SACRED
GEOLOGY: Earth over the Eternal Mountain.
PROLOGUE: Four numbers have haunted me of
late:
16, 17, 19, and 23.
I have not alone borne witness to the most
of them. The only one that I feel privy to is #19, which was the Magick Number
for my Fading Flame, A.L.M.
It follows logically that a number so
peculiar to her in this story would weigh my Heart with Secrecy. But
accordingly it produces a magickal pattern.
Extrapolating this pattern, I have
produced this:
This you might employ as your Table of Contents
for the Reading of this Narrative. Should it fail to appear upon your computer
screen, consider that an act of God, and pity not yourself or your fellows for
the inconvenience.
Several amazing coincidences bolster my
enthusiasm in publishing this:
1.
Upon
compilation of these dreams, which were numbered thus in 2013, long before I
had such a depth of familiarity with the I Ching (I had a had a fling with her,
but hardly a relationship), I found that Dream Number 79 was inexplicably
missing. Like Platform Nine and Three Quarters or the Thirteenth Floor of
Wayside School, it was absent from my Online Record, appearing as a mental
phantom betwixt Entries 78 and 80. As it would turn out, this was the only
Entry whose number exceeds 64, suggesting that such a Dream would have been far
outside the scope of the story. By this point, I had found all ready a solution
to the problem. Interested in naming each Dream after its corollary Hexagram
from the I Ching (that numbers Sixty-four hexagrams in total, of course) I
decided to ascribe to Dream 79 Hexagram Fifteen, surmising that the pattern of
the I Ching cycle was cyclical and therefore seventy-nine, occurring fifteen
after sixty-four, would be the Fifteenth Entry of the New Cycle. In its
absence, therefore, I was permitted by obligation to employ instead Dream
Number Fifteen. As it would turn out, it served as the perfect Denouement for
the story and a prime example of the virtue outlined in its corresponding
Hexagram: Humility.
2. There is only one recurring Hexagram in
this story. As fate would have it, the Universe is in fact (to spite my
miserable old British Literature Professor from Palomar College) not without a
sense of Poetic Justice and Artistic Merit: this entry, Sixteen (Enthusiasm),
is no more than a few lines long, and it occupies only one scene. To add to my
delight is recognition of the fact that this is not only the Climax of the
Third Act but all so the very Introduction to the Play. It starts, finds its
consummation, and (reader willing, as I shall explain in the third point,
directly below) ends at the same Train and Bus Station, waiting for some sort
of Saviour in a fashion Samuel Beckett might have been proud of (though I won’t
burden him with that role – of Patron Saint – either).
3.
The
story has two endings, at your discretion. If the reader wishes to employ the
Sixth Power of Two, completing the Set of Seven that begin with Two to the
Power of Zero, then one will end on Hexagram Sixty-Four, which is entitled
“Before Completion”, Fire over Water. As the sixty-fourth hexagram, it
functions as Zero in the New Cycle, and thereby the reader will remain
indefinitely upon 15, 79, and all its other incarnations, living in a state of
Eternal Humility, for such is the Nature of Hexagram Fifteen; if one wishes to
call Sixty-four not 0 but 64, one will still arrive, from 15, upon 79, which
is, as I’ve all ready explained, a Missing Story. And one will yet again return
to the Fifteenth Floor by default. If one chooses to add sixty-four to
seventy-nine, one will arrive at 143, lying outside the scope of the Original
Record, and so therefore yet again one must arrive, by subtraction of multiples
of sixty-four, upon Fifteen: the Plane of Humility. However: there is an other
alternative. By returning to the first difference, Two to the Power of Zero
(thus capping off the bridges at six differences rather than seven [2^0, 2^1,
2^2, 2^3, 2^4, and 2^5, with 2^6 removed]) one puts in place of Hexagram
Sixty-four a repetition of Hexagram One, the Creative (Heaven over Heaven). So
one returns to the Fabric Store, the tailor’s shop for the Dream Weaver, and by
adding One to Fifteen one arrives at Sixteen, and so the story starts again
with an Enthusiastic clap of Thunder over the Earth. Leaving this to your
discernment is a testament to the Capricorn Quality of my present attitude as
self-historian, for as master of both worlds the Sea Goat can choose either to
return to the Cycle of Samsara, the Wheel of Birth and Death and Waiting for
Godot, or it can elect to tangent out into Eternal Bliss and Rapture: to
Eternal Humility, which is represented by its Earthbound downward-pointing
triangle over the upward-pointing Mountain, the two meeting in what is surely
an exquisite Hourglass.
 |
| Turned upon its side, the hourglass resembles an angular permutation of the Infinity Symbol. Its triangles are of course Earth and Mountain meeting like stalactite and stalagmite, bridging the Falling Tendency and the Striving Tendency: A Bridge Between Worlds that only the Master of Both might cross at ease, with ease. Dm.A.A. |
4.
