What is it about the night?
I spend a lot of time dreaming. And I like it. In fact, that altered state of conscious is much more interesting than the one that I'm currently functioning in. For example last night's dream...
As far back as my memory of the dream holds, I was sitting in a big super-church surrounded by almost every single person in my life traveling back. Anyway, it came to the point where the congregation was going to play a huge softball match. The teams were divided based on who could read music and who couldn't. I felt very superior to be a part of the music-reading group. We gathered in two large mass and the group I was in was arranged in a bizarre Boolean manner. It functioned in a way similar to cellular automata. I was trying to get closer to these two girls and every time I would move in, the whole mass would follow me, rearrange and wind up looking the same way as it did before I had moved. Realizing this power I had over the group, I moved several times laughingly. However, while I was fooling around with my newfound God complex, I failed to notice that the two women I had being trying to get closer to (Dominique and Aimee V) had left the group and were heading toward the softball field.
I quickly followed them and we got to the field which, as I pointed out in my dream, looked like it could have been a got spot to shoot a scene in a Vietnam war movie. Anyway, I was stationed in the outfield, but there were so many of us that we were jammed together way too close. Next to me was Alex Riney (whom I characteristically gave a profuse amount of undeserved shit) and Megan Allen (who looked very voluptuous for some reason) and some unnamed black movie star that was a cross between Morgan Freeman and Carl Weathers. All three of them had recently starred in a big-hit prison movie and they were bragging about it to me.
Then up rolled Caitlin Simonsen who told me about these dreams she had where a mysterious voice (whom she called Borat) would talk to her and give her advice and when she woke up she had left her with special items. She told me to try it. I was reluctant, but when I went to sleep and had a dream-within-a-dream the mysterious voice (sounding nothing like the real Borat) told me that he would cure what ails me. How? I asked. He told me that in the morning, as I began my search for my pants, I would find what I needed.
When I woke up from my dream-dream into my dream I put on my pants and in my pocket was a green bottle. It said to apply the liquid to my "foveal area" which, thanks to Dawkins, I knew to be my eye. It said it would make me do unbelievably well with women or something to that effect. I went back to the super-church main building (I guess I was living on church grounds for some reason, and so was everyone else) and went into the bathroom to put the drops in. On the way, I met many people who had also received gifts from the voice. David Gonzales told me it was a load of crap. Randy Rodriguez on the other hand told me it had spectacular results. I emptied about half the bottle into my left eye in the men's bathroom. The bathroom was situated in the worst way possible, where you could easily peer into the women's bathroom and they could look in the men's (my mother confided in me later that my father Dennis had gotten so confused by the setup that he had, on several occasions, used the women's bathroom).
I don't really remember how well the drops worked, but by the end of the dream I was alone on a desert road in the middle of nowhere and the owner of the mysterious voice (known only as Borat) drove up in a red mustang and picked me up.
I love my dreams. And for this reason, I invest as much energy and time into them as my non-dreaming life. Eleven hours of my 24 hour days are devoted to these dreams. I never know what's going to happen in them. While my waking life is consumed by facebook, work, and watching tv with my friends.
When I finally woke up and embarked on the "search for my pants" at 4 in the afternoon today I looked for Borat's mysterious panacea. I found nothing but a few coins. But at that point I had mostly forgotten what it was I was trying to cure.
As far back as my memory of the dream holds, I was sitting in a big super-church surrounded by almost every single person in my life traveling back. Anyway, it came to the point where the congregation was going to play a huge softball match. The teams were divided based on who could read music and who couldn't. I felt very superior to be a part of the music-reading group. We gathered in two large mass and the group I was in was arranged in a bizarre Boolean manner. It functioned in a way similar to cellular automata. I was trying to get closer to these two girls and every time I would move in, the whole mass would follow me, rearrange and wind up looking the same way as it did before I had moved. Realizing this power I had over the group, I moved several times laughingly. However, while I was fooling around with my newfound God complex, I failed to notice that the two women I had being trying to get closer to (Dominique and Aimee V) had left the group and were heading toward the softball field.
I quickly followed them and we got to the field which, as I pointed out in my dream, looked like it could have been a got spot to shoot a scene in a Vietnam war movie. Anyway, I was stationed in the outfield, but there were so many of us that we were jammed together way too close. Next to me was Alex Riney (whom I characteristically gave a profuse amount of undeserved shit) and Megan Allen (who looked very voluptuous for some reason) and some unnamed black movie star that was a cross between Morgan Freeman and Carl Weathers. All three of them had recently starred in a big-hit prison movie and they were bragging about it to me.
Then up rolled Caitlin Simonsen who told me about these dreams she had where a mysterious voice (whom she called Borat) would talk to her and give her advice and when she woke up she had left her with special items. She told me to try it. I was reluctant, but when I went to sleep and had a dream-within-a-dream the mysterious voice (sounding nothing like the real Borat) told me that he would cure what ails me. How? I asked. He told me that in the morning, as I began my search for my pants, I would find what I needed.
When I woke up from my dream-dream into my dream I put on my pants and in my pocket was a green bottle. It said to apply the liquid to my "foveal area" which, thanks to Dawkins, I knew to be my eye. It said it would make me do unbelievably well with women or something to that effect. I went back to the super-church main building (I guess I was living on church grounds for some reason, and so was everyone else) and went into the bathroom to put the drops in. On the way, I met many people who had also received gifts from the voice. David Gonzales told me it was a load of crap. Randy Rodriguez on the other hand told me it had spectacular results. I emptied about half the bottle into my left eye in the men's bathroom. The bathroom was situated in the worst way possible, where you could easily peer into the women's bathroom and they could look in the men's (my mother confided in me later that my father Dennis had gotten so confused by the setup that he had, on several occasions, used the women's bathroom).
I don't really remember how well the drops worked, but by the end of the dream I was alone on a desert road in the middle of nowhere and the owner of the mysterious voice (known only as Borat) drove up in a red mustang and picked me up.
I love my dreams. And for this reason, I invest as much energy and time into them as my non-dreaming life. Eleven hours of my 24 hour days are devoted to these dreams. I never know what's going to happen in them. While my waking life is consumed by facebook, work, and watching tv with my friends.
When I finally woke up and embarked on the "search for my pants" at 4 in the afternoon today I looked for Borat's mysterious panacea. I found nothing but a few coins. But at that point I had mostly forgotten what it was I was trying to cure.