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InvisibleMoonshoe
Blue Mantis
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Registered: 05/28/04
Posts: 27,202
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A warning for dreamers
    #5929602 - 08/03/06 07:49 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)


A Warning for Dreamers:


Chapter 1

The sirloin beast approached the emerald caverns without fear, seeking its soul amidst the drifting masses of lost humanity.
Back and forth it swayed, sniffing and snuffling, long ropes of clear fluid trailing from its nostrils, the shape of its face reminiscent of cancerous testicles, its smell sweet like rotting peaches.
Weighing hundreds of pounds and standing a dozen feet high at the shoulder, the thing did not exist at all.

Riding upon its back was a tall man, stick like and drifting, exuding pink smoke and blisters of quite incredible joy bubbled perpetually on its face.

Laughing exuberantly, the man whacked the flats of his hands down upon the folds of the creatures putty textured head.
The gait of its six plodding legs increased fractionally, and the rider (who was in the habit of calling himself "malice") grinned an irksome grin.
The goal of there journey had long since been forgotten, months of hopeless searching of the endless wastes of delirium had robbed them of their identities, there sanities, there excuses.

"It’s down to the bare bones now, eh peter?" the words slopped out from between the six legged things drooling, shovel-like maw. Pause. "Yes... Down to the skeletal core" it answered itself pretentiously.

Malice's grin disappeared, leaving in its place a scowl like oil streaked on glass. A dark shadow manifested about his shoulders and face, the psionic representation of his elemental displeasure.
"Never speak, thing. You are an animal. Animals do not speak!" a deep, shuddering breath wracked his blackened chest, and then, whispering: "we have been over this before" his tone like frozen bone marrow chilled on a silver platter.

The creature huffed wetly but gave no further response. Malice peered ahead into the fog, placing his hand over his brow as if to shield his gaze from the sun, squinting his eyes, futile and symbolic gestures in the unrelenting graveyard mist that baffled all sight and prescience.

A soft sound echoed out of the depths, subtle and saturated with hidden meanings. The dark rider strained his ear and exerted his mind. Just at the fading edge of hearing, subtle as a half forgotten memory, elusive as a dream, he thought he could discern words.

the sound, which was necrotic but generative, told him many things, whisperings its seductive messages into his receptive brainstem. But above all, one phrase stood out, as a promethium blaze in the frozen void.

it said:

THE TIME OF WANDERING IN THE WASTES HAS ENDED


Almost immediately the roiling mists of banality began to recede. Numerous qualities were changing, to rapidly and invisibly to define. For a moment, beast and rider alike were stunned into cognitive melt down.

The scope of the change that they were observing was flabbergasting, crushing. Ontological realities were breaking apart like icebergs saturated with cosmic dust, releasing there psychedelic cargo into the solar winds of God.


An infinite space of timelessness came and then went, receding like the frontiers of consciousness. There was a sound like the chiming of bells. There was a sensation like raw silk and anal penetration. There was a taste like warm blood in the mouth. There was a thought that shattered worlds.

The sirloin beast was the first to recover. They were once again on the hard, grey earth of the endless graveyard. The moon still shone wanly upon a scene of unutterable bleakness. But something had changed; indeed, many things would never be the same again. For a start, the turbulent and maddening grave mist had disappeared completely. For the first time in an eternity, Malice and his mount could see more than a few yards in front of them.

More importantly though, it seemed as if an incredible weight had been lifted from their souls, the darkness of penetrating madness and nihilistic meaninglessness banished in an instant.

In the place of this catastrophic dystrophy, a triumphant exultation had arisen. It seemed that the very sky above there head, for all its meaningless grey soot and swirling midnight cloud, was infused in some inexplicable way with the dynastic majesty of the godhead.

The sensation was disorienting, and it took a moment for the final revelation to fall in place, and when it did, the Sirloin beast set off at a shuffling gallop, faster than malice had ever felt it ride in a lifetime of forced servitude to his indomitable will.

For a moment, malice stopped, a warm smile crossing his face, as if lost in fond memory. A watchful observer would have noticed the faint patterns of psychometric memory coiling about his head. He reminisced of the day when he had first come across the sirloin Beast, watering itself with huge gulping sucks of liquid ammonia on a blasted and desolate planet long dead by his hand. It had sobbed outrageously, whining piteously for the loss of its race, which it pretentiously referred to as "the first ones" or "the true people". According to its garbled monologue, the sirloin creatures were once plentiful, but had sense been erased from the galactic reverberation by the appearance of a long dormant but utterly fatal flaw in there renal coding.

