The Neurotic Of Today Is The Germ Of The Man Of The Future

Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, just shootin the shit about living death, dream continuation, the romanticism of neurotics, and molecule rearrangement, among other heady topics. From Robert Snyder’s 1974 documentary Anaïs Nin Observed.

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Tales From The Dream Journal: Thomas Jefferson Vs. Final Jeopardy

Last night in a lucid dream I saw Thomas Jefferson & I asked what he thought of last Tuesday’s Final Jeopardy where the clue was, “Adding up the denominations of circulating bills with US presidents on the front gives you this total.” I, like all 3 contestants on the show, thought the question should be “What is $76?” Yet Alex Trebek said the correct question was “What is $78?” because of the $2 bill. But lucid dream-Thomas Jefferson totally agreed with me & said, “The bill which bears my likeness is spent by virtually nobody, and it is highly misleading to imply said bill is ‘in circulation.’ That Final Jeopardy is, indeed, bullshit.”

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Tales From The Dream Journal: Retrograde On Mars

Entry dated March 5, 2011

We touchdown on Mars, the voyage not nearly as difficult as I imagined.  Not all that different from a few-hour plane ride. Ears barely popped…

Surprised how blue the skies are. Must be artificial atmosphere, like Total Recall. Also may have subconsciously assimilated this review of Cloud Atlas I enjoyed shortly before bed (“Mitchell’s dystopia is repellent and enchanting, grimy and brightly lit”).  Highly elevated frisbee-shaped buildings, just like The Jetsons…

I’m college-age in the dream.  Settle into dorm-like building with bunch of other college kids. Some sort of study-abroad program.  For some reason, the gravity is stronger on Mars, or at least it feels that way.  Like the settlers tried to artificially adjust the gravity to be more like Earth’s, but overcompensated.  So now it’s hard to walk.  Dorm staff offers wheelchairs for those having trouble walking.  I have trouble walking but I try to deal with it, and decline a wheelchair…

Notice others who have been here a while and tried to move without wheelchairs; by now they’ve resorted to crawling, slithering- practically oozing like big fat worms.  Scares me that I might end up like that, but still I refuse to wheelchair.

Soon realize that the inhabitants aren’t just moving like big fat worms- many of them have gone totally insane.  Like the oppressive gravity has somehow warped their minds.  Like zombies, but slightly more sentient.  I get the feeling these sentient zombies are waiting for me to fall asleep so they can suck my brain and turn me into one of them.  I go into my dorm room with my lady Ashley (my real, waking-life girlfriend), who I don’t remember in earlier parts of the dream, but I guess has been here all along.  We try to stay awake, watching TV, sitting up in bed, but the intense gravity makes us so tired, it’s extremely hard not to sleep.  I fear my humanity is coming to an end…

Suddenly it hits me that this has to be a dream.  Lucidity achieved!  I tell dream-Ashley, and we decide to levitate.  We float through the dormitory halls, just a few feet off the ground, then as we continue to float we also have sex.

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Tales From The Dream Journal: But He’s Dead

Entry Dated November 30, 2010

“But he’s dead,” I thought,

when I saw him in my dream.

“Ah, then I must’ve gone back in time…

I should hug him extra hard.”

So I did.

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Tales From The Dream Journal: Speakeasy Of The Dead

Entry Dated October 16, 2009

Rainy night. Downtown NYC. Feels like 2004/2005. With my cousin, his future wife, and an old college friend. Looking for a secret bar we’ve heard about. We walk down a dark stairway and come to a door with one of those sliding-gate peephole things, like in the movies.  We knock. The gate slides open, revealing the eyes of a woman with a severely burned (or maybe decayed) face.  The woman says we’re not welcome here.  My cousin’s future wife says the password. The woman with the burned face lets us in.

The bar is dark and candlelit.  Everyone inside has burned (or decayed) faces, their ears melted (or rotted) away. They look scary, but they’re very warm and welcoming. We dance together. A prostitute hangs out in the back of the room. Someone warns us not to talk to the prostitute. Metallica’s “Unforgiven” video is projected on the walls.  The prostitute approaches me. She looks like a demon.

I wake up in real life. I’m lying in bed like a corpse in a coffin- on my back with my arms folded on my chest. I never ever sleep like that. I always sleep on my side or my stomach.

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