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Saint Lucia

Little dream...

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Kiki and the seven items of Mill Hill. 

There is a group of friends in Mill Hill whom each have go through a test in time to earn their own personal item - an avatar - that gives them special powers. 

Paul is playing silly buggers with his friends in Mill Hill park. He is hiding his rather large penis in the foliage nearby where several girls have been sitting, and telling them there is a surprise in the undergrowth. When they find the surprise, it is Paul's penis, and it is most amusing. 

But Paul has a guitar, a twelve-string acoustic, which, when the police are summoned to arrest him, Paul has hidden in time. 

The park is huge, like a reserve, and has many trees and valleys, and Paul goes missing one day. 

Daniel also has a guitar, and he was supposed to play it to the group one special night. But Daniel has gone in search of Paul. 

Daniel finds Paul, in the midst of an ancient age, and Paul has special powers, and reveals to Daniel that he had to go through a series of trials before he could master his guitar and achieve these special powers. 

Dean is also there, and he has to master his nunchuks, which were hidden in the forest of Mill Hill during the Chinese age. 

In any case, Paul has returned to Mill Hill park in the present time, and he is training Daniel so that he may master his item, an acoustic six string guitar, when the time comes. But Paul and Daniel have to overcome their own difficulties before they are able to progress to master level. For instance, when Paul was playing silly buggers with his willy, Paul claims that the police only intervened because Daniel hit him on the willy a little bit, which in addition, caused Paul to cum a little bit! This has been on Paul's mind for all eternity, and Daniel says, "Sorry Paul, it was just a little smack!" The issue is resolved, a little. 

But there is a crack of thunder, and an item comes flying out of the sky, It is a taikwondo stick - it is spinning through the air. Sarah, a friend of the group, is able, with deft skill and amazing talent, to catch the stick in the midst of a martial arts spinning jump, and she catches it right in the middle of the pole. The skies light up with her reward: GORGEOUS!! says the huge message across the sky, and fireworks and stars go off, and this is Sarah's avatar, her item, and a hole opens up in the ground. The hole reveals a burning pool of lava, and the ground burns away gradually, as the hole gets larger, and friends are sitting about the pool of lava, whilst the legacy of how to beat the lava ball at the centre is revealed, by a ghostly voice. The hole is increasing in size, and everybody manages to escape the lava ball in the centre, which burns the ground all around. 

Daniel, in particular, escapes, and jumps on a crocodile, his companion in the quest to find his own item, an acoustic six-string guitar, and the crocodile/alligator speeds off towards the forest of Mill Hill, and sees, in the daze of travelling a great momentum, the return of the same alligator come back from the forest, in the future. 

Beyond the forest is a vast plain, whereupon all manner of safari animals are grazing, and they are unfortunately in danger. Daniel has to climb a tree, reminiscent of a tree that once existed in the Mill Hill park days, and to avoid the danger, has to reach the very top, which is constituted of very thin branches, and he ascends. 

Will Daniel reach the top of the tree? 

To be continued...


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Saint Lucia

Dream of heaven

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Edited by Daniel Frederick Best, Wednesday, 12 Oct 2022, 05:22

"No sooner had I sent that email, then problem seemed to resolve itself!"

I'm tired. It's four thirty five in the morning, and it's about three hours since I fell asleep. But I'm awake now.

I don't really know what to tell you, other than the ins and outs of this dream I just had, to which a small blog post could never do it justice. 

I think I might kill myself. If I do, know this, there was nothing you or anyone could have done about it, and it was the right thing to do, and it was good. 

I'm not depressed. I'm hardly psychotic, but that's debatable. I'm even happy. I'm happy, and happy to work on my course, and go to the gym, and deal with life on a day to day basis. I'm happy to work on my course, even though it's just transpired that I won't get my degree for at least another two years - even though the good thing is that I'm almost to be shifted over to the OU's Master of Physics degree. I'm happy to go to the gym, even though it's a constant uphill battle to maintain twenty three stone versus the amount that I eat. I even happy to deal with life on a day to day basis, even though it's fraught with strange characters and circumstances, and to be Frank, I'm exhausted. 

I feel like Sisyphus. Pushing a rock up a hill for the rest of eternity. 

I could kill myself. It's not good for people to hear or read; it makes them worried. 

If I kill myself, I'll go straight to Heaven. I'll leave a legacy. People will see what I've done in life, finally. They'll look at my paintings and recognise my genius eye for colour. They'll listen to my albums and music and recognise my genius for melody and structure. They'll read my book and recognise my genius for language and literature. And when they read my book they'll see why I killed myself. I'll finally be recognised. 

"Kill yourself for recognition, kill yourself to never ever stop" - Thom Yorke, Radiohead. 

The dream was set in a house in Stevenage, but more likely my old house at number five. The earliest part I can remember was when I encountered Christine, my dad's auntie, and Brian, my dad's auntie's son-in-law. I've had beef with these people in real life. During the George Floyd situation back in 2020 Christine was posting "White lives matter" memes all over facebook every five minutes, and in the end I called her out. I had a go at her in a public letter, and it was necessary and got twenty or more likes from people who thought the same. But perhaps it caused a rift in the family relationship. I notice now that our little unit is never invited to parties or nights up in Stevenage, where they all live. And Brian, well, I've recently unfriended him on facebook because he keeps posting conspiracy posts. It was all well and good during covid - you half expected it at least from some people. Nevertheless it wound me up, and recently, well, from lack of conspiracies about coronavirus, he was posting flat Earth theory posts. So I unfriended him. It was impulse, really. I kind of regret it. 

So there they are, in dream, coming to the party at number five, surrounded by others from the family, and Christine has come upstairs and stands outside my bedroom with Brian standing there, surrounded by others from my the family. "Christine," I say. "I'm sorry! Forgive me! Peace! Peace!" And a friend of hers says, "Peace!" and Christine recognises the sentiment and shakes my hand. So does Brian, and we embrace and I say, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You're the man! You're the man!"

The party begins in my bedroom. Brian and I are trying to get on facebook, using my various devices, including my Atari, my Commodore 64, my BBC Acorn, and my PC. He links up to the BBC but it's archaic, and nothing comes on the screen except some code nobody understands. I go on my PC and am thwarted from getting on the website by some means or other, then I switch my attention over to putting on some music. 

Smashing Pumpkins are playing on my system, but the speakers are the old ones, and I have to try to switch the cables over to the good speakers, and so I do this, and it sounds good. Some people are enjoying the music, others not so much. There are many people here, including some of the rougher people from Brian and Christine's entourage - a wiry man who appears to be on ecstasy, and some others on the same. Christine's son, a down's syndrome boy, sits there in the corner, gurning away. I don't partake of the recreational drugs. My own family is not there, although perhaps my sister is there, and Camille, and Kerry and Tasha - some of the girls of the family. 

