the Dream that never was
This may turn into random musings or it may not but I shall begin by telling you the story of
the Dream that never was
and from there
we
shall
see.
A few nights ago, or perhaps a week ago,
or maybe an hundred hundred years ago I found myself in an odd situation.
Or maybe it was an awed situation.
Without regard for homonyms I press on with my story in which I was in a situation that seemed "not quite right". The details of this irregular situation are not important. I might have been flying or there might have been some pig speaking English to me
or some other uncommon, rare, or supposedly impossible thing was happening
some peculiar thing that provoked my sensibilities to mutter...
"hmmmm, perhaps this is a dream".
Have I told you of the technique to acquire lucidity in dream state?
Have I told you this technicque for lucid dreaming told to me by a person who shall remain unremembered?
in the case that I have not told you of this prior to this moment, then I am now going to instruct you of a technique passed on to me by a forgotten source on the ways and means of encouraging
the lucid state of dreaming.
It is this:
Train yourself to ask the question 25 times a day: "Is this a dream?"
Train yourself to consider and to honestly answer the question each time you ask it. "Hmmm.... No. No, it is not."
And then carry on with your day.
Eventually you will start to ask yourself the question in your dreams. And though you have answered the question in the negative 25 times a day, if you have honestly been thinking about the question, you will eventually answer the question
"Hmmmm.... Yes. Yes this is a dream"
while you dream.
This act will give you an awareness of your dreaming state
that is the first step
towards mastering dreaming consciousness
in a sense to become a god in your dreams.
What you do with this lucid state is up to you, but I caution you to not underestimate the power of your subconscious mind. It is much like that damn monkey claw. Consider carefully what you wish for. Tred lightly. Even gods have nightmares and such nightmares they have that would make a Bronte sister mad.
* And beware the DreamPoliz. *
Does that cautionary note make you tremble?
Do you dare continue on with this story after this tangential interjection?
Why have I begun opaquely with theories on lucidity?
Will I ever return to my original story of an odd awed situation?
As soon as I suspected that this situation might be a dream I did as I have said. I asked the question.
"Is this a dream?"
And then before I could answer the question I discovered I was actually asking it of somebody else.
"Is this a dream?" I asked myself, but unfortunately, I did not actually ask the question of myself. I asked it of some... I dunno who. Some Guy? Gal? Monkey? Somebody who was there. Somebody who appeared as soon as I asked the question.
And I asked over and over and over and over and over and receieved no answer. It might even have been you, but I cannot remember and that is my ultimate point.... I CANNOT REMEMBER.
You see, there's the power of the subconscious. The subconscious has spies everywhere.
And the most nefarious of them work for
The DreamPoliz
Whenever you pierce the veil of memory between this world and that,
between the wolf and the scorpion,
Whenever you open your jaws to swallow the moon,
or shout so loud to wake the sleeping clown
The DreamPoliz are there.
Memory. Why is it so hard to remember our dreams? It is hard enough to remember the little details of waking life but... remembering dreams...some force wipes our memories daily of the adventures we have at night. Who is doing the wiping?
The DreamPoliz.
Why can we not remember what happens when we go over the rainbow?
The DreamPoliz.
The giant peaches that chase us - Forgotten.
The erotic performers that we become. The blood of the bull in the pit of the hills - There are no memories of these.
The secret language of electricity that defines us - Invisible.
These are not small things. They are large and momentous. Would you forget that in your waking time you ascended Mt. Fuji? Will you forget knowing that you had the strength and ability to conquer it? I think not. You will not ever forget that walk up the mountain.
But do you remember that
last night you
were swallowed
by a flame from
the hat of night emerged unburnt
from the tip of your ears to
the tip of your roostery tail?
No, you do not remember that.
And a thousand thousand other moments equally momentous have been forgotten by you alone. And you were alone. And if you can't remember what happened last night while your eyes were closed, then all these memories will be lost in time like tears in rain
(if i may borrow an image from Blade Runner).
Why can we not remember the other universe that we live in? Have I met you in my dreams? Have we shared adventures? Were you the screaming banshee that prevented me from planting my flagpole in the top of the world? I am sure that you have guest starred in an episode or two (just as I am sure Anson Williams appeared in an episode of The Love Boat) but I cannot recall. Perhaps I have even told you of a time that you appeared in a dream of mine but still... I have no memory of it.
