Categories
Glot

Maybe I’ll Another Glot?

I’ve been getting that itch again. The itch to write bullshit that I likely will never read nor remember in this abandoned, ridiculous edifice to my past self. Something about remembering my life during the course of actually living it — something about caring what I think — something about caring what other people think.

An altogether forgettable day, today. Woke up from dreams remembered but unwritten (running past a train in the snow). None of them clearly evoked waking life. Spent time working blissfully in a free reaction-diffusion program, Ready. Thought mostly about how I wanted to redesign my blog — a blog I hardly write in, and which I have no qualms about calling a damn blog now (see how much I’ve matured?). Made a proof-of-concept using CSS masking.

For the past few weeks I’ve been feeling like I want to write in here again. It’s strange, though… I don’t want to write for anyone but myself. I like the idea of keeping dreams and diary entries. I want to have the LiveJournal that I never had when I was 18, when having a LiveJournal was a thing. As is my usual pattern, instead of actually writing anything, I manage to obsess over the design of the bloody site until I’m practically sick of the idea. All I really want is a space I myself find beautiful. I want a place to leave the thoughts I don’t want anymore. I want to be able to look back at something I like. My current spate of design ideas are perhaps best conveyed by this dinosaur’s camouflage:

This blog feels old. Lots of people’s blogs do… and I should know since I just went for a snoop around. The era when the personal blog was relevant is gone. My tech-savvy friends’ blogs are left as a testament to the brief period of history where we myopically perceived it important to maintain our own websites. Silly, in retrospect. It was only a matter of time before mass-solutions like Facebook and LinkedIn evolved to decisively address the problem of digital identity. Because, you see, writing in them is probably more important than designing them.

To you reading this don’t take it too seriously. This is me cursing out my diary, for goodnessakes. It’s something I do from time to time. I just wanted to edify something, to perma-cast the feels I grok at this moment’s happening. That is to say, this is just to say. Just word-talks.

EDIT: if you’re reading this on ori.nz, you can probably figure out what happened instead!

Categories
Dream Journal

From Sailboats to Planet Sims

Memories of a former dream of a Pacific isle with only a small harbor, sailing a single swimboat into it, as skies grow grayer. It’s near Hawaii? Trapped as some sort of hostage. I see from the first person perspective, but it’s as if I’m reading or writing a story at the same time. Moving around a large white room. My vision is compressing distance, as if I am manipulating the environment by my perception of it. I manage to kill or restrain “Dr. Plenti” — something I may have been judged as psycho for, despite my need to escape. I lured his wife into the room and slipped through the door into another room, with a plastic sheet over the north-facing window. The first-person character, “me”, proceeds to navigate around tall shelves of construction storage, eluding a novice security guard, finding a patch of trees along a winding path which is reminiscent from dreams of several rural graveyards.

I engage Valerie in a fond hug, as I try to understand what she can be helped with romantically. Unsure if I’m helping her as a friend or propositioning her.

Mickey and Robby T. finally find themselves as gay lovers. What?

Video game where you run a planet simulation, but I only manipulate the input resources and let it run. I watch a vast terraced valley develop, farmhouses and townscapes and weather moving across the viewport. There are square edges on the walls of each rounded platform, a notable video game faux pas. To pause, I reach behind my current lily pad-like unit and pull up a badminton racket (they all have these) and notice the tick-tock of time slow to a halt so that I can examine the world’s results. Notable is the poor performance in dental health, indicated by tooth-brushing. This was an actual variable in the game!

Categories
Dream Journal

Cafe Bookstore & Venture Bros

Beautiful new bookstore cafe in SF comes with a superstition: people put pennies in the rug. Their library/study is exceptional. It has a warm, farmhouse vibe even with the laptops.

Venture Brothers are captured and have to adopt false identities. When left alone, the facade drops except for Brock who tries to moralize with a speech about “scruples for heroes in stripes for pipes” (or something). I attempt to demonstrate a face mask filter but Lynae can’t help me find it.

Categories
Dream Journal

Class Nominee, Spinny RV, Mom’s Fuzzy

In a big crowd of people, perhaps a college class, I am picked as the designated something. Despite not understanding the job, I’m a very good sport about it, and proceed to give the thumbs up gesture spinning around in all directions, to great cheers.

Sitting upslope a large lake. Perhaps facing east. I watch as I shift the view… the lake rotates. I watch a three-story RV drive energetically through the crowd. It changes to a moving van and drives down the slope into the lake. I think it might be amphibious, but instead it tips forward and sinks into the water. The driver escapes and we have a moment of commiseration.

