Category Archives: Dream Worlds

The Witch of Rush Creek

The Witch of Rush Creek

She must have drown in the late 1800s.  Her dress flowed eternally, billowing with the endless currents of the air.  Her thick dark hair was matted and stiff like medusa’s snakes looked at themselves in the mirror.  Her skin was blue and black either from the lack of oxygen when she died or some sort of terrible beating just before.  She is mad at the living because they have access to the life force that was stolen from her.  She fears men.  Instead she focuses on easy targets to possess such as young unaccompanied fertile women.

I know this because she targeted me.  I lay sleeping unsuspecting in my tent on a cold night in late spring.  The sound of the creek falling off the mountain side nearby and the soft breeze billowing my tent made for a peaceful night despite the cold.  In my dream, I turned around to a sneering blue face just before she slammed into me, highjacking my body. Stunned by the blow I looked down at my now blue hands still trying to figure out what had happened.  In the mirror, my reflection had been replaced by her ugly beaten face.  I entered a party of my family and friends where I proceeded to yell out a touretttial fit all the inappropriate thoughts that usually go unspoken.  After all my unspoken thoughts had finally been spewed, she blew out of me in a gust of wind, leaving me to face the judgement for all my horrible thoughts.  I looked in the mirror.  Upon seeing myself I asked people at the dream party about the crazy blue witch who purged me.  They said they only saw me having an emotional, insane fit, yelling terrible opinions.  No blue ugly face, no 1800s dress and boots.  She possessed me for that fleeting moment, haphazardly trying to steal my body and gain strength from my life force.  She must have run out of energy to fight the wind from blowing her away.  Regardless, she is there at Rush Creek, praying on young women, trying desperately to get back the life that was stolen from her.

On not reading books lately

On not reading books lately

I didn’t read any novels last year; down from one in 2016, 13 in 2015, 11 in 2012, five in 2013, and 21 in 2012.  I tend to read fun stuff more when I travel to fill in empty time and I tend to study for classes when I’m home to build my career up.  Up to what?  I don’t know.  I have no calling, no drive to service.  I seek uninterrupted free time.  I am my most happy and content self when time and money are abundant, even if only in bursts.  It feels like childhood again.  All my needs met while I lazily watch I Love Lucy and laugh.  Not a care in the world.

Books are too dramatic when I’m home in my career state.  I’m disillusioned by how the author just throws obstacles at their protagonists.  I have enough problems to solve in my real life, I can’t handle being kept even more in suspense while some fictional character solves problems that wouldn’t have existed if their author hadn’t bothered to write them down.  I need practical reality in my career state.  I’m focused on my optimal level of success, not hanging out in la la land while my student loan perpetually charges me more money on funds I spent 8 years ago.

Financial mountain climbing.  Of course I take breaks, but they’ve not been so satisfying for the past 6 years since student loan reality set in.  They’ve been necessary to pace myself, but they’ve prolonged this torment due to the Sisyphus effect they have on my mountain climbing.  Three steps forward, two steps back.  Not quite like Sisyphus, thank fully because I haven’t had to start all over each time.

I did buy a book the other day… and I am half way through it.  I can feel my other self waking up a bit.  I’ve only got three point five weeks to freedom, so maybe it is about time I start to color my world a bit more.

 

The Wicked Witch of the Underworld

The Wicked Witch of the Underworld

Somehow we ended up driving into the underworld.  Not knowing where we were, we made a u turn and continued on our way home.  A wicked witch followed us out though.  Something in me knew it too but I kept shrugging off as shadows and road noise.  At home that night I felt her presence and went into the back yard pondering where the safest place would be.  In fright at the dark clouds swarming fast on all horizons, I turned and ran back into the house and up the stairs.  She flew around me in a swirling gust.  I thought I had escaped her as I burst out onto the balcony and climbed onto the roof.  Feeling myself floating I grabbed the flag pole rope and held on in one last attempt to stay grounded.  “It’s no use,” she shrieked, “I’ve already given you the poison.” Her words echoed as Kevin’s sword flew through her apparition, its reflective light joining into my swirling, darkening vision.