I
should add that I am presently re-playing Jak II with my Mother for spectator,
in a feat of diplomacy on my part I would not have imagined possible in my
wildest dreams hitherto, certainly not at the time and in the epoch that these
Dreams were received and promptly thereafter were recorded.
PART
ONE: THUNDER.
Dream
Journal Sixteen: ENTHUSIASM. (Thunder over Earth.)
All
that I remember is that I had been waiting on a saviour of some sort who
wouldn't show. A lot of travel as well—perchance the Sprinter, again?
dm.A.A.
Dream
Journal One: THE CREATIVE. (Heaven over Heaven.)
Dream
Journal
My
dream was set in Joann’s. This is not the first time. Perhaps as a comment upon
the remodel, the store took on the character of an arena in mood, although
geometrically it felt even smaller than it normally does.
(In
waking life,) I am confused. My atonement with Jean and the rest of the
overnight crew makes me feel hung over. I do not want to identify with this
vile, wretched, uninspired energy.
Towards
the end of the dream, Amanda was at the register.
Ironically,
the dream feels positive.
Part
of it was a computer game.
The
metaphor of the arena suggests a noble fight: I must, having seen the depths of
Jean’s depraved neuroses, and the raw nerve of that woman to attribute an
‘undisputable’ objectivity to her skewed perceptions, take my stance and fight
the good fight to surmount this evil within myself.
Dream
Journal Seventeen: FOLLOWING. (Lake over Thunder.)
1. Last
night’s dream is equally hazy in memory as the previous dream. All I recall are
Oleg and Andrew,There was some sort of absurd challenge that I was failing,akin
to a high school test,so the pervasive mood was angsty anxiety.
2. I
can only guess that it represented College, as well as maybe
scholastic education in general.
3. There
was some sort of a jungle gym or other such array.It was night-time,and I was
either charged with orself-appointed the task of finding and caring)or at least
keeping a close watch on) for a mentally handicapped person.*
* This
may have been inspired by Kresten’s job, in Actual Life,
babysittingand escorting an Autistic boy.
The
setting was especially Dark,and parts of the dream must have taken on qualities
of a video game.
4. As
I look about my Actual room now, some what horny and possessed of an adolescent
ponderance,I am caught by a box of untouched Sudoku cards standing upright with
the back, with its price tag, facing me. I am reminded, with
stark
vividness, of my SAR Prep cards.
All of
my books, in their stacks upon the floor, reflect now not my own Wisdom,
suggestingthe author’s own humanity,but the sterility of scholastic knowledgibility,
as the cards represent the temptations to pretension, sexually charged at the
expense of being emotionally stifled.
Yet
in describing it,the books and cards return to their intimate selves, the
eeriness of the pre monition not lost to me nonetheless.
5. Parts
of the dream had beenset in Palomar College. Buildings—artificicial, sterile,
blocky—dominated the twilit scene.
The
Sprinter train was there.I kept missing appointments.**
**
Again, falling short of expectations.
What
had set this dream apart particularly had been the apocalyptic
feel of parts of it.
I kept
going to a small pizza parlour to buy pizza, a theme from
a younger dream.The pervasive mood was of being Hunted, constantly, by
some domineering, totalitariaentity.
At
timesIwould wander about the city with a band of young hoodlums.
The
secret wish for the elusive Modest Mouse record appeared yet again
in the midst of all of this. I wanted only to hear the song, but I couldn’t
find
it. dm.A.A.
PART
TWO: EARTH.
Dream
Journal Two: THE RECEPTIVE. (Earth over Earth.)
Dream
Journal #Two.
1. Prior
to this dream, I had made a conscious effort to work an entire shift in
Extraverted Feeling, flipping my strongest faculty outwards. It was a draining
experience, and one that others did not take kindly to, apparently.
2. In
the dream, a plethora of things happened which all seem meshed in a thick stew
in my mind. The emotional quality of it was consistent to the point of
stagnation, thus reflecting the ‘charged(stressful) apathy’ that I had allowed
my conscious ego to subjugate myself to throughout the day.
The
two noteworthy instances involved two people I have not seen in a long time:
Jason Yoo and Luke Shaw. Jason kept trying to castrate me, and if that was not
also Luke’s intent, he did have something also sinister in mind, apathetic to
my please for mercy.