But Lee is here. Lee the writer. Lee is all about truth. 

Somehow or other there is an altercation - a backlash of sorts - and it seems Brian and friends have not taken my apology seriously. Their friends stay looming outside the place - in fact, it seems they've been banished; they can't get in - they can't affect us. 

And Lee has left messages everywhere, on television, on radio, on walls, in books. 

The messages affect people here, including Marius, my cousin, but especially the down's syndrome boy, who seems to have been so affected by Lee's messages that his down's syndrome is cured and he sits there like a normal boy. The boy talks and says of Christine, "She's grotesque." 

People can't accept that Lee has cured this child, and they become very agitated and rile up against Lee, who is very easy going about the whole thing, and has gone ahead and left messages for everybody in the neighbourhood, and the latter have arrived to protect us all. There are Chinese neighbours who muscle in on the protection of those within the party. But it is rather amazing that Lee has cured this child, and it appears that Lee himself is, in fact, the messiah, 

I wake up wanting to kill myself. 

But it's not a sad suicide. No. It's a necessary suicide, from happiness and joy. 

In any case, I don't commit suicide. I come here. I write. 

But now I'm done writing. The dream was golden and heavenly, but it was just a dream. In any case, whatever happens, God loves us. 

Thanks. 

Permalink 2 comments (latest comment by Daniel Frederick Best, Thursday, 13 Oct 2022, 08:06)
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Saint Lucia

Colourful dreams and painting dreams

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The night that was last night, and its consequent situation about sleep, consisted of a very mentally dry experience in which it seemed I had been asleep for all eternity. That is, it felt like I was dead, and had ended up resting for the rest of time. 

Then I woke up; it was five thirty in the morning, and I did a few things, had a mince about on the internet, at a cheese sandwich (this was American cheese on 50/50 Kingsmill bread), you know, the usual things. Then at eight thirty am I went back to lie on my bed to read a book (that book? Block 2 of MST326, of course), and I drifted into sleep and consequent dreaming, and the following dream. 

There I was, in my little room, with my sister there, and a painting on the wall. There was a painting on the wall, of which I was particularly proud that I had painted, and then Lee shows up. And my sister is the sister of my childhood, writhing and squishing about in a pre-adolescent condition, and Lee has taken pains to be the judge of my painting, which, now I think of it, was of a man in three colours, brown, green and blue or yellow. And it is a tall painting and takes up the space on the wall of the room. I don't react too kindly when Lee's judgement culminates in his slight and careless retouching of the face of the man in the painting, with his own brush, and I find myself becoming very, very upset by this. I admonish Lee. Meanwhile, my sister, squirming in the glory of her childlike youth, takes a goddess-like phantasmagorical presence, and the dream progresses. 

Lee's retouching of my work, culminating in a mere brushstroke of black paint over the man's face, has caused me such pain, such sorrow, that somehow my painting has improved some-fold. Before I admonish Lee, I can see a version of some of his own work, and the colours are a psychedelic display of vibrant beauty, although the shape of the image is merely a psychedelic pattern, and I'm stunned. I ask Lee, "How did you get those colours?" And he explains, 

"I just mixed these three colours together," and the colours were green, blue and yellow. It is good. He achieves a neon sparkle with hints at a techno festival light display theme. 

Soon we see that the room has opened magnificently into a part of a large two storey house, and one that sits detached from other houses, like an American house from a horror television show. It is not strange that this house, belonging to me myself, contains rooms in which the interior decoration takes the form of pictures and paintings that I have painted - that is, on the walls - and they are all my work. The dream is very much one of those "painting-as-you-go" dreams, but that is not the theme. 

People are arriving for a party, and many faces bring me to this state of feeling very popular. They are the faces of my youth; some are people I haven't seen for years, some are people I have as friends on Facebook, some are Eugene and Lee and Ashley. 

They come to me, these people of my past, and they wonder what is wrong with me. They don't know that I am butthurt about Lee's judgement of my art, and his consequent desecration of said art, but I am - very butthurt, and I spend most of the party in tears, and weeping, and crying. They are all very concerned. 

Meanwhile, the walls of my house are covered in my own art, and Lee also paints several pieces, and I never quite grasp how he gets his brilliant colours. There are messages all over the walls - Lee has left many messages in his art, and this helps me to communicate with my party guests... however, I refrain from employing the use of his every message, being that I feel as if it is disingenuous to do so. I am trying everything in my power to make this a fun party. But I am so butthurt. 

Martin is there, and so is Scott. These are teenage friends. They don't know why I am so upset, crying all the time, weeping, and getting angry. 

Then, suddenly, I figure it out. 

I'm upset because I met God, and went walking with God, and then God forsook me. 

"I met God!" I say to the people, including Tariz and Sharon, and it cheers me up some since I now know why I was so upset. "I miss God," I tell them. 

"Oh, he misses God!" they say. 

Something in the dream is alleviated. The messages in Lee's art are pertinent, and prominent. There is graffiti all over. The art is painting itself. 

We move from the second storey to the balcony, which overlooks the main hall. And then we are in said main hall, and it is dark outside, and the dream slowly comes to an end. The party is over. 

***

Usually, by having these dreams about colours and painting, I wake up wanting to paint. This time, however, I woke up feeling that I was a failed messiah. 

And it's true - in the end, I do miss God. The sentiment served to set me up for confidence in the following day. 

There we have it. 

Daniel

x

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Saint Lucia

Graduation dreaming

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Hello, 

I've just experienced the most compelling, inspiring and uplifting dream I've had in a while. 

And while there were no extreme visual revelations, no immediately distinct creative representations, as I'm often used to having, that involve images of abstract art, or canvasses made from warehouses and so on, that cause me to wake up with a determination to create, there was a subtle and important theme which I feel is most necessary to my own development as a human being. 

How far back the dream went I could not tell you, but I come to in the old kitchen of number five, my old house, and I have just been at the park where I had an opportunity to engage in some sports. The engagement itself, whilst it may have involved the swinging of a "hammer", like they have in the hammer-throw, was a short opportunity to kick a special type of rugby ball, that looked like a spinning top. The owner of the ball had kicked it my way, and I myself had tried to kick it back, by spinning it on the ground and kicking it that way. Whereas the act itself of kicking the ball was not a very successful one, I felt like I had a purpose - to kick a ball - and that gave me the confidence to go back home and proclaim a new devotion, that of kicking balls, to my father. He was in the vicinity of the kitchen, and so was my mother. 

There we were in the kitchen of number five, and my mother somehow or other got onto the subject of my accolades. In fact, she was going through some old school reports, and one of them had said, "Daniel is a very creative person, but he spends most of his time making googly eyes with Sarah." I said to my mum, "Which Sarah?" and she said, "Sarah Heimann." The Sarah in question was a chubby Jewish girl, and I was indifferent. 