I see my mom as she was in her last days. We have a chance to say goodbye. There are specific instructions as to what blankets she wants when she passes. I look through a closet and there it is, a wide thick cream-colored fuzzy traditional top cover. It’s a rental and so can be used by others and we won’t have to hang onto it forever.

In the closet there’s also a sheepskin (that may have been mine) that is reddish-bronze colored, and mostly armor anyways. There is fur on the flanks and flaps that would cover the sheep’s eyes. It’s small, perhaps for a lamb.

Categories
Dream Journal

The Enlightenment Mutilator

Ramble around a dreamscape explaining enlightenment to self. Hazard of tripping and never coming down is you can only do it once, and it happens in idiosyncratic way. GIFof machine that takes perfectly normal bodies and distorts them into unique shapes. Suspending self above long fall, closing eyes and making fall worse and further, falling and self-upping the tortuous feelings along the way, getting creative with bad sensations, landing an inch from floor and being content with it, having two women inside me and drawing a magic wand to my crotch knowing the sensation of a clit can be approximated.

Old lady getting her bones jumped. Forgetting to clock out in Midnight Munchery. Harrison Ford.

Transition from wakefulness to sleeping mind was experienced firsthand and perceived as not terribly different.

Categories
Dream Journal

Battle of Champions, Dad Doubles, Copacabana Clock

Fight between two champions, Denethor and Bison. Bison is big muscular guy who is hesitant. Denethor grabs spears but is defeated when Bison impales his leg with a sword, then another, then uses a hot spear to melt them through, then separates Denethor’s head to show him the wounds. Very brutal.

Circus show that uses a trailer that folds. It’s full of horses, which come off the trailer, and somehow become elephants on the beach where their audience sits. The elephants are blocked by black brontosaurs.

I am passing my dad, who waylays me on the way to somewhere. He talks to my doppelgänger too, and I understand this to be a delicate situation. As he recognizes me, I look him in the eyes and say “doubles” knowing it is the most respectful way to acknowledge us.

I am in a pool that uses white Armani tiles. In the far corner, away from two old women, I toss a towel onto one of the poolside chairs. There is a conical grandfather clock made of leather that I open up. It is 4 o’clock, and sunset. This is somewhere near the equator possibly in Brazil… Copacabana, Veracruz.

Copacabana is a neighborhood that I can view from up on the hillside where this pool is. There are a number of clubs, and I hear in my mind complicated music that experiments shifting with 4/4 time.

Categories
Dream Journal

Might be Metroworld

Walked trail back from an event on the playa. Footprints in dirt and patterns on canyon wall from so many hikers, very clear. Butterfly backpacks on the wall of staging area. I interrupted an older female friend before they could say something snarky about the other burners (?). Found a time capsule in the form of a large round buried cistern of cream soda with the date 2008 (or 1998), do not open for 100 years. Someone asked where everyone present had been then. There was a liability waiver engraved with it on the bronze! Conversation became about how unlikely that was to be useful or used, but I pointed out that while a lot of things change in 100 years, it’s a long time to sort out negotiations. Further down the trail there is a nice clean house, with several interesting coffee table books on racks about beauty or friendship. I point out to Lynae that they’re the same few interesting books that everyone in this community seems to have. We then had a brunch toast, a gentlemen looking like Dean Mermell spoke on doing a drug (ketamine?) and people don’t think of the after-effects as alcohol drunkeness, despite many obvious alkaloids that the body processes. He lauds the possibility of a month of feeling slightly drunk before we have a group cheers of frothy icy orange juice drink. I turn to Lynae and tell her I figured out what I want to do with my life for work. I want to make interesting collectible coffeetable book knickknack-type things, some one-offs, some production pieces. Stuff that’s fun to have and conveys taste and status but is still ok to give away. Something that can let me travel the world. This world has nice architecture and bridges and might be called Metroworld.

In a different dream, there is an omnipotent dirty that shows itself as bright beams of light. I’m in a room for sharing with this deity. It comedically moves to the power outlet behind the couch. There’s a large circular ceiling decoration the light plays off of. The deity throws us (it’s congregants) a big celebration, but it’s revealed that it spent what very little money it had renting marching band uniforms for us (which we couldn’t really use). We found the truck they came in — along the way, near a rusty concrete beam overpass, I find an original Sonic the Hedgehog Sega Genesis box. I consider selling it as collectible but I have a vision of Toys R Us just like I remember it, but with different stock. I manage to find a Jurassic Park toy set that must have been sitting there on the shelves since 1995.