I eventually awoke, realizing that my sleeping beauty fantasies were never something that I wanted to be true.   Blinking my eyes, I expected the vague form of Kevin hovering over me to bring me relief, but it didn’t.  “Kevin! Why do you look like that?” I exclaimed.  His Claymation face looked sad.  I reached up to his face asking him if it is really him, when I noticed my own hands had the very same cartoonish texture.  Frightened, thinking this must be a dream, the memory of the witch’s attack came back.  “But how did you get here?” I asked him as he showed me the mirror, “I thought she was only attacking me.

“She was.” He explained, “But I couldn’t fight her off and wouldn’t let her take you alone.  So I let her take me too.  I couldn’t be without you.  “What does she want with us?” I asked.  He didn’t know.  For weeks she has just been flying around like a mad spirit muttering spells as she experiments with the new power having us around gives her.  “She’s been gone for a few days, maybe that’s why you’ve woken up.”  My memory came and went over the next few days so it was easy to live in the cottage as if we always did.

But at random times a memory would come to mind.  “Do you still work at a bank?” I asked Kevin, half knowing his answer but feeling compelled like a child to ask anyway.  “Not since we’ve been here, no.  We’re prisoners here.  I have no idea how to get out.”

One day Kevin began to get spacey and forgetful of what words he had been trying to get out.  He fell into a conscious muttering sleep as the witch flew in.  “Good good, awake awake.  Get up!” she ordered.  I stood, shaky on my claylike legs under her spell.  A salt shaker appeared in my hand and I started sprinkling Kevin with salt as the witch flew around in apparitional ciaos.

The tornedo of wind put me into a black out and I awoke on horseback.  My hands tied in front of me with Kevin walking at my side, looking more and more Disney than Claymation.  We were slowly following the witch’s caravan through a small town.  Children were pointing in awe as the adults hustled them away from the road.  A band of teens threw rocks at us, threatening to break Kevin’s shoes, which were made of half an egg shell each.  Angrily he lunged at them.  Had his shackles not held him back, they probably would have been too scared to throw one last rock.  Egg shell shards spew in all directions, disheartened he turned to me.  “You have to try to remember, remember home.  It is the only way we can get out of here.” “Home…” I whispered as I woke up, Kevin snoring at my side.  I breathed a sigh of relief that it was all just some sort of dream.

Post vacation stress disorder

Post vacation stress disorder

Oh it’s real.  I do pretty good the first few days as I get back into my routine.  Then somewhere around Wednesday evening it hits me.  I overspent on all that fun, now I have to live a bit more frugal to stay within budget for the enxt few weeks.  “It was worth it,” says one of the minds in my head.  “Yeah, but maybe we could have had a bit more self control.”  Silence ensues as I internalize my internal thoughts.  “Girls, girls!” I butt in.  “It just is what it is and it was worth it.”

Anyway, it exists, but at least it is less intense with each iteration because with life experience i’ve learned to smooth out my happy highs enough so that I don’t fall so hard on the way down.

It doesn’t help that I have a permanent job.  Well it does, because at least now I have a job to return to right away when I return from an adventure.  But two weeks vacation = slavery.  Seriously, who sets these salary prices anyway.  Supply and demand.  I know, I took a few econ classes.  But in the real world I don’t see it as a reason for how all prices clear.  Belief systems seem more of a culprit.  I’m off topic.  Back to PVSD.

I’ve been day dreaming a lot this week about what i would do if I could do anything I wanted and be free like on holiday.  It’s therapeutic, but as a dark side that doesn’t pair well with PVSD.  Because when I think of all the stuff I would do if I could do what ever I want to do, I just feel more blue because it is so far from reality.  Why do our minds genetically tease us with the possibly of other worlds colliding with ours?  My brain must be miswired, because this habit of thinking in no way has gotten me to the top of the success pile. If anything, it holds me back because all the time spent in another world, is time not spent understanding how this one actually works.

Self doubt, lack of ambition, and a complete undesire to try to accomplish anything more, PVSD.

