Sunday). It was quick-witted and fast-paced, breaking new ground in a variety of familiar places. For instance, the blame game was still operating, if memory serves, yet I surely would have fled the island of its operation. Most noteworthy was that the networking game, which had all ways been held on an elaborate city-wide playground comprised of old vessels (“tiny vessels”, as per the D.C.F.C. song) remodeled to be houses, was an arena that I took successfully by storm. It was reaching a fever pitch and I was at the head of my particular team, though of course I was fundamentally a renegade. This symbol of course represents the Rancho Penasquitos drug culture, particularly the capillary of the drug trade that runs through Carmel Mountain I.A.L. Last night was the night I hung out with Mariah, Derek, and that Irish fellow.

 

Love, romance, betrayal and vengeance oversaw the proceedings in very Scorpio Romantic fashion, with all the Venutian stylings of a Libra or a Taurus.

 

I am thankful at present for my return to Dreamland, in the sense that I have decided to begin this dream record again. Remind me that any one who diverts my attention from its sanctity is bad news.

 

The dream took me to a distant isle where again I had a wife and probably children. We did our best to keep the war at bay. I wonder if C[lever] was in it in form. She certainly hung over it in spirit.

 

Our culture I.A.L. is dominated by the will to power. Yet the Unconscious offers love, compassion, and spiritual redemption. Debaters manipulate words to their credit and then berate philosophy as comparable to their own depravity. Yet mystics understand what the words are meant to refer to: the divine love that manifests in greater subtlety and variety than power ever could, for all its fiery vainglory.

 

Music was central thematically to the dream. I played a variety of instruments in increasingly more luxurious, if still fundamentally humble, venues. Behold the House of Career. What is interesting to note is that most of the intellectual abstraction I experienced (thought IS experience) was set in the Music Rehearsal Hall. (I all most pictured an actual hall when I repeated that pretentious term.) This mirrors the veritable fact that my waking life has put me in the company of those peers for whom thought is musical, expressed in either consonance or dissonance rather than “sense or nonsense”.

 

It would all ways puzzle me that people complained of either music or life when it did not “make sense” to them.

 

Were it not for the mirror, the fact would remain. I would simply have no metaphor to reflect upon.

 

Upon reflection, I am happy. Angst does not need to sadden me so much as it did at first upon sitting down to write this.

 

I am seated before the Christmas display on Avenida Rorras.

 

Dm.A.A.