If
Jason and Luke are, as I suspect, ENTP and ISFJ(respectively), this would
suggest that they both Extravert Feeling.
My
attempts to understand this function are emasculating me, rendering me more
dependent than independent.
Dm.A.A.
Dream
Journal Nineteen: APPROACH. (Earth over Lake.)
I
dreamt an immensely Elaborate dream, the details of which predominantly escape
me. It seemed to deal with my recent flirtation, again, with facebook, and the
decision I had made to abandon the website again.
Most
of the dream evades memory. What stands is the fact that it was markedly
different from my other recent dreams, as though it had been elevated to a more
complex state of consciousness.
There
had been a Slavic woman on a reality television show. She was asked to describe
either a dream or a fantasy that she had had, as were several similarly
innocent contestants.
The
woman had had blonde hair and the wrinkly skin of a middle-aged woman.
She
described four rooms,each identical. Either this had been her description or
her story evoked this image in mind, which immediately became physical within
the dream.
As she
recounted the story, I tried to rearrange the four rooms to see how her
description might have worked. Following her description, each room was
supposed to be – as I can describe now, using, a Waking simile – barely wider
than a king-size bed. Each room contained two pieces of furniture, a window
into the next room, and a portal from whence one could enter the room from the
window in the previous room. Together, the four identical rooms presumably made
a closed loop.
She
was also trying– she had been too shallow to merit saying ‘struggling’–to
recall a message that some dream had imparted upon her.
Eventually,over
the course of the dream, she remembered the message. It had been something to
the effect of the world revolving about her.
Towards
the end of the dream, either prior to this revelation or following, I had added
Lisa Pradhan, successfully, on facebook. Her profile, not unlike my dreams’
portrayals of Alexandra’s socially bustling profile, was otherwise,on the
dimension of photographs and her personal comments, a testament to her Gothic,
tortured but impervious persona.
What
had caught my eye was the end of one of her comments, presumably the last under
a photograph or forum post.
It
read, with disdain, that she did not enjoy Elliott Smith’s music and that she
was frustrated with Dmitry giving that impression.
I
tried clicking to read the entire comment.I may have clicked the wrong one, for
I might have not seen that comment about Elliott again.
Instead,
I saw a behemoth post, the length of a blog entry, with line breaks between the
paragraphs, outlining not so much her qualms with Society as with very
particular, presumably unpardonable behaviours that she had observed in other
people.
As I
perused her photographs in pursuit of the comment that had originally caught my
attention, I had to make a demanding effort to avoid looking at the first
photograph in the last row of a major photo album.The picture displayedan array
of luminous gears and mechanisms, like clockwork,set against the predominantly
deep blue backdrop of a nebula.
The
caption within the photograph had been a testament to the potential of the
human mind. I avoided it with the fear of becoming hypnotized into a form of
schizophrenia that would spell the doom of not only me but others, if not
Humanity in general.
Dream
Journal Four: YOUTHFUL FOLLY. (Mountain over Water.)
Dream
Journal #4
Mood:
4th chakra, shadow.
I
dreamt that I met Aisha in a terminal of sorts. Playing my cards right, and we
began to date. I began to imagine what people on facebook would think when they
saw ‘Aisha is in a relationship’ come up, and how Dennis would give it away to
Usman by her saying to Dennis, ‘you don’t even to talk to him anyway’, as I
walked through a public restroom, searching for a stall. Aisha was seated in
one of the stalls and she began to sit on my lap, as I withheld defecation out
of courtesy. I pondered whether or not we would ever have a child, admitting
(to myself) that I did not feel guilty about the prospect of sex with her.
Later,
we were in bed with a laminated pamphlet of some sort that listed a series of
sex moves on one side and oral sex moves on the other, and in the lefthand
column of the chart, beside a series of symbols that must have occupied the
middle column, there was a list of spiritual phrases for what each move was
meant to accomplish.
I did
not surmise what I was looking at until I saw something to the effect of ‘mouth
work’ or ‘mouth love’ as the title for the backside.
At one
point, in one of the locked chambers to of the restroom, either before or after
this scene (probably after) I felt as though I were about to be attacked by two
young, grinning hoodlums who wanted to enter the chamber as well, but then saw
that I was in there. Perhaps they represented, at once, both the pair that are
Debbie and Jean, who walked in on me in the employee restroom chamber one
time(the only day I recall Jean apologising for a mistake), and that of Andrew
and Kresten, my new bandmates, whom I had felt ‘attacked’ by when they merely
wanted either a place in my life* or just a place for theirs.