Then we received a visit from a friend of my sister, another girl, whose presence in our lives I was not sure about. She herself was a smart young lady, and happened to be doing a maths course of some kind. She showed me her work; I was nonplussed, and recognised the equations, and was able to say something about it. 

Then I was talking to my mother, who was really admonishing me in her own way, encouraging me to get on with my life, as mothers do, and she reminded me, that not only do I have a place to stay at her house, but I have my own apartment, and not only that, please don't forget, I also have that other apartment in Colindale. Of course!! I have another apartment, and effectively three places to be. 

We went, mother and I, to the spare apartment, which was the one in Grace Close, Edgware now, and we sat and had tea, and watched television, and I checked through the mail. 

And then, as we had tea and watched television, the phone rang. The person on the other line was my one-time care-coordinator Mark, and he had some good news. "Daniel," he began, "You have been with us a number of years, and we're very impressed with your progress." He was referring to my mental illness. 

And I guess that there are a good many reasons why such a representative would be impressed with my progress: I haven't got in trouble for some time, I haven't been hospitalised for ages, I haven't hurt anybody for fifteen years, and I've quit recreational drugs for some two and a half years. 

The care-coordinator, now a black man, referred me to the literature that was on the hallway table, that had come through the post. Mother was keen and interested as I opened the pages of a prospectus and read, 'Now that you have come to the end of your mental illness...' 

And there were a great many opportunities now open to me! Now that I was clear of mental illness, why, I could get a job in a library! I could get a job anywhere I liked! I had graduated my mental illness. 

I had graduated my mental illness! 

I must say, this was a very life-affirming dream. It caused me to wake up early and positively, and I looked at all my achievements: my certificate of higher education, my diploma of higher education. And it caused me to reflect that I am less than a year away from graduating university. That's no mean feat. It's quite impressive. And while there's no reality to the idea of graduating mental illness, there's depth and meaning in the achievements I have made, and am yet to make, and the future is looking good. 

Thank you
Daniel

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Saint Lucia

Coincidental dream

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Last night I dreamed a strange dream...

I was in the shower and I... there was an obligation... an obligation that I procreate with my brother's wife, in order to reproduce a child, that was a "brother/cousin" to my brother's child, Sia, whom we would call Mia. 

Before that, however, I was reading a book to my sister. The book was like the bible, yet it was a Charles Dickens book, and we accessed parts of it via Alexa, the electrical assistant. I drew in that book, and improved a drawing by fine lines on a the previous picture. It was a very touching moment. 

So, Fiona and I were to reproduce, and whether we did or not is undisclosed, but certainly, there was Kate Burton, with whom I ended up actually having a child with... in the shower. We had a beautiful child, and were married, and on the wedding day, our family had to help my brother, Ryan, to come of age, and all we had to do in this endeavour was, at the penultimate moment, to bring him aware of his own scent, and then Ryan had come of age. 

And then I had my child, and we had a happy life, me and Kate. And things went from strength to strength. The boy grew up, and there were ups and there were downs - with Mia's head coming off at one stage. 

But Mia was to be a success, it being that we were a successful family. We took him, at the right age, into a music studio to make music. And Mia was successful. Yet, he was so lazy - so terribly and unfortunately lazy - that he could never impress his father. It was with stupidity and carelessness that Mia came into all sorts of money, for the most part guaranteed by his father. 

Mia had so much money, by dint of his father's success, that he had accumulated all manner of collections, including a sports card collection so vast that he'd even collected numerous rare combinations of these without even knowing it. 

It was then with regret and humility that father had to break the news to Mia... Mia, he began. You've won the lottery! 

For in his past, Mia was heir to the McFlys, a family who'd travelled in time and accumulated my wealth. 

There were many coincidences in these scenes, many coincidences indeed. But after all these coincidences, there was finally that one solitary coincidence, that one stupid and hapless coincidence, that saved us all. 

In the mire of coincidences, within which nothing could be done to save the laziness and carelessness of Mia McFly, finally there was an electrical rod that was able to pair with another electrical rod of somewhat slightly longer length. 

And the McFlys were saved. 

The end. 

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Saint Lucia

How to be a fully conscious human being

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My dream begins way back in the night, and at my folks house, and, at the earliest point I can remember, I am looking for my socks. 

My folks are leaving - for a shopping trip, or for a weekend away - and I am in a hurry to get down to the library. But I have to leave soon, or the door will be closed behind me. I also need to find my jumper. 

My parents have left. I have failed to find my socks in time, and I have not found my jumper. In the living room there is light from cars arriving, and young people begin to arrive for a party that is happening since my parents are going away. Eugene has turned up and there are more people here - girls and ravers. 

I go into the back room, and there is a ravertard talking about physics - in particular, momentum. I say to him (among an audience) that momentum is velocity dependent on mass, and I talk about velocity having a hidden property, and I write down the equation for velocity on the board. That is a section of the dream.

Then Eugene is leaving for some reason or other, and I ask him for a lift to the library; the library which I could easily have got there in a quicker time had I gone alone. Eugene says jump in; we go - he drives backwards, and goes the long way around; I am annoyed about that. Yet it turns out that the long way is in fact a short cut to the library - however, along the way Eugene is pulled over by a cop, and I must leave the car, and consequently do. 

I am in the local park, and I find an alternative path to the library, which involves going past and via a certain underpass, that leads to a supermarket behind which (or, at least, down some secret paths) there is backdoor, and stairs, and, with the help of a young woman, I somehow stumble upon a secret level that has a staircase that leads to an underground and secret entrance into the library. I go in. 

It is closing time at the library. The librarian has given me the grace to search for the book I am wishing to borrow. I go to the appropriate section of the library, and I find the shelf I need. Meanwhile, with the library about to close, the librarian has been expecting me, so that I am asked to spend some time watching a video about myself. The video is played on a small television, and a classroom of children have gathered to watch, and the video is intended to incriminate me on some level. 

The video plays and is a series of scenes in which I have been secretly filmed in incriminating circumstances in different dreams. So for example, there is a scene in which I have been in the park, and have taken a shit in the bushes, and there were a line of people walking by all the time, and the cameraman has been filming me. I can see that I have been caught. And there are several scenes like this, and, once the video has finished, we can see there is a scene within the library in which the class have taken to drama lessons. At once, we see that there is a single member of the class who stands out, whilst the others take to acting, and this person receives a nasty smack on the face, from some chavvy young lady. It turns out the recipient is black, and that the attack was racist, and she goes and cries - that is, she acts like she is crying, yet she is really crying in reality. 

And then Boris Johnson, who is familiar with incrimination on a daily basis, is in the library. There is a short time before closing. He himself stands upon the raised stage area, and I am directed to a letter that has been framed upon the wall. I do not know who has written it, though perhaps Boris. I read the letter. 

