SACRED GEOLOGY:

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.

Dm.A.A.

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.

Dm.A.A.

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?

dm.A.A.

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.