*feels
more comforting, if it may appear childish.
2.
Towards the end of the dream, it was nightfall at the foot of the slope at the
top of which CVS overlooks the beginning of Paseo Lucido. Washed in the amber
light of the lamp in of the parking lot, darkly contrasting the deep, nebulous
blue sky in a manner akin to the looming, impersonal gentleness (though not, in
this case, the hauntingness, which was absent)of Jak II, a mood like the
pacification of drunkenness from beer*-- I constructed, from wooden planks, a
small playhouse that was also a jungle gym. A friend of mine, either a cameo by
or an homage to Cameron (Bahl?) the Raver and Drummer, approached from the CVS
side, commending my vision with a skater’s unmitigated sense of camaraderie,
ready to help. At a loss for what to do, precisely identical to my realisation
in making life that Kresten and Andrew did not requiore my creative control in
order for a band to grow, I chose simply to slide down the wooden slide onto
the concrete sidewalk, prompting a characteristic chuckle from Cameron but no
sense of rapture from me.
*The
dream was markedly less Inspired and Ecstatic than my waking life, so I hope
that I do its blandness justice here.
3. The
remainder of the dream was spent wandering about in the hungover dark, thinking
to write a punk rock song along the lines of ‘Fuck America with all its laws…’,
simply because I could not stage a play and have one of the last songs be a
cover of ‘On My Own’ from ‘Les Miserables’, by virtue of licensing laws for
theatrical productions.
4.
When I arrived outside of the apartment that my parents and I were staying in,
one akin entrance to Kresten’s condominium except that it was tucked into a
corner as though it were on of the apartments in Bernardo Point that I had
never paid visit to, I was flying about, literally, waiting, upon ringing the
doorbell, in mid-air, suspecended bouncingly be repeatedly kicking off each
wall, as though I were back in our apartment in Baltimore, delighting mother
and father one night by climbing up the
white,
lamplit ceiling of the kitchen by climbing up the inside of the doorway.
Two
sides of the entrance to the kitchen as though I could touch the white lamps on
the ceiling were it not that I would fall.
Dream
Journal Twenty-three: SPLITTING APART. (Mountain over Earth.)
1. I
dreamt that I was in Marching Band again.The stipulation of my
obligationtotheRoyal Regiment was hazy. Where,in actual life,the commitment
would have been almost militaristic, I had felt at ease—almost – with skipping
two sessions, although, judging by the background anxiety pervasive throughout
the dream, my absences appeared justified to my mind. The mind-numbing shame of
having submitted to social pressure and surrendered my wits to the
illusion of social anxiety–or, otherwise, the carefully masked Reality of this
predicament as I had seen it appear in the other
patrons and even moreso the employees of Denny’s the previous night–
would not cease to torment me, like the archetypal subtle bully wearing a
clown’s mask, throughout the early stages of the dream, as I found myself in
high school again, both in terms of setting and emotional mood.This became
particularly present when I set foot in the Band Room and was met with gently
antagonistic,tribal stares from Shawn and Conner ( if I am not
misyaken in memory) that served to mask a deep anxiety, an act of hazing that
leant another explanation for why my vision throughout the dream was ‘hazy’.
2. I had justified
my absence from rehearsal by calling in sick,I
think, although whether or not my message had been received( if my
memory serves me well in telling me that I had called) remains Kafkaesque. I
eventually realized that,since I was a graduate, I was not bound by the
limitations of high school, and that fact relieved my stress, though the
tortured, absurd mood pervading the background of the dream still buzzed about.
Mr. Horimoto had been present on the marching field,despite the presumption
that I had had that the Royal Regiment was under new management,as it would be
in the actual present day.
Regardless, Gary Horimoto was the opposite of his usual self: Lenient,
frivolous as a lad at a pep rally with a letter painted on his chest, youthful
in temperament as our Marching instructor from Senior year had been, and
retaining only the gently unnerving tinge of Japanese sarcasm that made his
character appropriate to the Kafkaesque scene.
3. I
had ended up skipping three Rehearsals in a row, using sickness as my excuse,*
and I wondered if I was cutting it a bit close. Ultimately, I went
to a physical education class, possibly as a
had
* An homage to the fact that I had ^ two days off from work, a fact I honored
although my conscious certainty of the fact had been short of 100%, and my
mother had felt that Iwas cutting it close by waiting until the morning of to
check when I had work today.
substitute
for the missed rehearsal on the third day. The main activity that I
had occupied my time with was weightlifting. I was left(more or less) Alone in
the weight room by a somewhat thin, jockly man that one would expect a young,
aspiring gym teacher to look like. I felt very self-conscious as I picked up
first a small pair of dumbells that would have appeared childish even in the
third grade, measuring fewer than the by
my standards ^
eight punds that my mother had introduced me to then. I then moved to an even
smaller, softer pair of green dumbbells [which I had only touched gently]. I
then found a heavier dumbbell at the foot of a bench, but I dismissed it after
a very brief consideration that immediately struck me as naïve.