Malice had little sympathy, and immediately set upon the slobbering mass of muscle and sloughing, drooping flesh, raping, ravishing, beating, smashing, biting, and becoming a devastating tornado of intrusive sensations and cruel effrontery.

Exactly as he had predicted, the result was an immediate reversal of the Sirloin’s mental structures. In an instant it became a sagacious and steadfast servant of what Malice temporarily thought of as his "divine cause".

Ever since that day, Malice had ridden the sirloin across the endless faces of a dozen nightmare realms, seeking gleefully for the lost relics of the Logos, the buried chunks of the Mysterium Tremendum. He had found the beast abundant in unexpected uses. For example, its truncated head proved remarkably well suited to sifting through ruined masses of ontological structures for buried nuggets of applicability. Gathering a sizeable collection of these gleaming linguistic chunks, Malice finally acquired enough raw materials to instill a neuro-muscular schism in the sirloins cortex, imbuing it with a fantastic new consciousness. Since that day, the sirloin had been a trusted source of intuitive guidance and also a savantish producer of Zen aphorisms.

It was just such an aphorism, spouted phlegmishly from the Beasts slack maw that now started Malice from his melancholy reminiscence.

"Who breathes the original Breath, in the time before time?" it pondered obtusely.

"My dear Sirloin!" Malice replied in a voice like heavy boots treading across a floor thick with humming bird skeletons.

The beast paused, expecting further comment, and when none was forthcoming, it contented itself with a deeply satisfying fart that sprayed chunks of warm fecal matter across its flabby thighs and ass.

In his heart, Malice was brooding darkly. He was becoming bored. The beast, its stupid ramblings, the endless ash wastes of the graveyard, all of it stank of banality and pointlessness. Where was the meaning in all of this? It had been ages since they had last discovered a relevant chunk of Logos, and they were beginning to starve. If this kept up, they would dwindle away to nothing, or worse, lose coherence, and drift apart like clouds of demagnetized electrons, like sand blown off a paper plate.

"SILION!" screamed Malice "WE MUST FIND SOME MEANING!"

The words provoked a terrible and unexpected reaction in the absurd creature. Its massive erection, Gnobulus and pendular, which had for so many Aeons dragged worthlessly on whatever filthy ground the Sirloin happened to be traveling over, suddenly detached from its body with a horrible sound like the tearing of wet sack cloth. It slopped on the ground like a half ton of rancid meat on a marble floor. The beast let out a keening wail that assaulted the ear drum and the mind with equal intensity.

The beast Collapsed, its immense bulk smashing onto the dusty ground with a horrible finality. It thrashed its stout limbs randomly, looking like a mutant elephant in the midst of a seizure, like a bloated republican overdosing on cocaine, spraying feces into the air like a German fountain.

Disgust, terror, amusement and potent joy vied for control of Malice's panoramic mind. Deftly, like a cybernetic ballerina, he pirouetted safely to the ground, out of reach of the Sirloins horrible death throws. With a miniscule exertion of will, his auditory sphincters screwed shut, muffling the horrid squealing that would now emit endlessly from the things rancid mouth. As was the manner of the Sirloin Beasts, he would remain forever Dieing, never dead, a twist of fate so inconceivably cruel that it baffled the mind. Of course, the sirloin philosophers had long maintained that what appeared to the living to be the in-utterable pain of endless undeath was in fact the rapturous screaming of inconceivable orgasm, triggered by the auto encephalic jettison of the reproductive organ.

Such thoughts were already far from the crystal corridors of Malice's awareness. The instant his feet had landed soundlessly upon the dead marsh grass at his feet, he had set off at an insane sprint, the landscape blurring as he broke first the sound barrier, and then transcended the speed of light. Hyper rotational Gravitas ensued, and Malice Departed from this dark, stinking dream that now seemed to him a sickening and soul crushing waste of time, no more than the endless parade of shadows across a Child’s stretched vocabulary, as unnerving as a pederasts caress, leaving only the reeking taste of eel echoing in the mind.


CHAPTER 2


Malice disappeared then in a immeasurable instant of wakefulness. The sensation was like a breath caught in the throat, like a burp that dies somewhere on its way out of the body. There is a serene pause, and then, like wet sand dripping between a child’s fingers, he reappears again, by degrees, assuming ever more of his original potency and presence. Finally, centuries later, he feels ready to begin his search anew.
"Back to the drawing board, I suppose" he giggled impishly, regressing to an infantile state momentarily, one finger wiggling wetly in his ass.