I would want to accomplish more if any of the things I’ve accomplished actually got me somewhere.  Oh mother of glory I am a goal achieving hamster on a wheel rolling up hill next to Sisyphus.  At least I don’t have to push up rocks, so there is a bright side.  Someone is just watching while puffing a cigar saying, “Oh good, she’s almost done with that accomplishment, what meaningless goals shall we have her achieve once she’s done?” Trophies, pieces of paper, recognition, its all junk. junk. junk. junk. Meanless junk.  Just more junk to put on the wall and sort though in my closet.

I just want to sleep in. Every. Day. That makes me happy.

On Depression as a Matter of Belief

On Depression as a Matter of Belief

Depression is a matter of belief.  Belief that all your worst fears will come true and that you are powerless to do anything to stop the ship from sinking.  Your future is played in your mind-screen as a projection where all the negatives from your current situation are amplified.  No thought is given that things won’t get that bad.  It is a survival mechanism gone faulty.  True we need to know what seedlings will grow into something poisonous, but not everything is bad.  Depression lays with superstition in that it needs no evidence, not display of physical law to prove that the future is unpredictable.   It is evil in the sense that it relies on the great unknown as proof of one’s powerlessness.

“How could I, a single human, fight the great unknown?” I ask myself in despair.  My first response is to shine light on the unknown and then know it.  But the unknowns are infinite in number and strength.  The process of getting to know an unknown leads to the discovery of more and more unknowns.  The never ending chase leads to exhaustion and then more reliance on depression’s comfortable embrace for sustenance to one’s self feeling good enough again before plunging back down into its depths.

Only once depression subsides (or it lets me take a break) do I get to a point where I can reflect on it as if it were one single packet of time.  Seeing depression for what it is helps me to combat it every time, but each new spring leads eventually to a new winter.  Feeling better just makes me wonder what darkness I will have to combat with in the future.  So I scan my environment, on edge waiting for my next trigger.  Picking up signals and using my imagination, as I walk along the streets I project what an evil seed would look like if it were to grow into a full sized monster.  Then suddenly, I am there again, forecasting my future using my everyday routine as a mechanism to prove that my worst fears will one day come true.  Not only do I waste all my time worrying about all the things that will never happen to me, I feel my hopes and dream ly in that same category as fantasies that I can never achieve.

Depression inverts fears and dreams.  It makes me believe my fears will come true and my desires won’t, even though there is simply no way of knowing what will happen.

On being alone in the world

On being alone in the world

No matter how much we surround ourselves with people, animals, and thoughts of religious deities who validate our existence, we are indeed alone in life.  We rationalize the opposite instinctively.

It is a survival mechanism to utilize the imagination.  Without imagination we’d all be in loony bins because it is a shock to the system to see that no help is coming and there is far more to fall before we hit bottom.  Once we’ve reached the limits of our capabilities and related control over our life situation, there is nothing more than hope that Fortuna, the goddess of fortune and luck, will cruise in and sway her tiller in more a fortunate direction for us.

The fortune of humans.  Being in the right place at the right time does require showing up, but no guarantee that you’ll ever actually get there.

“When your prospects for the future solely depend on luck, you know you’ve screwed up.”  I quote myself.  I believe it to be true that luck lies in the realm of the gods, those mystical creatures who never show themselves to us in their true form. People pry and worship because they are at our lowest of lows and have exhausted all capabilities within ourselves to further our self-created cause.  If this is you, you are low.

Failure is a harsh term at times because it is usually attributed to personal failure as if it was someone’s fault.  In reality, failure is the world’s fault.  This person, a creation of this world, somehow was genetically programed to pursue a dead end cause.

There is a parasite in the Amazon jungle that reproduces by attaching itself to a specific ant specie.  These ants typically fallow along normal army ant (get food, build ant hill, attack enemy) behavior on the ground. Once this parasite attaches itself to the ant, suddenly the ant (for no genetic reason of its own) climbs a specific type of leaf growing off the Amazon floor and dies.  The parasite lays its eggs inside the ant’s body and when the eggs hatch, they eat the leaf before finding ants of their own to commandeer.