4. Eventually,
a group of girls from the same gym program, came into the weight room. It had
all been according to schedule. I sat on the floor, hunched over in a kind of
self-righteous shyness not unlike that of Shawn and Conner. One girl, a fairly
built but essentially pudgy girl with square features and green make-up,*
placed her foot,manicured and with green nail polish,on my left leg.I would
look over my shoulder at her, as though to indicate the obviousness
of the hint, and managed to get three tactfully delivered phrases in before
lapsing into futility.
*Almost definitely a reference to the Denny’s waitress from last night that had
somehow gotten the impression, either rightfully or wrongly, that I was
attracted to her. The negative Anima,without a doubt.
5. The
final stage of the dream had me checking into a mental hospital. It is
important to note that the structure of the dream was so consistent in mood
throughout that the entire dream seemed to flow from event to event
seamlessly, as though everything were going according to plan.
The
mental hospital cell was small and exposed toentry from at leasttwo
opposite sides.
Some
fanatic wanted to free me.He protested to the hospital nurse, but I implored
that he leave me to the solace of my cell.
PART
THREE: WATER.
Dream
Journal Eight: UNION. (Water over Earth.)
Last
night's dream involved Elliott Smith. The details mostly escape me. He might
have been performing at some venue. Perhaps it was in the vicinity of Palomar
College.
Regardless of the context, the symbolism is not at all lost on me. Elliott was
a brilliantly evolved individual who may very well have consorted with others
who did not give him enough credit and who may have in fact been unworthy of
his companionship. He allowed his guilt to consume him and his conflicts to
overwhelm him, for he did not have the temerity that Tom Waits had to persevere
even through the inevitable isolation of being a misunderstood genius.
I must not fall into that. I am too readily perceptive and too harshly
recriminative of my failures.
dm.A.A.
Dream
Journal Thirty-one: COURTSHIP. (Lake over Mountain.)
Last
night’s dream was a plethora of heroic sequences which, again, predominantly
escape my memory.What I will not forget, however, is the last
episode.
I was
Samurai Jack. Part of the dream even felt more like
watching a cartoon than being in the active role of a hero.
The
Joker had captured–or was otherwise preparing to capture– several of my
friends,I had to pass through an obstacle course of his device. The terror
experience in this gauntlet was worthy of the Saw films,though little in the
environment seemed at first to justify it; it was more akin to the psychological
intimidation of the Scarecrow.
The
final challenge I can recall did justify my Horror, however. I was in a
compact, brightly coloured tunnel comprised of shifting prisms, like a corridor
with a lowceiling and innumerable shafts that became still deeper corridors
when one fell into them, creating the horrifying impression of anendless,
labyrinthine snare. The prisms,each nogreater in width than my large Casio
keyboard but considerable in lengthy, would shift and change
position as I tried to jump across a gap, suggesting an homage to the
platforming game that I am designing in Actual life, perhaps serving as a more
diabolical counterpoint to what I had consciously intended to be a very
light-hearted game mechanic.
Having
literally fallen short of crossing the chasm several attempts in a row, I have
up on trying to calculate the pattern by which the walls took their course. I
drew a black cloth from my robes, may be even tearing(or having torn ) it from
my belt.I then proceeded to successfully traverse the array
blindfolded. dm.A.A.
Dream
Journal Sixteen: ENTHUSIASM. (Thunder over Earth.)
All
that I remember is that I had been waiting on a saviour of some sort who
wouldn't show. A lot of travel as well—perchance the Sprinter, again?
Dream
Journal Forty-seven: EXHAUSTION. (Lake over Water.)
The
dream began on a playground. A friend and I were traversing the higher levels,
moving by bridge from the top of one pillar to the next.
We
were trying not to get killed, yet somehow the anxiety from previous dreams was
markedly absent.
At
some points, we were playing hide-and-go-seek.
At
another, I found myself in a treehouse, hiding. Memories of it now evoke a
habitual tension that I recallnow as a depressive neurosis.