Categories
Dream Journal

Strange New Apartment with Strange People

Was moving out of a place on Mission street. Went through a lost and found hamper that turned out to be filled with my own clothes. My dad was there cleaning also and put his stereo system and a bunch of CDs in his car. He drove down Mission street fast enough to spin out into a storefront made with cutouts of San Francisco.

I was in the elevator to a possible new apartment with Lynae. I had a metal cart filled with our stuff. We were headed for the eighth floor but the elevator stopped at the seventh. Not noticing, we got off, but I got back on once we realized. Lynae couldn’t get back on and I couldn’t figure out how to get the elevator buttons to scroll up to the 8th floor. My doppelgänger came onto the elevator at this time; I was unsure whether to send him away or make out with him (as I’ve always expected I might). Finally I got to the 8th floor. Our former roommates Matt and Emily might’ve been the landlords. Outsides of people’s apartment doors was decorated with knickknacks and tasteful lighting. I entered my prospective home and met the roommates who lived there. Most were very attractive 20-something girls, including a pair of twins who looked like my attractive Australian acquaintance Hemmy. One of the twins had a developmental abnormality that affected her symmetry… she had three breasts and, when she casually rolled over, I saw two assholes. I engaged in easy, free-flowing conversation with all the roommates from a ledge in their open plan home. Due to the liberated vibe I was sitting with my dick hanging out; unfortunately where I was sitting only one girl could see it and she was the least attractive to me. The apartment was decorated with colorful lace curtains and pastels, underlit beds and fancy framed art. It had a view out to the city and as I and a few of the girls watched, a van driving a trailer drove off a nearby roof. It fell a ways before veering up, as if swimming against the force of gravity.

The dream began to fall apart as I realized how dream-like it was, but I pulled an interesting trick. I pretended that I had simply blacked-out in the dream world (perhaps taken a bad pill). This worked, and I ended up back in the sexy apartment with the two-breasted twin showing me that she had gone through my art works and found one she wanted to build off of (it was a pressed plastic sheet of a skateboard wheel with the word ‘concrete’ embossed above it). We made out and it was intense, pulling each other’s hair and fervently tonguing.

Categories
Dream Journal

Naked but Not Crazy

Dreamed I was walking through the streets of the Haight with Lynae, nighttime. I was naked after the end of a hard day and some body encumberence. It was pretty awesome but as Lynae got paranoid about people seeing me she dragged me back a little. I was psychically connected to her and kind of slipped out of this invisible magic underwear belt binding me together. She ran off and I went on myself. The police showed up quickly and I was left to hide lying still behind an old car leaning near a fence, assuming they’d look under the cars. I evaded them awhile then came back and people assumed, again, that I’d gone crazy. Still not wanting to explain enlightenment I talked to my dad, asking “well what do you think I did?” “You ingested something a little while before, and…” I interrupted and explained it was simpler than that: I wanted to do what I was doing and it was a good idea. My dad cracked and told me about this Asian couple which had been “smoking him out”. My possessions were being sifted through by other friends and sorted for transport, I don’t know where.

There was a baby someone was taking care of, an incredibly precocious toddler with wispy hair carried from one room to the other. She told about how fast it takes to get to the moon when you ride your bed (imagine it?). She had different body shells it turned out, and her brain was switched into a different one so that body could be bathed. The body immediately started complaining that it wanted the brain back and it hated keeping its brain in its butt. The body with the brain, smaller, maybe a newborn, did a play-dumb routine that was instantly recognizable as clever. I thought it would be easier to bathe the body with no brain.

Sitting in a golf cart in a living room with two women in their house. The cart started going upstairs of its own accord seemingly but no one acted concerned. It was enchanted to do that, or was somehow intelligent.

Categories
Dream Journal

From the Riverbank, a Second Relentless

Sitting by a levee, I watch a minivan driving down the road next to it miss the curve and drive full speed into the water. Instead of instantly sinking, it glides along the surface shooting out a plume, quickly making it back to the road — essentially just a shortcut. I gather that the shallows nearest me are shallower than they look. Three more cars quickly follow, and they manage to glide on the water channel itself.

At this point I’m confused as to whether boats could still navigate, then along comes my old ship The Relentless, cruising along at top speed with all my former friends. Well, I flip ’em off. Then I voyage on a duplicate Relentless with a rickety wheelhouse in the back, and a duplicate Eileen, whom I charmingly inform “but we’ll never be able to tell who’s the original, will we?”