The first thing to do was design a new vehicle that much was obvious. Malice had ridden upon the Sirloin for so many eternities that he found the idea of being a pedestrian quite unnerving, which was ironic because he knew that no vehicle or mount no matter how sublime, could ever match his unaided speed or mobility. Nevertheless, he set about producing a new transport with cannibalistic gusto. Plunging his hands gleefully into the cold mass of his own brain matter, he searched feverishly for relevant concepts or metaphors. Inspiration struck, and he began manipulating instruments, probing with analogue drills and scraping with facsimile bone saws. Frustrated, he opened a hatch in his abdomen from witch emerged six more insect-like limbs, articulated spears of black, oily metal that fluidly projected ever changing manipulative instruments.

He became a whir of frenzied activity and smoke poured out of his throbbing cogitators. An insane genius possessed him, and he reached deep into the slithering depths of his soul, grasped something with a grip that would crush diamonds, and wrenched it, wet and pulsing from the very core of his being. The thing glowed with an unreal luminescence and stank of potent drugs. With the seriousness of an atomic juggler, he inserted the psionic manifestation lovingly into the gaping cavity at the epistemological center of his creation. Instantly the naked skeleton, the coiling wires, the intricate circuitry buzzed and throbbed into life and activity. Self assembly began, as the divine blueprints Malice had so cautiously put in place began directing their own self definition. Skin overlaid bare bone and blood and nitrogen coolant began pumping through veins, arteries and Mylar tubing.

Then began neuromuscular photo-crystalis, webbings of retractile tissue and conductive brain mass began spinning madly out of a place of solar ejaculation. Within moments, a being of unimaginable beauty, intricacy and majesty stood wet and terrified before Malice’s thousands of gleaming eyes. A grin like the death of nations played momentarily across his face, and the loud speakers installed in his chest cavity echoed a triumphal intonation: "Behold! i look upon my creation, and it is very good!" he was paraphrasing now from some long forgotten book, some fragment from the mists of his childhood "I Have made it in my image, and into it i have breathed my Life! " inspiration struck him and he became carried away "I have nursed it on my own semen! Lo! Into its cavities I have poured my white and sticky grace! I have elevated this, my child, and put its feet in dominion over all life! Under my guidance it shall father a great nation! Into its mouth I shall deliver the testicles of babes, Yea, he shall feast upon the empty husks of the walrus-born! And now, my child, AWAKE!"

the last word was retched forth like dammed lightning. The sheer force of its vibration ignited the air molecules surrounding his mouth, framing his face in a terrifying halo of fire. The potency of his utterance slammed into the creations dormant consciousness, catalyzing uncountable reactions. With a sound like a solar tornado, the being stood, yes, it stood upon two feet, which were fashioned of gold. Its legs were mighty like the trunks of trees, its abdomen of irresistible beauty; its buttocks formed as of magnificence itself, and within its mighty chest beat a heart of magnetic oxide. Within its arms pumped a billion bloody worms, which conferred upon it strength like an unstoppable typhoon. Its neck was short but to the point, and its head was fashioned in the likeness of every love struck ideal of perfection, shifting constantly, always perfect yet ever self surpassing.

Satisfied with his vessel, Malice began contemplating the next big issue: destination. The word itself carried hints of countless un-tasted flavors, un-experienced sensations, self transcendence and unlimited decadence. Malice had often considered himself a libertine, and preparing for this next departure caused a rush of solvent salivation into his mouth cavities. Endless tongues coated in hyper receptive taste molecules slithered like tapeworms through the numerous cavities of his cortex, relishing the last vibrations of this departing thought.

After a moment of deep meditation, and hours of biorhythmic alpha state, he reached an unspoken decision. Projecting a fleeting concept, Malice triggered the anal hatch on his gleaming bio-titan, and writhed his way up the synthetic and oil lubricated rectum into the control room.

The interior of the control chamber was a triumph of customer satisfaction. Majestic brass and fluted silver formed the inner control mechanism, and the floor was padded with rich velvet. Floating censors carried aloft by angelic cherubs wafted the delicious sent of nag champa incense into the machine purified air. Malice looked about for a moment with intense self satisfaction before sitting, lotus position, upon the delicate control stool.