The
dream changed to a video game.We were predominantly on ground, in a
battlefield. What set it apart this time was threefold: We had recognized that
the game was not a platformer but a wargame. We stopped moving
frojm level to level. We began to fight.
Using
monsters as our allies, we gained an advantage and then a victory in battle.The
game involved a good deal of r Running about and gliding
across water to reach outcropping islands from high ledges.
Part
of the dream was set in a mall,I got to see the mall at night-time,
andthen again during the bustling daylight hours. I began there at night time.
I visited the pizza parlour,but did not have money because I had
left my wallet,
I must
have spent the night therem though I am uncertain.
During
daytime, I might have seen the Modest Mouse record on display in a
window,I wanted to get it,but my purchase was interrupted by a riot that spread
throughout the store, Some people with machine guns were laying siege to
it.They were working for the malevolent head of a corporation. I fled, with my
friend, yet we got separated.
I took
one elevator, where Maria took another.
The
episode culminated in a Battle on the higher floors.I fled,descending onto the
first floor, and ran into the parking lot.
The
mall mayhave had seven floors.
The
white van wherein my companions were supposed to pick me up was
nowhere.I had to drive a car. It was terrifying. Regardless, I managed to get
far away from the conflict. I escaped into a countryside, as a fugitive.
I
spent some time pacing the meadows. I admired acrest of yellow grass running
through the greens with unprecedented delight.
Yet
word in the town hadspread. I saw someone there I recognized from the mall. He
saw me.
I ran
for it. I sought the flimsy shelter of a giant slop overgrown with brush.
It
was night-time.I emerged at a fence. Crawling underneath it,I found myself at
the high school.
I
followed the high school routine fairly faithfully over the following few
months.I was in
an Art
class,but I dropped out after missingmanyclasses either leisurely or because of
other commitments.There was also ascience class that,true to form, I did not
recognize I had on my schedule until a shock towards the end.
There
was a physicaleducation class, and I used it to oogle the girls. I would go on
runs and wind up in strange places.Every-time this happened,I found
myself in the midst of a story that was a dramatic dep-art ure and
even a Liberating Escape from my daily concerns.
One
time I was at the cliff of a trench on a dark night that seemed regardless to
have been lit by a glow that seemed as though it would never go out. The place
was a skate-park, yet it was also a mine field.
Another
time,I was walking along Carmel Mountain plaza, yet the shopfronts to my right
were from Encinitas.
The
remainder of the high school activities were fairly standard.There was croquet
in the fields. Somehow, the croquet fuelds from Rancho Bernardo Park appeared
on our campus. We used mallets that were magenta and a light-grayiosh violet (
like Taro–flavoured slushie at Thai-go, in Actual Life).
We
also went on fieldtrips and missions. One of mine was to usea flying apparatus
to traverse the (Mojave?)desert and get to the Sierra Nevadas. I began at
daytime, and I was instructedto return before nightfall,yet I always – with the
exception of a few times that went unnoticed – failed to do so. Each night,the
dangers of the dark were a surpassingly greater threat to my mind than fear of
eventual reproof.
The
mission always involved finding these dirigibles,each the size of my craft(
probably no wider than [twice] my armspan) hovering in a cloister amidst the mountains.What
I was supposed to have done afterwards invariably escaped me,
yet Finding them was ‘important’.
One
night, I crash-landed.I encountered several people investigating a murder.I
accompanied them along a mountain road, at daybreak, in search of Clues.
I
found a yellow,glowing item that was a Clue, and then again a woman in the
desert, very old, who glowed green. Yet the puzzle was lost to me, and I feared
being found by the mountain lion.I returned to my companions, but they had already
solved the mystery. Not telling me what it was, they had me
accompany them, in cars,to a suburban neighbourhood.I did not have to drive
this time.We got out and Walked to a nearby city.There were people I knew from
the Palomar theatre program at a playhouse whose entrance faced the street
inexplicably. We watched the play, but as we were watching, a zombie
apocalypse broke out without our knowledge. We fled.
I
lost everyone at the suburbs.
Things
were getting apocalyptic. I managed to find refuge in a parking lot full of
buses, come night fall.The one I stowed aboard was occupied by none other than
the Rancho Bernardo High School Royal Regiment Marching Band. They greeted me
as an old – if incompetent – team mate.
Promptly,
the bus took us far away from the tuined city. A gentle light, like the yellow
of a hard-boiled egg when one scratches away the sulfur, penetrated the fog as
our bus rode away to a tournament.
The
epilogue of the dream had no conceivable transition portending its episode.My
grandfather hadcome to visit,as in Actual Life. He arrived this morning,
in Actuality, yet I have not yet set eyes on him.
