Hello, and welcome to my little “home” in cyberspace.
What You can Expect
You can expect a random selection of dreams, thoughts and memories on this site. Even from an early age, I was regarded as “the misfit”. I was never athletic, and I didn’t “fit” in other people’s idealized world, being imperfect.
So, yes. I’m strange. And I wouldn’t be surprised about being asked if my dreams are being caused by hallucinogens. I’ve been asked that a lot, especially by people that know me. The thing is, I’ve never needed to take substances to have these dreams. It’s all coming from an oddly-wired brain.
While I did welcome you into my space, I do have rules for responses. I will delete negativity. You might see this as “censorship,” and thus, a violation of First Amendment rights. First of all, this is my site, and I have final say about what will be visible. And secondly, First Amendment rights only refer to government making laws to censor its citizens. It has zilch to do with how individuals interact.
Around the start of this century, I taught classes at a junior college. One of the classes I taught was a computer literacy class. I had a wide range of students. The one student that left an impact with me was a young black man. He really struggled with Windows basics.
I could feel that he didn’t believe that he could learn anything. I could also sense that he had a lot of potential, if he’d only believed in himself. I regret not encouraging him.
A little background first: one time, I experienced what it was like to fly into a blind (berserker) rage. It’s something that terrified me, like a monster in a cage, living in total darkness.
In the dream, there was this thin, blonde woman. There was also a man that used a scythe for martial arts fighting, and there was a General, with his army. They all wanted me to release my “rage monster”. I tried telling them it was a bad idea, and described the “monster”. The man with the scythe wanted a challenge, and the General wanted the fight as a training exercise/example for his men. I tried to remain passive, to keep it from coming out. But the General injected me with some kind of drug.
I transformed into something like a bone dragon. But I stood on hind legs, like a T-Rex. My skull was boxy, like a dump truck. And my forelegs were like backhoes. I defeated the scythe wielder and escaped. They tried tracking me, so I turned into a sparrow and flew back toward the base. They were still tracking, so I evaded them by turning into a hummingbird. When I reached the base, I turned invisible and started walking through refrigerators. I poisoned all of the food on the base, killing everyone.
I’ve been seeing posts on FaceBook about other people being fat-shamed. There’s a common theme cropping up in response. It goes something like, “What if your comment was enough for me to commit suicide?”
While a valid question, it’s complete strangers that are being cruel. They don’t care if other people are wounded enough to commit the ultimate self-harm.
What is more realistic is reminding them that they don’t know if you’re a murderous psychotic with really good stalking skills. I can picture someone being vindictive enough to track down someone that hurt them, and then make their lives a living nightmare.
Just so you know, I don’t condone seeking revenge. Mean, nasty people are usually their own worst enemies. All you need to do is handle it to the best that you can, and live your life. This is advice from someone that’s also been there.
I was at my childhood home. The carport was empty. Some idiots had parked in the front yard, something that never fails to irritate me in this particular dream. I turned my attention to a pile of books and notes in a darkened corner in the carport. I seemed to be in a hurry to learn something, and I seemed to recognize the information being about spellwork.
My attention was drawn to this man that stood in the middle of the street, near the driveway. He had wavy, chestnut hair that cascaded past his shoulders. He wore burgundy-colored silk robes that were quite ornate. I didn’t sense him as a “threat”. He made it clear that he wanted me as his wife. As a measure of good faith, he gestured, and the cars that were on the lawn were hurled far away.
I then noticed that he had a group of people following him. One of them, the mage said was an angel that he’d captured. He ordered her to sing; that was the wedding ceremony. The other people, five or six of them, were witnesses.
The term “political correctness” wasn’t used much, if any, when I was growing up in the 80s. Back then, we called “political correctness” by something else.
We knew it as “good manners.” We were taught certain things were unacceptable to say and/or do.
What I really want to know is: Why do certain Americans hate “good manners” so much? Why is it they protest when others tell them that they are exhibiting “bad behavior?” Were you people not taught this stuff growing up? The real scary part: these same people behaving badly grew up around the same time as I.
It’s taken most of the day to recall these bits and pieces. Watching Netflix has triggered these dream fragments.
In one fragment, I was sculpting “rings” out of modeling clay. I was obsessed with getting the “rings” a certain size with flattened “ropes” of yellow clay. Some pieces of clay were difficult to shape. Looking at my clay table, I realized that my old characters had been dismantled. I couldn’t remember if Dad or I did the deconstruction.