Why?
The DreamPoliz.
A secret surreal intelligence organization who's function is to keep Dreamworld a secret. I have recognized their operatives twice. Once they appeared in the form of a Keystones Cop like chase scene. I had just discovered that I was in Dreamland and was intent on using this opportunity to fly when instantaneously I was being chased by a riotous squad of cops who were intent on stopping me from exerting control over my dreams.
The second time was a few nights ago. Or perhaps last week. Or perhaps a hundred hundred years ago. I had just asked the question of myself
"Is this a dream?"
Before I could answer it, a Dreampolice operative appeared at a table reading a newspaper. She had appeared so as to distract me from answering my own question.
I asked her instead
"Is this a dream?"
She didn't answer.
I asked twenty five times. I implored. I instructed.
No reply. Because I received no answer to my question, the veil that I had pierced was able to mend
and the window onto that other universe was closed to me
and I cannot remember what I saw there.
And that Dream never was.
What would I have done had I gained control over the dreaming, if I had earned my Godhood? The last time I found myself in that situation I was prepared. I had told myself and others for years that if I was ever in a lucid dream state that I would use that opportunity to fly and that is what I did and I have probably posted the written record of that adventure in a story entitled "Tybalt On Running".
This time I was not prepared though. I do not know what I would have done but I am sure that it would have been sexual in nature. "Sexual in nature"... what a silly phrase. A polite way of saying I would strive for a fucktakular event worthy of the lust thirsting audience of Rome's Colliseum. There are many fleshy adventures I would like to undertake with a select roster of fiendish females... however, I should thank the DreamPoliz for stepping in when they did because if I had gained lucidity and gone forth with my half formed horny notions, I am sure it would have been absolutely disastrous. I have already had dream sex with Margaret Thatcher once, thank you very much, and once is enough. I must plan this out. Determine the details. The costumes the setting. The music. The story. The conflict. The colours. The characters. All this must be done before the first day of rehearsal. So that when that lucid state comes again, I am ready to take advantage of it and so that The DreamPoliz do not take advantage of me.
the Dream that never was
and from there
we
shall
see.
A few nights ago, or perhaps a week ago,
or maybe an hundred hundred years ago I found myself in an odd situation.
Or maybe it was an awed situation.
Without regard for homonyms I press on with my story in which I was in a situation that seemed "not quite right". The details of this irregular situation are not important. I might have been flying or there might have been some pig speaking English to me
or some other uncommon, rare, or supposedly impossible thing was happening
some peculiar thing that provoked my sensibilities to mutter...
"hmmmm, perhaps this is a dream".
Have I told you of the technique to acquire lucidity in dream state?
Have I told you this technicque for lucid dreaming told to me by a person who shall remain unremembered?
in the case that I have not told you of this prior to this moment, then I am now going to instruct you of a technique passed on to me by a forgotten source on the ways and means of encouraging
the lucid state of dreaming.
It is this:
Train yourself to ask the question 25 times a day: "Is this a dream?"
Train yourself to consider and to honestly answer the question each time you ask it. "Hmmm.... No. No, it is not."
And then carry on with your day.
Eventually you will start to ask yourself the question in your dreams. And though you have answered the question in the negative 25 times a day, if you have honestly been thinking about the question, you will eventually answer the question
"Hmmmm.... Yes. Yes this is a dream"
while you dream.
This act will give you an awareness of your dreaming state
that is the first step
towards mastering dreaming consciousness
in a sense to become a god in your dreams.
What you do with this lucid state is up to you, but I caution you to not underestimate the power of your subconscious mind. It is much like that damn monkey claw. Consider carefully what you wish for. Tred lightly. Even gods have nightmares and such nightmares they have that would make a Bronte sister mad.
* And beware the DreamPoliz. *
Does that cautionary note make you tremble?
Do you dare continue on with this story after this tangential interjection?
Why have I begun opaquely with theories on lucidity?
Will I ever return to my original story of an odd awed situation?
As soon as I suspected that this situation might be a dream I did as I have said. I asked the question.
"Is this a dream?"
And then before I could answer the question I discovered I was actually asking it of somebody else.