He was
a womanizer and had pretensions towards being a performance artist.The whole
aspect of the dream was set inexplicably in one of Jeff
Carter’s favourite films.*
* For
the record, Jeff Loved ‘Sideways’.
The
house wasa guest house shared by many women.He cast my motherasa
kind of servanr, to her politely unspoken but profound dissatisfaction.
He
then cast the most sexually attractive woman as his love interest,
to frustrate everyone else even more. He cast a man that he dislike as the
Devil. Everyone,or almost everyone, recognized the absurdity of what
he was doing, but they humoured him because he and they were Old.
I
began to masturbate to the childhood fantasy of Alessandra Ambrosioin the
bath.I thought of Andrew’s advice, and noted that the sexual zeal Was enlivened
by the infantile Anima projection. Yet I feltguilty.
I had
to go to work. Joann had been remodeled again.The store could be described as
nothing less than a dusty emporium that felt cripplingly nostalgic at the back
but that intensified in anxiety, though never to an intolerable degree, the
closer that one got towards the Magistrate’s Table that wasthe checkout stand,
lining the front of the store like the seats of the Supreme Court. Thr lights
at the back of the store and its other nooks and crannies were a mellow,
Natural, accidental light that ex posed its gorgeous grays intermingled
with Amber,
In
contrast, the sterile White Lights overlooking the uniform
horizontal rows p arallel to the checkout counter made the dust
bunnies appear as though they were deemed unworthy pests.
I made
my way to the front and took Drew’s place at the register.
As
father drove me home, we passed through an almost childlike,convoluted,
serpentine labyrinth if high-ways, like a roller-coaster in the impending,
apathetic twilight.
We
returned home to find the start of the rehearsal.Tempted again, I withdrew into
the laundry room to masturbate.It was atthistime that a SWAT team broke into
our house, Military personnel were in search of the woman of my grandpa’s
eyes.I imagined what would have happened to me if they’d found me having sex
with her.
PART
FOUR: (A First Spark of) FIRE.
Dream
Journal Thirty-two: CONSTANCY. (Thunder over Wind.)
1. Memories
of last night’s dream are hazy, but surfacing. In the first place, I can
remember a continuation of the dramatic point-and-click adventure. Whatever the
details had been,they hearken back to the attic that I had illustrated in
Sketch One.
Perhaps
if I can move more deeply into the game, it will take on epic[if not
religious,],proportions.
2. If
I am not mistaken, the particular segment that I played last night found me
trying to escape through an underground passage. The path was blocked by a
princess.
3. I
can recall game details from prior dreams. I remember jumping across platforms
overhanging a castle wall. I recall a staircase jutting out from the side of a
solid blue mountain.
4. Aside
from the game-playing, there wasa starkly vivid revisit of Palomar College. The
dramatic mood from the adventure game persisted.I must have found someone there
who is somewhat akin in [personal] significance to Johnny Two-by-Four –
probably a Paranoid Schizophrenic. Most of the quest had me circumvent the
campus from the back, where in actual life there would be merely a stretch of
sidewalk and lawns separating the library from the next row of buildings.
5. I
was playing in a band at one point. The performance, whilst more mainstream in
style and thus more ostentatious, had been my most successful performance yet.
6. I
visited a café and met with a girl that had commonplace mystique.
7. Parts
of high school re-surfaced. The classic motif of showing up towards the end of
the school year in a class that I had forgotten I had recurred yet again.
may
^ have dm.A.A.
Dream
Journal Fifteen: HUMILITY. (Earth over Mountain.)
Dream
Journal #15
It *
important to note that, last night, Micaiah spent the night at my house. His
parents had evicted him from their home earlier in the week, and this had been
a desperate attempt on his part to find shelter.
*may
be
1. I
had dreamt that I was in a video game of some sort, but the mood of it was far
from frivolous. It matched most closely Jonathan Blow’s* description of a
‘grueling [P]unishing game’.
*INTP
I was
met with some challenge that I could not fulfill. The predominant mood was
Paranoia.
2. The
architecture again seems to hearken back to Jak II. Perhaps this recurring
theme would suggest that it is imperative that I play that game more
thoroughly.
3. I
am getting back in touch with my Intro-verted Thinking.
4. There
was some pervasive Oppressive force, as though from some hostile parental or
patriarchal force.
Again,
the theme of trying to Arrive somewhere, anxiously, and failing to appears.
5. Perhaps
this was a Collective Dream? It would explain this helplessness my ego feels in
regards to rendering its meaning.