Then I wish to find my book, before closing. But the science section is hard to find, and all I can find is the law section, and the legal philosophy books there. It contains books I have already read, but am anxious to start. It is closing time. 

The library closes and I am inside. It then transpires that there is a secret "after-hours" club with several juiced in members dotted around the library. I walk around. I find Tamsin sitting there, and she is nonplussed that I have found her: I never knew she was such a dark horse. She is reading on the floor. I am part of the club now. I think my own sister is here. 

But now it is time to leave. I go into an underground passage, and find myself in the stairwell behind the supermarket from before. The lady from before is there as well, and we are having difficulty finding the right stairs to the right level. But eventually we find the right level. We go home. 

Daniel. 

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Saint Lucia

There are ghosts

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There are ghosts. 

*Disclaimer*: I'm a paranoid schizophrenic.

You expect ghosts to appear as white sheets, floating at the end of the bed. But they're everywhere - in objects, in another dimension, in your heart. 

People keep dying. My auntie died last week. That night, in the throes of midnight mourning, I said goodbye. I wasn't amazingly close to auntie Ann, but I had a better relationship with her spouse, my uncle Mick, who died a few years ago. My heart goes out to my cousins, Gareth, Kirsten and Cathryn. 

What do I do to deserve these dreams? What it must've been, was that I must've spent the day taking notes from the wrong mathematics book. I'm so tired. But I need to give myself a few minutes to readjust. I've just had a terrible nightmare. Let me explain. Let the breath of God fall lightly across my lips. 

I wake up, in dream, and I'm dreaming, and there are several scenarios. The first is that I'm in my flat, and I'm playing my Epiphone SG, and I'm writing a new song, and it's got the flavour of a Led Zeppelin ballad. (In fact, I feel like I should be writing that song now, but I had to come here). And my flat is my flat. I notice someone has thrown something through my kitchen window; that is, there is a ball-bearing shaped hole in the pane - the pane seems quite thick, and I can trace the trajectory of the ball-bearing, and at once I do so, and it appears to have come from the nearby mental hospital, across the town. But the hole ceases up, and the hole appears to now have been made from this side of the window. And it is capped with a piece of solder. I know. Very boring. I know. 

Yet there I am, in this dark dream on this dark night, and I have a huge house that is haunted. And in dream I am working on this song - I have the chords in my head right now, and I wonder if they really work in real life. But there I am in dream, writing this song, this ballad, like Led Zeppelin. 

And halfway through the night, from the moment when I was going to sleep, to the moment I woke up, I was subjected, subdued, subordinated to the crying of my cats, and they kept waking me up, and I was in Catland, where cats themselves have a real life, a real existence, a real internal experience, and theirs is a huge reality, and I myself was drawn into it, and saw, when I woke up several times, that there was a cat in my room other than my own cats, and it was a human-sized cat, like a pirate size, and most frightening. But there you have it. 

There you are, and there I was, in dream, playing guitar and writing a song on my Epiphone SG, and old Rob shows up, and there he is, sitting there, Roberto, enjoying the guitar, and my flat is huge and there are steps leading everywhere, like Labyrinth. I want him to get a picture of me hanging on the balcony, and I ask him to take it - because, before, I was hanging on the bannisters, and I had thought, "This would make a good picture!" So I asked him to take it, and I've searched all around the house, for the correct bannister to hang off, and Rob has gone off, looking for it, and he's walking all around the house, and he's then divided into two... and there are now two Robs walking around the house, up and down stairs, and now there's a third... walking up and down the Labyrinth that is my flat, and in any case, I found where I wanted him to take my picture, and I waited, to see if the Three Robs would come together and meet over the other side of the hallway, yet when they came together, they turned into other people, and there was now Rob, and Judy (my dead ex), and another woman - a young girl. 

The picture was taken, and now I'm feeling tired. Have you ever felt tired in your sleep? That's dangerous. You might die! But there's a knock at the door, and in comes Eugene, my old best mate, and I'm very thankful, and he's here to skin up and watch the football, and I'm very thankful that he's here, and now Eugene, Rob and Judy are here. 

But they're not here for long. The next thing you know, I've gone back to bed, and I'm trying to fall asleep in dream, and that's dangerous - you could end up in hell. But now I'm alone, and it's me, and my guitar, my Epiphone SG, is with me the whole time, and I'm constantly trying to write this song. But there's a weird feeling; an ominous feeling, so I look out the window. And I don't want to be seen looking out the window, because people always look up at me. Yet I look out the window - I peer out the panes - and it is a dark and late night, and there is a man walking down below, among the Autumn trees, and under the dim lights of the streetlamp, and he's walking away to the right, down the road, and he turns back, and takes a look at me - a deliberate look at me, and it is most perturbing, and I'm nonplussed and scared. The man has disappeared (because he walked away). But then I approach the window a second time, still playing this Epiphone SG and writing my song, and I look leftwards down the road, from my high place up here in the window, and there is a woman. "Don't look up! Don't look up!" I think, but as she's walking, she looks up. She stares for a minute. I skulk back inside the room. Don't strange things happen in dreams? Whenever two things happen similarly in a dream, that's something of which to be wary, because that doesn't happen in dreams; that only happens in real life. 

Then, there is a woman in my room. I'm playing guitar... well, I'm trying to play... and she is a ghost, and she grabs me and takes me. She hugs me and embraces me. She is a black woman. She kisses me and grabs my balls, and I think, "She's going to rip my balls off!" but it feels good. And I'm still trying to play guitar. The woman disappears. 

I walk into the hallway, and there are people there. At a glance, I have seen Jimmy Saville, but I walk past thinking nothing of it. But then, as I go into my bathroom, he is there again in a different guise, and he says, "Why didn't you beat me up?!" So I think, 'Yeah, I should have!' and I push him back, down the hall, and now to the left, in another bedroom, there is another Jimmy Saville, lying on the bed, and a third, and they all look different. It is fucking petrifying. 

I try to wake up, and I'm so tired, but I shock myself out of it, and wake up, and there's Chris Cornell standing at the foot of my bed, in pirate gear, looking kind of short, kind of 'Pirates of the Caribbean', and it is fucking petrifying. I get out of bed and I come here. 

That's it, that's the experience. But it leaves me wanting to have a black girlfriend, and to write this song on my Epiphone SG. 

Daniel

Permalink 1 comment (latest comment by Jeremy Andrew Howard, Wednesday, 22 Sep 2021, 08:35)
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Saint Lucia

A dream of Chinese mathematics.

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Hello, 

I had a dream I was a mathematics genius, staying in China. At first I was staying at Kelly's, with her family, and we were dating, and talking about Mrs Sharago, who was the French teacher. We smoked a little and I suppose fooled around, to a degree. 