I then went outside. I met a man that was a friend. He showed me a note that he had just found. It was written using Futhark runes. My friend had translated it. The note had been for us, written by a comrade that was stuck in a live RPG in the distant past. We had to find a way to get back to help.
In this dream, I had a multi-trillion dollar fortune, and I owned all of the media. I was on the phone, telling each outlet, “From now on, you report facts only. No opinions. No sensationalism.” I was paying a visit to one location, I want to say it was the brick and mortar location for “The Sun”.
I was walking around the building. Next thing you know, different E.T. ships were landing. One was like a pyramid, and another had caterpillar treads. I surrendered to that ship. The different races piloting each ship were smaller than grey aliens and seemed so child-like.
They all wanted to meet with me for a peace dialogue. Some control-freak man tried butting in, but we all told him to back off. Each race representative was giving me a token from each of their cultures.
One of the aliens gave me what resembled a flint/obsidian arrowhead, but it was red. The representative told me that the arrowhead was pretty useless in her society. She said it purifies contaminated/polluted water. I said we needed such a thing desperately.
In this dream, I had the sense that I was in a computer realm. It had mechanics like MineCraft, but it looked like real life.
I started in a “restaurant” run by a male player. I was the only employee. I remember being obsessed with cleaning, even while we had one table full of customers. I had a “falling out” with the virtual restaurant owner.
I teleported to an empty floor in the building. I sensed that other players were headed my way. I hurriedly turned the walls and doors into “unbreakable” materials, which I thought was steel. I was unable to lock the doors in time. To escape, I spawned these black puddle-like “holes” that would teleport the other players to a lower floor. I teleported to a higher floor to escape. I quickly established a small “safe room,” and was later able to go back to the previous floor to make a very decorative space.
I was also afraid that my “hacking” of the game would get me banned from the server. What they didn’t know is I hacked my account and gave myself “money” without paying for it. So I paid the server admins, and they overlooked my shenanigans.
This was a lengthy dream set near my childhood home. It was night, and I was wandering the neighborhood. I saw a shadowy figure; when the face “popped” into view, it was a man’s face, twisted by a demon. I sent it away by calling upon the power of God and Jesus. A male voice (I thought it was my Dad) asked me about my belief in their power. I answered that their power is good against lower demons. Higher demons have to be decapitated with a sword.
I continued wandering. I saw a shadowy figure projected on a green, metal box on someone’s porch. I tried attacking it with a sword, but it seemed to be painted on. The owner of the house must have called the cops, because I could hear them coming. I went to another yard to “hide” behind short, rounded hedges. I teleported to my childhood home.
Apparently, I was familiar to the cops, because they came to my home when they didn’t find me in someone’s yard. I don’t know how they got in, but the cops came in. I hid by turning invisible and shrinking myself.
Then some guy I don’t recognize tried following me. I’d teleport, and he’d follow. So I teleported to places in Dallas, TX until he gave up.
There was another incident, where I faced a higher level demon. I turned into an angel and used a sword to vanquish it.
I read this article about this female author’s new book called (I think) “Fight like a Girl”. In the article, she says that some men see women as “rubbish”. I felt there was a decent tie-in regarding some males’ views about rape.
When you look up “rape,” you find that it’s deemed a “violent act” where the victim is forced into a sexual act against the victim’s will. There is no legal “she shouldn’t have dressed like that,” “she shouldn’t have been there,” or “she shouldn’t have consumed substance X”. There are lawyers (and judges) who think otherwise, but they’re flat out wrong.
When you look up “rapist,” you find out rape isn’t about sex all that much. It’s about power, domination, and/or control. Or to explain a “rapist” in a simpler light: he’s someone that “can’t get it up” like a normal man.
Some rapists use substances to coerce a woman into complying. The most commonly-used substance is alcohol. Yes, guys. Getting past a girl’s defenses like this is still rape. Using any means to get sex from an unwilling partner is still rape.
Really. Seriously. If you want sex from someone, put some actual effort into it. I don’t mean lie or use other coercive means. I mean, get to know the person. Date for a while. Spend at least 6 months to a year together.
Trust me. If I can survive most of my 44 years alive without sex, then so can you.