"Is this a dream?" I asked myself, but unfortunately, I did not actually ask the question of myself. I asked it of some... I dunno who. Some Guy? Gal? Monkey? Somebody who was there. Somebody who appeared as soon as I asked the question.
And I asked over and over and over and over and over and receieved no answer. It might even have been you, but I cannot remember and that is my ultimate point.... I CANNOT REMEMBER.
You see, there's the power of the subconscious. The subconscious has spies everywhere.
And the most nefarious of them work for
The DreamPoliz
Whenever you pierce the veil of memory between this world and that,
between the wolf and the scorpion,
Whenever you open your jaws to swallow the moon,
or shout so loud to wake the sleeping clown
The DreamPoliz are there.
Memory. Why is it so hard to remember our dreams? It is hard enough to remember the little details of waking life but... remembering dreams...some force wipes our memories daily of the adventures we have at night. Who is doing the wiping?
The DreamPoliz.
Why can we not remember what happens when we go over the rainbow?
The DreamPoliz.
The giant peaches that chase us - Forgotten.
The erotic performers that we become. The blood of the bull in the pit of the hills - There are no memories of these.
The secret language of electricity that defines us - Invisible.
These are not small things. They are large and momentous. Would you forget that in your waking time you ascended Mt. Fuji? Will you forget knowing that you had the strength and ability to conquer it? I think not. You will not ever forget that walk up the mountain.
But do you remember that
last night you
were swallowed
by a flame from
the hat of night emerged unburnt
from the tip of your ears to
the tip of your roostery tail?
No, you do not remember that.
And a thousand thousand other moments equally momentous have been forgotten by you alone. And you were alone. And if you can't remember what happened last night while your eyes were closed, then all these memories will be lost in time like tears in rain
(if i may borrow an image from Blade Runner).
Why can we not remember the other universe that we live in? Have I met you in my dreams? Have we shared adventures? Were you the screaming banshee that prevented me from planting my flagpole in the top of the world? I am sure that you have guest starred in an episode or two (just as I am sure Anson Williams appeared in an episode of The Love Boat) but I cannot recall. Perhaps I have even told you of a time that you appeared in a dream of mine but still... I have no memory of it.
Why?
The DreamPoliz.
A secret surreal intelligence organization who's function is to keep Dreamworld a secret. I have recognized their operatives twice. Once they appeared in the form of a Keystones Cop like chase scene. I had just discovered that I was in Dreamland and was intent on using this opportunity to fly when instantaneously I was being chased by a riotous squad of cops who were intent on stopping me from exerting control over my dreams.
The second time was a few nights ago. Or perhaps last week. Or perhaps a hundred hundred years ago. I had just asked the question of myself
"Is this a dream?"
Before I could answer it, a Dreampolice operative appeared at a table reading a newspaper. She had appeared so as to distract me from answering my own question.
I asked her instead
"Is this a dream?"
She didn't answer.
I asked twenty five times. I implored. I instructed.
No reply. Because I received no answer to my question, the veil that I had pierced was able to mend
and the window onto that other universe was closed to me
and I cannot remember what I saw there.
And that Dream never was.
What would I have done had I gained control over the dreaming, if I had earned my Godhood? The last time I found myself in that situation I was prepared. I had told myself and others for years that if I was ever in a lucid dream state that I would use that opportunity to fly and that is what I did and I have probably posted the written record of that adventure in a story entitled "Tybalt On Running".
This time I was not prepared though. I do not know what I would have done but I am sure that it would have been sexual in nature. "Sexual in nature"... what a silly phrase. A polite way of saying I would strive for a fucktakular event worthy of the lust thirsting audience of Rome's Colliseum. There are many fleshy adventures I would like to undertake with a select roster of fiendish females... however, I should thank the DreamPoliz for stepping in when they did because if I had gained lucidity and gone forth with my half formed horny notions, I am sure it would have been absolutely disastrous. I have already had dream sex with Margaret Thatcher once, thank you very much, and once is enough. I must plan this out. Determine the details. The costumes the setting. The music. The story. The conflict. The colours. The characters. All this must be done before the first day of rehearsal. So that when that lucid state comes again, I am ready to take advantage of it and so that The DreamPoliz do not take advantage of me.
posted by steve at 6:54 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home