But then it turned out that Kelly's family owned a swimming pool, and I wanted a dip, it being a hot night in China. And that was fine, and I pursued Kelly in the pool, yet no advance was made. And Kelly's sister was not far away during the whole advance. It was a little humiliating. 

Yet, during the swimming session, which was a dip in the pool, above a golf course below, it transpired that I, being a mathematics genius, had stumbled upon a serious piece of mathematics, on which I had come to the conclusion that mathematics was not worth doing. And it was a fleeting and momentary realisation, and I thought nothing of it. 

Meanwhile, Kelly's family, living in a Chinese household, with several members :Kelly's father, mother, two brother's, a least one sister, and two small children, well they appreciated me. Yet it could not be foretold nor ascertained if my advances were from a loving perspective, or a sexual perspective. I handed a card each to the two children and named them tickets, and Kelly's mother said, "Tickets or God!" in a way of explanation to me. In any case I think I had outstayed my welcome. 

So, notwithstanding the fact that Kelly and I had had no sex, I went home and got to my abode next door, which was England, or English. And the first thing happened there, I received a p[hone call, the phone which was passed to me by some fellow, perhaps a postman, or friend. Yet the phone call was one that said I was to be taxed, with the loss of my mathematics course, for the fact of my realisation earlier, that mathematics was no worth doing, well, what with I myself being the mathematics genius I am, the world had caught on, and now mathematics in itself was deemed a waste of time, and I had destroyed the legacy of the academic subject. 

Yet I hadn't meant it. I had meant, in the approach to my mathematical insight, that mathematics was in fact a most worthwhile topic, and had meant to champion it. 

So then, it transpired that my own family was here living in China, my brother, my father, my sister and mother, and in any case, I had gone back to see Kelly to apologise profusely for destroying the western tradition of mathematics. But I had gone there, and Kelly's father was in the garden, and many were upset at me, yet all that was needed was that I explain my culture. And all the while, it seemed that either Kelly's family was in fact Chinese, or were merely ex=pats who lived in the Area, much like my own family were partly Polynesian. And my family had ended up in the garden of the family of Kelly, and we were beginning to discuss the differences between Chinese and Samoan culture, and in this dream I said, "We say Aloha, and this kind of means, 'How's it going?" And we all laughed in recognition of the truth of it = my father sitting there, over there, and Kelly's father to my right, and Ryan being there, with a guitar. In fact, Ryan's guitar playing was influenced by my own, and Ryan himself was a most accomplished player, and he is so modest, and was modest in the dream, yet was a most accomplished player. And I would like to buy Ryan a guitar, and might do so. 

And then, on a trip through the ex-oats' apartment, to have a wee, I found a packet of red fizz, and it transpired that this was the Chinese version of whiskey, and I was able and allowed to pour some out, and drank it. And then, of course, Kelly being the mediator of our excursion, well, she said and admitted that this was fine, and was in fact encouraged that we drink the whiskey. And the rest of the night was spent, the two cultures dinging and discussing each other's ways of life,. and in fact, everything was allowed, and we chatted and discussed well, and I even learned the new Chinese mathematics. Ryan was pursued in an advance by Kelly's sister, who was now a young Chinese woman. He was most happy, for he was nonplussed that anybody would find it in them to flirt with him at all, and was flattered. And in any case, the Saki was flowing, and the two cultures go on greatly. 

I vowed upon waking that I would like to learn the new Chinse mathematics, and realised that one thing wrong with the world is that the Chinese are not understood by the western world, and it would be something to investigate their mathematics, and culture. 

I woke and came straight here. 

Daniel

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Saint Lucia

A topological vision.

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Hello... wonderful!

The universe, that is, the night sky, that is, the world outside of human experience, when you finally realise your alien capacities, is in fact a large celestial body. That is, space as seen from Earth in the night-time (or daytime for that matter) is in fact an enormous moon that encapsulates the entirety of our vision. The light that dances as like unto stars, and the dolphin-like actions of the early morning Sun (when you actually look at it), they are craters in this moon. And our own Earth is a mere meagre piece of dust, that is set afloat in the DNA of greater beings, who would treat us like germs if they were made aware of our presence. 

That is what you learn when you can realise your extra-terrestrial status. ...Which is what I did! First, Eugene had made an appearance at my flat which was my current flat yet it was a somewhat nicer flat that I have. And Eugene and I had pizza, and played computer games, and drank Coca-cola, and then he left. Then, upon sleeping, I was able to transcend somehow my Earthly body, and I sent my anti-particulate body over to meet Nicolaus who, along with Roberto and in some respects Adam, were waiting patiently in his apartment for the arrival of my being - my anti-matter being! 

So I entered the abode, and stood inside the living room, and Nick and Rob were fully prepared for my arrival, and I sent out a signal, which was nothing more than an internal high pitched screaming, that permeated the entirety of the cosmos, and which Nick and Rob could understand. Yet there was Adam, behind the drums, perhaps not full prepared for the effect, and somewhat going through the motions, and full of lack of belief, yet somewhat to be worked upon, and the scream alerted the alien community. And the stars did shine, and I went and made a drink in the kitchen and read a book. 

Then, with a rushing wave, did the others arrive. They were in the capacity of Paul, Kerry, Adam Dagnall, and really just in that capacity, yet perhaps with a teeny tiny Emma Corr. And this company had heard, in the real world, or some strange goings on. They attributed said activity to the existence of aliens: Paul was the main Ghostbuster, come to bust the ghost of my alien anti-presence, and Kerry was there to back him up, but Adam Dagnall was the man who, in the midst of this gathering, had to ascertain the reality of my anti-presence... although none were aware that the activity was my own doing. The party began, and I was soon to become trapped and consequently sniffed out and snuffed out. Yet on a mission to collect something - perhaps some kind of alien detecting equipment - Adam Dagnall had left the door ajar, and I was able to steal out of it, in my anti-matter disguise, and onto the streets. I was free. And I left behind an Earthly party at the residence of Nick. 

Into the streets I went, and stole into perhaps Adam's car, a yellow truck, that I drove up and down and all along these streets - these American streets - and I began to look up to the night sky. Now in my alien anti-matter particulate disguise I was trusted by the powers that be, to be able to see this sky as a type of moon. Now, it was a matter of topology to be able to see it, yet the night sky, with all its stars and etchings which were craters on the surface of this, a universal moon that stretched away with gargantuan proportions, had upon it all manner of interesting divisions and impressions. One of these, may I explain, was the image of Gordon Ramsey's eyes, like a shining batman-symbol, with words I fail to remember what they were, shining down to tell us of this new topological resonance of alien provenance. Gordon Ramsey! Other resonances of this night-sky, which was like a gargantuan moon in reverse - a topological anomaly of extreme purport - were merely the lights and twinkling planets that were craters in such a moon. And someone was there. 