It would be great if my failed career attempts could so easily be attributed to a parasitic demon that drives me on adventures all over the world that consequentially spiral me into years of debt repayment AKA indentured servitude, but in reality, it is just me, in my head doing whatever it takes to make myself feel good, alone.

 

On Money

On Money

Greed.  That word, that sinful word.  It’s meaning is out of style, like the idea that college is the key to success.  Everyone knows it, yet people keep throwing money at it.  Appealing to a persons sense of greed is the best way to scam money out of them.  They know that greed is bad and their self flagulative instincts don’t want a lashing!

There is nothing wrong with wanting money.  It is the only tangible proof that I existed during all those hours of modern day slavery, modern day “show up and do what we tell you, or else!”  It is slavery, because I go through all of this in life to get by and then, at the end, I am faced with a green image of me in the mirror.   An image telling me that I shouldn’t have wanted this because now I am greedy.

It isn’t the afterlife that will haunt you.  Christians got it wrong, they want to ignore too much.  There is much more going on.  They want you to stay in the bubble of purity where you won’t feel the harshness since you will have done no so-called wrong.  Feel it, for is exists.  I have greed, I have hunger, I want more because I don’t have enough.  If I tried to hide it it would show up in some other way, probably on my hips.  If I had enough, and still wanted more, then the more negative connotation could apply, but, most people I know are not there, yet they are referred to as greedy.  This is a problem because they feel that they are asking for too much, yet they have not asked for enough because they fear being labeled as greedy.

Don’t be greedy, give!  Get our numbers high!

On what it all keeps coming down to

On what it all keeps coming down to

It isn’t what people say at the beginning of a conversation that is on their minds.  Wait for it.  The bread and butter will reveal itself.  I know this because I know my own mind.  It never stops living.  My life is a mere continuation of my dreams, but in my waking life I are often interrupted by simple things such as people talking to me, cars needing to be driven, work needing to be done, and bodies needing to be taken care of.  In my sleep there is no stopping the thoughts, they manifest to their fullest without remorse or guilt for any harm or discomfort they cause me.  But I don’t mind, I like to roam free.  In watching my thoughts, I am able to see through the layers by not getting stuck on one topic, so for a second, I get a glimpse of what is bothering me way underneath it all.  Under those layers are the things I wouldn’t say until I was deep into the conversation.  Under the layers are the situations that I wish never happened, the things I wish I could take back, and the things I wish would leave me alone.  I see those issues there, but seeing is all I can do.  If I pull out a topic from the roots and thus finally rid myself of its nagging existence, another topic will fill into that spot.  The process is endless because the spots are always there, grasping issues to apply its emotions to.  Seeing through the layers, clearing them off, and restructuring was just the beginning.  It is overwhelming to climb what you thought was the tallest peak only to finally see how many more mountains are ahead of you.  It is the space they layers fill that needs adjustment.  How to adjust them, I don’t yet know.  From here I cannot see how deep they go because the surface life covers them for most of my day.  When the surface life is very smooth and thick, it crates a nice trail to follow that makes me not think about the foundation built below.  Maybe this is because the deep layers really do not matter so long as life is in order.  So I guess this one comes down to this:  When life is good, don’t spoil the fun.

Summoning past lovers

Summoning past lovers

In a brief moment of despair at not being in love for far too long, I summoned up my favorite lover from my memory.  After dancing the softness of his skin and reliving the sparkling spot in my soul where his memorizing eyes met mine, I finally remembered what it felt like to be in love again.  For a brief second the portal between us opened again, long enough for me to whisper “but i love you…”  Swooning once again in a state of ecstasy, he awoke from my spell, “Mareks…Mareks, darling are you still there?” said a sweet voice over the phone. “Hm, hmm, yes yes, uh blue, blue is a great color for the guest bedroom, look I’ve got to go, I’ll call you back when I’m on my way home” he replied….”Love you too….cheers….bye”.  He nervously stood up and looked out the window over Sydney Harbour.  He remembered too.