Yesterday was the Fourth of July.
Many people were drunk, and most had directed their energy outwards, clinging
to the fireworks, the energy of the crowd, the time, the place, and state of
consciousness as though they were perpetual adolescents.
Maybe
this is why I feel pushed to heroism today. Any method to help, be it
extraversion or introversion, logic or feeling.
6. If
there was a personal dimension to it, it was reflective of my settled
predicament. I felt that I had to Get somewhere, but that a set of conditions –
an existing predicament – impeded my progress to the imperative Goal.
almost
7. I
am ^ without doubt that the dream was Collective.
dm.A.A.
Verdict:
I need
to play Jak II in order that I may model level designs that would speak to the
Collective Unconscious.
dm.A.A.
8. I
had to collect certain items. I had to pass through black portals in order to
acquire them in other worlds. I think that there was one per world.
I had
to play through the worlds in succession.
There
was a council of some sort. Some girl was a part of the council, perhaps
reminiscent of Tiffany Lahe.
9. Was
this dream at all reminiscent of the Alexandra Nicholson
nightmares? The mood and character of the Council would vouch
for this explanation.
I feel
cast back into adolescence:The excitement of romantic love.
How
many people must have had a blind kiss last night?
I have
fallen off the leftside cliff, I think.
All my
body tingles. Something ‘important’ has happened in the excited minds
of many Americans. Patriotic zeal with the flair of young love.
10. Were
Carlin’s grandparents there as well?
I was
falling short of the Collective’s Expectations, by going against it.
The
details appear superfluous now.
dm.A.A.
The
Details:
There
were screens arranged high above the ceiling, in one room.
11. Recollection
of Another Dream:
One
hallway felt like another dream wherein several friends and I tramped about an
impartial city, with freewheeling delight, and finally found an entrance to a
small playhouse that was kept by some unsympathetic, contemptuous force.
At
some other point in this* dream, I was walking through a hallway almost akin to
the corridor in Lofty Castle (Spyro the Dragon), except that it was a museum.
* or
some
other strangely
12. In
this dream, there was a corridor ^ akin in mood to the second Spyro game*
except that it was much darker, and there was a pervasive tone of discord and
anarchy.
*
which Maria has been waiting to play.
The
charged energy, now possessed(or assuaged) feels like overwhelming, erotic,
almost incestuous desire.
Remembering
that this was almost definitely a Collective Dream, my individual conscience is
put at Great Ease.
The
fireworks and hot dogs of yesterday,as well as the smell of beer,
mark thequality of this.
The
First Ending:
Dream
Journal Sixty-four: BEFORE COMPLETION. (FIRE over WATER.)
I
recall Jeffery Carter as being central to this dream.I visited his
Family Reunion with him. A part of his family,on his father’s side,
was markedly Racist. There were some obvious parallels to the Israeli –Arab
conflict, although it is difficult to recall against whomJeff’s relatives
stood. They had probably been in favour of Israel,but the very
absurdity of theirracism against the other group was more
important than which group was the target.
At
one point, a middle-aged female relative, perchance an Aunt, literally ‘drove
Jeff up a wall’. In a sort of customary and commonplace ritual, Jeff’s frame
was levitated, his back, if memory serves, always against the wall.
The building seemed, with the exception of that wall and maybe a few others,
open to the innocent-appearing mid–day .* dm.A.A.
*
He might have fallen onto me upon descent.Otherwise, there’s a possibility that
I had been levitated as well.
The
Second Ending:
Dream
Journal One: THE CREATIVE. (Heaven over Heaven.)
Dream
Journal
My
dream was set in Joann’s. This is not the first time. Perhaps as a comment upon
the remodel, the store took on the character of an arena in mood, although
geometrically it felt even smaller than it normally does.
(In
waking life,) I am confused. My atonement with Jean and the rest of the
overnight crew makes me feel hung over. I do not want to identify with this
vile, wretched, uninspired energy.
Towards
the end of the dream, Amanda was at the register.
Ironically,
the dream feels positive.
Part
of it was a computer game.
The
metaphor of the arena suggests a noble fight: I must, having seen the depths of
Jean’s depraved neuroses, and the raw nerve of that woman to attribute an
‘undisputable’ objectivity to her skewed perceptions, take my stance and fight
the good fight to surmount this evil within myself.
Dm.A.A.
Dream
Journal Sixteen: ENTHUSIASM. (Thunder over Earth.)
All
that I remember is that I had been waiting on a saviour of some sort who
wouldn't show. A lot of travel as well—perchance the Sprinter, again?
dm.A.A.