Someone was there explaining the entire deal to me now. A fatherly presence, who stood by me as I watched the night-sky, this moonlike gargantuan entity filling the universe in reverse, explaining that we are mere blotches on the DNA of other great and full beings, who are like Gods, but are like humans, yet we live inside their cells, and they are largely unaware of us. And he explained that, look closer and you will see, as the Sun rises what it is really made of. It was the beginnings of light, dancing like a wisp of orange paint across the horizon and among the clouds, and as it swished around - this alien craft of light and fluidity - it became the Sun, and I realised what the Sun really was in its capacity. And I watched this, the morning Sun, and it was like nothing I had ever seen, and I watched as it moved across from left to right, and was urged to take a closer look, and saw that part of the Sun unseen in usual living was jumping like a dolphin over the ocean, and was spilling of flares high up into the sky. And I had been joined by Kerry, who was watching the whole thing with awe. 

Now having seen what the universe really was, and the essence of everything it had to be, I could now go back to Nick's apartment, and did. When I arrived, the place was inundated and overrun with hundreds of dogs. These dogs were of all shapes and sizes, and were furiously running all over the place, and I was knee deep in dogs, and they were antagonised by something. It didn't take me long to find out what. I soon found, behind a curtain, at a window onto a small forecourt or garden in the middle of the house, and wrapped up in it were three cats. I recognised them to be like my own cats. And I was still alien; still anti-matter particles, and I collected up the cats, which were the cause of the distress of the hundreds of dogs, and I took the cats away, and then somehow the vision ended. 

A dream of aliens and topology no less. But calling them dreams makes pejorative a perfectly good vision, although now having written it down, the visionary aspect of the dream has become latent. Yet what I take away from this it the topology of the universe, to which I would not be privy unless I were in with the aliens. 

There, that's it. 

Daniel

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Saint Lucia

Down the rabbit hole

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Edited by Daniel Frederick Best, Wednesday, 20 Jan 2021, 15:09

Hi, how ya doin'?

In the park, near my mum and dad's house where I used to live, there is, close to the playground area next to the basketball court, a circular indentation in the ground on the grassy lawn where kids play football, and folks do exercise. The indentation is next to a park bench, and there is a rubbish bin nearby. 

The indentation is well known to all residents of Mill Hill, and people who go to the park know the indentation as a secret hole, through which it is thought that one can gain access to a park cafeteria in Australia (a bit like the one in Home and Away). However, those who have gone down the hole have mostly ended up at the park cafeteria in Mill Hill, at which there is a fete and some funfair rides. 

Today I parked across the road from the park, in my green Honda Civic, and got out and went for a walk in the park, and went past the indentation, which is a secret hole that takes you to Australia. "How I would love to go into that hole!" I thought, as I made my way to the cafeteria. Some children were playing nearby, and one youngster in particular was playing at the edge of the indentation. 

The cafeteria is run by some surfer-dude types, and they are always picking on me, teasing me to go down the hole. They have a little outlet that is known to stand upon a second indentation, and the structure is always wobbling around due to the instability of the foundation. It is thought that this outlet, where they sell Coca-Cola  and various surfing gear, is the other end of the secret hole which is the indentation next to the basketball court. Anyway, I went along, and was duly teased by them, and before long I walked back to my car. 

My car, of all things, had disappeared! I thought maybe I had mistakenly driven my burgundy Lexus instead, which was in its place. But no, my green Honda Civic had been stolen... And I thought I had an inclination as to whom had stolen it!! I was stood at the area of the missing car (which was outside the house where Peter used to live), when the culprit showed up! I grabbed him, and punched him, and took him to the indentation, and I threw him down it! 

There was a child watching - the same youngster who was playing there earlier on - and he fell in after the thief did (although not before a few games on the adventure building!) and I thought, "How I envy you! You lucky child! You get to go down the rabbit hole, and see what is down there!"

I walked back to the cafeteria. The surfer dudes allowed me to sit on their structure, the one that was unstable, and a lady who used to work at the local gym was ominously waiting for something to happen. And as I sat there, I could feel the structure waving back and forth, and I could feel the unstable foundation wavering beneath me. So I stood up. Yet the structure came with me, and I took it over to the first indentation, and somehow or other, I fell in! 

At first the structure, which was your basic rectangle made of two-by-four, at first it settled on top, but then it began to sink, and I thought, "Okay, we're going to see what's down the rabbit hole!" And gradually, I sunk into the indentation, with the soft mud surrounding me, and I was so far down, and... nothing happened! All I knew was that I was underneath the grassy indentation, and had sunk below and was expecting to resurface in a cafeteria in Australia. 

But then the muddy hole began to smell like caramel and chocolate, and the structure and I began to descend further into it, and soon we were floating, and I realised that we must be at the centre of the Earth, where gravity has no effect. 

And soon I landed and was on the ground, with the structure falling to the floor, and there were banks of mud, and there was a door. 

I opened the door and, beyond it, I saw the lady who used to work at the gym guarding the other side. The area was taped up and closed off, and I realised that I was inside a confidential zone akin to the likes of Area 51, and I quickly closed the door because I knew I would become a fugitive. 

There was another hole down here, so I escaped down it, and found myself back at the indentation in Mill Hill park. My car had reappeared, so I drove home. 

Anyway, that was my day. How was yours? 

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Saint Lucia

Good from Bad

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Welcome in blog!

Blogging about what, I do not know, but for journalistic purposes I continue. 

I guess the events of last night should be recorded. 

I phoned in to Iain Lee's Twitch stream chat show and, long story short, he hung up on me... after one sentence. Perhaps it was a difficult sentence, yet having written three short pages of things to say, I think his attitude was slightly rash. It certainly did not do my ego much service. In fact, I was most upset, especially since he said, immediately after hanging up, "I just couldn't be bothered with that!"

I suppose, ego aside, that I am just one of many weirdos who phone his show, that probably do not deserve respect. However, I find his show now to be compelling, and will probably tune in whenever I can. That's how I am. 

It certainly hurt, and was gutting, and it took a great deal of energy to recover from the incident. 

I had a great dream during the night, after a beer, and it was connected to something of a difficulty of my mind. I woke from it with a clear headed sentiment that I should repeat words in thought at least three times. And this! And this, after recently coming to the conclusion that somehow my schizophrenia requires a double take on every thing I say; that is, I should repeat myself, as a matter of acceptance of my condition, at least once on those occasional moments that I feel the action is required required. 

Now, however, my dream led me to realise that a third repetition is required. It was a lovely dream, wherein I was back at my childhood home, and atop the highest level, and listening to media, and watching media, and engaging in media from the internet, circa 2002, when I was at the pinnacle of the beginning of my academic creativity, and I was drawing and listening, watching, engaging, and I was loving it. And the moment when I realised I was to include a third repetition of thoughts, I was listening to a London pirate radio station, which helped me to come to realise my realisation, and what an apt source of media influence!  

When I realised it, it came to be the case that the entire known world was there already, awaiting my realisation, and my enlightenment was met by a knock at the door, which source was the presence of my happy brother and happy sister, and also more family, and I looked out the top sash window, and neighbours were happy at my own enlightenment, and I was able to joke with them, that "This man over here is mad!!" and they loved it. And yet, I have failed to enhance or outline the joy with which my enlightenment was met: It was the entire world that had sounded their approval, with cheering and clapping, and I had finally done it. 

I awoke, and wanted to emulate a piece of art, that had helped me in coming to enlightenment, that I had been working on in dream... and it was a fine and intricate abstract portrait of Soundgarden's iconic frontman, Chris Cornell, and I see it now. And the abstract part was that there was a honeycomb style texture, with vibrant colour, to the painting, and I wished to emulate that on waking, and came to the desk, and tried to draw it, but my dreaming talents are a far greater thing than that of my waking talents, although I do try! And also, I wonder at the content of what else I was working on, in dream. I would like to have seen the writing, or heard the music. 

Also, I heard my brain-voice for the first time in a long while, last night. It came, I suspect, from the stressful anxiety of such a public rejection as was incidental that night on the internet. I find that this type of stress usually gives rise to greater effort on my part to attempt to find my way back to happiness and contentment, that new avenues are found, and hence, due to this terrible stress, I did find my happiness and contentment, and found my brain-voice, and a hint of better cranial substance for future times, that has been lost to me ever since I was given medication. You may think this is no big deal, but it is the bane of my life that certain audibility of thought is lost when you must take antipsychotics, and I am glad I still have it available. 

I daresay this is an abstruse subject, but it is niche, and you are not obtuse in lacking understanding. It's me! 

For the sake of a concise blog, I shall leave it here. 

Thank you

Daniel

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Saint Lucia

The Heat Death of the Universe

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Hi, 

I just had a dream. The dream was this. There I was at mine, in my flat, and at my block there are five other apartments: my neighbour John, some muslims, some blacks, a family of five, and an empty flat. In the dream a fat Iranian lives downstairs, and so does John, and some Muslim bloke, and some others. 

During the first few weeks of lockdown I was convinced I was the Christ. Something happened on television that gave me a message and convinced me of it. I got my crown, and cried tears of joy at the fact. Yet I was still on weed, and when that first clap for the NHS happened, I had missed the memo because I had switched off the television. And I was running out of weed. So when eight o'clock came and, having deliberated to go out to get some weed, I went into the forecourt, the clapping began. In my mind I saw everything. I saw the whole world, because I remembered the idea being put out on social media, and I saw them clapping, and I saw the world world clapping because I was the Christ, and I was going to give them a speech and explain to them everything I had learned by the media over the past few days, that Coronavirus was a 5G implanted chip that goes into your mind, and that you can control like some sort of iPhone technology, and that you will have advantages such as being able to switch environments and communicate mentally, using telepathy but a designed version, and that we were working to... do something... stop the devil... something... I can't remember... But I had to give a speech at this clapping, and the entire forecourt of my apartment block was clapping, and I thought it was me. So I had to give a speech. I was accepting the applause, as though having just come on stage to adoring fans, and something in me thought they knew what was going on, in a way. And then the clapping died down, and I began to speak, and my thoughts evaporated, and all I could say was, "You're as confused as me!" There was silence all around, and I sloped off, very, very embarrassed. So much for the end of days. 

Later on in the week I was mightily upset at the embarrassment. The event had got to me somewhat, and also I had been unable to work on my physics module for three weeks due to being stoned and paranoid and mentally ill. And all that. I spent nights crying in frustration at my huge failure, and vowed to get myself put away. And the way I vowed this was to wake up the neighbours, with music, as though I had a plan all along. I still saw that I was the Christ, and I opened my windows, and it was five thirty in the morning, and I turned on my electric guitar, at full blast, and began to fill the neighbourhood with the loudest electric grunge concert ending I could, distortion blaring, feedback screaming, riffs chunking, the amplifier turned to the highest volume. At five thirty in the morning. 

What I saw in my mind was that we were in a new world order, and that people needed to come to Christ, and also, that Kurt Cobain was in my soul, and he was in the highest level of heaven, and speaking to me, and all the world was communicating through this new 5G microchip technology. What I saw in my mind was that the people would gather, outside my windows, and see this modern day rock star playing the most beautiful music of Elysium that was stream into the streets, as I, the Christ, would be world renowned for playing these tunes and this sound. And I played, and for fifteen minutes, the sound blared all across the neighbourhood.

After that time, however, I suppose it was even a bit much for me, so I switched off the amp, having failed again to bring Earth to the highest level of heaven, and there was knocking at the door. I answered it, and my Muslim neighbours were there complaining and most angry, saying, "It's six o'clock in the morning! My dad works for the NHS." What I could hear him saying was, "It's beautiful music, my father is in the seventh level of hell." And I felt guilty for stopping. 

The idea was that after two weeks of annoying my neighbours like this I would finally be sectioned and placed in a mental ward - Broadmoor or something - and that would be where I lived my life. So I played the next night too, and stopped, and there was knocking on the door, and it was another neighbour, asking me to keep it down. 

In any case the dream was about those nights. Here, in dream, I was somehow ended up at my Muslim neighbour's apartment, and was hiding in the bathroom, and he had left a note with Arabic writing that told me everything about how beautiful he found my music and how relevant it was, and detrimental to life. And now, and I fail to remember why, perhaps because the music was so loud, the police were called, and the Iranian man was arrested, and I was brought out of the Muslim neighbours house, and the police were there, yet I was not arrested. Instead, a female police officer seemed to turn into a psychologist, and she took me back up to my own apartment, and we sat there and talked, in dream, and then we had sex, and I killed her. 

And then I was on the run, but my amplifier was there, as was my guitar, so I played in the manner of those nights, and couldn't muster the noise enough to save everybody. Every time I turned off the guitar something new happened: I had to leave the flat, and go into the hallway, and there was my guitar and amplifier, and I would play, and time would be running out, and I would stop, and another level of the dream would arise, to a diminished effect. Then I was transferred to another part of the neighbourhood, and tried to save the world again with my music, again to a diminished effect, and another level of the dream. And, gradually, the effects being so continuously diminished, I ended up in some kind of bunker, where two young men, perhaps Dean and Lee (two from school days), would attempt to stop my efforts of playing beautiful, loud music on my amp, and in fact, the amp was losing power, and my leads would not connect to the fuzz boxes, and I could rarely get a sound out, and only revel in the glory of old days. 

And then Charlie was helping me, in dream, by arranging things so that I could play, and yet there was always this looming threat of immediate death encroaching, and I was in the neighbourhood. And yet Charlie was only holding me back, although I could not escape the inevitable, and the effects diminished further, and I was losing my battle. Eventually, Charlie took me to a room outside of which there was a scaffold structure, and there were more people, maybe Sara, and Ryan, and Maddie, and Aaron, and I hung from the scaffold, and finally, the music was so diminished that I ended up in a parallel world, where there only my brother Ryan's friends, and the world was usurped and drenched with water, with little mountains being covered by the increasing oceans, and it was the end of time. 

And it being the end of time, and my brother's friends being there, they were sympathetic to my plight, which really, in a nut shell, was to avoid being caught by the police for killing the female psychologist. And I had to go, and leave for the mountains, and on the way there was an old man, in his late sixties, who was sitting at the bottom of the stairs and congratulating me for a fine and wonderful music career, and Glastonbury loved you, make no bones about that! And there my brother's friends, all reveling in the joy of the end of the world. Then I went out into the mountains, and slowly but surely, the world was drowned in water. And it was the heat death of the universe. 

But then I was taken in to a complex run by old friend Eugene, and he was showing me how to use his new gym equipment, and we spent the rest of the time climbing up ropes and across bars. 

And it was the heat death of the universe. 

That was my dream. 

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Saint Lucia

A dream of the mothership

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Edited by Daniel Frederick Best, Wednesday, 10 Jun 2020, 15:47

Hello, and hello, and hello to you, 

 Yesterday was the first day after the completion of my course in physics. Well, completion in the sense that all the work has now been done - I still have to wait for my results, and this happens around the 21st of July, and I anticipate the day eagerly. 

Yesterday, there were two highlights of the day. The first was that I got to see Tamsin. We met in Hendon park, walked to the middle of a field, had a chat and played some rummy whilst listening to Audioslave. We were only there for an hour, and then I caught the 113 back to Mill Hill. The second was that I was able to visit my family home where I saw my mother and father, and my brother, and we had a nice chat, and I was able to have a lovely meal of a salmon pastry and beans with chili sauce. Everybody is most impressed with my exam and course completion. 

Ryan dropped me home, and I then tried to sit at my desk and begin working on my new project, which is to learn computer science. My efforts were to download the Python package and watch a tutorial on YouTube. Python looks to be the easier between that and C++, and I daresay I won't have a great deal of difficulty with it, and hence wish to be versed in the harder of the two, C++, for which I have a book, and for which learning Python will give me a better understanding. It is very early days, and I should be a little more advanced in this area, and wish I had pursued it when I became interested in it aged eight. I will take it as far as I can, in this free four months, and I'm sure it will be a great help to my studies. 

It was not long however, before the day began to drain on me, and I became sleepy, and desired to resume in the morning, and went to lay in bed and read Penrose. I have several of his books, and have been working my way through "Fashion, Faith and Fantasy", but recently bought his "Cycles of Time", with which I chose to make a start. I was asleep by 12:30 am. 

I must just say, to remind myself, that the course content is still readily available to look at on the website (not to mention in print), and it is a half-formed thought and desire that I do review it from time to time, to refresh my knowledge, and also to go a bit more in depth into the topics of which I was only able to get a basic overview: such topics as thermodynamics and entropy, and quantum gases, and nuclear physics and particle physics. The content there is about as comprehensive as one could wish, and it is well worth a further investigation. 

But this morning, having woken up entirely at the relatively late hour of ten thirty, I realised I had had a quite fascinating dream. I wish to relate: 

At one stage I found myself in the Caribbean, specifically St. Lucia, where I have been in reality, and where in dream I was walking around and holidaying with several of my brother'f friends, and including my brother. There must be some hidden neuroses about my psychosis deeply embedded in my unconscious, because they were made manifest in my conduct, in dream, in which I feel I was making  a nuisance of myself, to my brother and his friends, in an antisocial way. I seem to recall the presence of my father in a fleeting representation, but mainly Ryan and his crew. There was a room, a bit like a fale in Samoa, where the was a bed with white sheets, and a television, and bars in the windows beyond which you could see the tropical trees - mainly green and shining. But me, being a perpetual nuisance (somehow or other) to the boys of my brother's friendship, it was the case that soon the St. Lucia mental health services were involved. Now, we are caught up at the latter end of the holiday, and everybody was getting prepared to go back home. Yet now with the services involved, and Ryan seeming to be quite - I don't know the word - acquiesced to my loopy ways and means (which involved nothing more than fevered excitement as to my wanting to stay here), he was like, "Fine! It's up to you! Stay if you like!" And the services were fully involved now, and I was to be sectioned in the Caribbean! And the way they do it here, is by giving you the strongest anti-psychotic pill that you can imagine, and I was given a choice to take the pill, and told them, "I will take it, and take it happily." But I just took a lick of a dab of it, and it had a little effect, and I was still a sprightly nuisance. The services consisted of a black nurse and a chinese nurse, and they took me to a beach, and it was night. And they told me I was to be killed on the beach, by means of a gunshot to the back of the head, and I was fine with this, and distractedly went with them, ahead of them, as they followed me behind, and yet I still had this pill in my hand. I doubted that I was going to be killed, and as soon as the doubt entered my head, so did the bullet, and I died. 

And my spirit went up across the ocean, and I was never happier, and I began to be able to see the situation of what it is like to die. That situation was actually that you can see the mothership. The mothership is  an alien spaceship that is invisible to all those living, but when you die you can see the mothership, and this one was the Deathstar from Star Wars, and everything made sense. My spirit went up into this mothership, and I was back at home, with the aliens, and realised that I was an alien. I was in the mothership, and welcomed back home, and looked in the mirror and could see my true alien form, and there were others, and one of these was Lee Kern. Yet Lee was a representative of the Earth and he knew the alien language and I was able to communicate with him about the situation. Very soon, I was able to have the chance to have sex with a beautiful woman, and was given choices about which way I wanted to have her. It seemed somehow untoward to want her in the vagina, or anus, and I chose to have her without penetration. Such a choice, it seemed, was not in the right mode for me to stay on the mothership, it being the weakest choice, and I think I was sent back. In any case, the dream ended. 

Although, I stayed asleep for some two more hours, and didn't dream anything of note in that time, and I woke and made myself coffee, and smoked a cigarette, and continued to work on my computer coding vocation. 

I also had to pick up some prescribed sleeping pills, and read a little when I was at the Broadway. When I was home, I fell asleep for half and hour, then phoned Tamsin and told her about my dream, and then I came here. Now I wish to work on  my summer vocation a little, and make a prawn curry for dinner. 

And there's the long and short of it, and there it is. And there you have it. 

Best wishes, 

Daniel

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