Reaching forward with one hand, freshly adorned with a cream colored velvet glove, he delicately grasped the mahogany ignition lever. With enormous relish he pulled the handle down its polished silver slide, and it made a rich and woody clicking sound that sent tingles of delight down his rear. A small hatch to his right popped soundlessly open, and out crawled a purple thing that was all fluid tentacles and organic intricacy. After a nebulous moment of protean insubstantiality, the thing resolved itself into a more or less octopi shape. It reached one of its suckered tentacles into a tight, pink, slit like cavity in its own ovoid head and fished around for a moment before withdrawing a slender pipe of the most radiant quicksilver. Equipped with monomolecular nitrogen coolant systems and a whole sensorium of optional flavor, odor and texture modicants, the pipe was a true marvel of metatechnology.

Taking the pipe in the hand not occupied by manipulating the BioTitan's control systems, malice brought the mouthpiece sensuously to his well formed, azure colored lips. Instantly the octopod butler placed another tentacle over the waiting bowl, and secreted a small sprinkling of fine white crystal from a temporarily loosened sphincter. It bobbed once respectfully, then scuttled backwards into its habitation hatch, the burnished copper door sliding soundlessly shut behind it, engraved with a highly stylized octopus symbol.

The bowl handled its own ignition processes, and with a thought the fine crystal powder was crackling merrily, releasing an acrid blue smoke into the chamber. The smell was murky but satisfying, and mixed wonderfully with the cherubic incense.

Instantly, trillions of highly modified dopamine receptors sensed the first waves of chemical stimulation. Swelling expectantly to increase their potential surface area, numerous ganglions swell like aroused phalluses, plucking chemical molecules greedily out of the bloodstream. Malice shudders with hyper orgasmic delight, every vesicle of his massive sexual gland system secreting luminous green and white vapors. Potent phantasmagoria begin to shift behind his eyeballs, and at last the biotitans pilot feels ready to handle the daunting task of guiding this majestic transport vehicle safely to its destination:

The uncharted wilds of the deep umbra.


Chapter 3.

Without a care, Malice let the spent pipe fall with a thud to a velvet carpet. he did not need to look to know that the small scuffling sound was a maintenance organism devouring the intricate construction and recycling the composite atoms for future use. No matter, he thought, that last hit would keep him flying for eternities. Turning all his multifarious limbs and mental processes to the task at hand, Malice became a whirring tornado of intensely focused navigational maneuvering. Wheels clicked, buttons clattered, levers and pullies slid and cracked. Despite the staggering degree of technology involved in the biotitans construction, its control room showed not a hint of digital or electronic equipment. It was all fluted silver and burnished brass, mahogany wood and clockwork, reminiscent of the steam age. Of course, most of the devices that Malice was so enthusiastically manipulating were purely recreational, there purpose placebo. However, he had always been of the opinion that there is no use building a vehicle so advanced that it requires no operation, and so he had left certain key process non-automational.

Dimethyltryptamine sweat beaded on his prestigious brown, and a deep throbbing whine began to emerge from his hyper active cogitational cortexes. A long, serpentine wire emerged from his brainstem and writhed upward, feeling this way and that like a creeping vine, like a drunken hobo clawing for redemption in the cold morning air. Eventually it locked on to its receptor points magnetic field and clicked precisely into place, opening up vast vistas of mind-archaeology and humbling panoramas of information read outs and navigational maps. Devouring all this information at billions of gigabytes per nano second, Malice easily plotted the correct path through time and space for his biotitans graceful and hyper-powerful hydraulic movement systems. Cushioned cozily inside the prostatorium, only the gentlest rocking belied the fact that the 50 foot tall Paragon was now traveling at speeds of over 400 miles an hour.

Now that the navigational courses had been plotted and the operational systems set and engaged, THE PILOT felt compelled to move up out of the control room and into the view port located in the titans fluid core titanium head. Squirming upwards with the help of vacillating ganglia and uterus-like fiber contractions, malice pulled himself through the air seal and into the view chamber. Here he was able to sit upon an intricate chair of human bones held high up at the titans eye level by a mechanized length of vat grown spinal cord. The floor of the room was polished black marble, soft and lightless as the stellar voids. The only color came from a single sky blue cushion that shielded Malice’s sensitive anus form the bony ridges of his gruesome chair. The "eyes" of the bio-titan were translucent sheets of abydrox crystals molded by potent psychic processes. At the end of both of his thrones arm rests, complete human hands protruded upwards at 90 degrees. Each finger bone and joint was laced with hyper receptive neural pathways that linked to the complex control systems in the prostatorium. By manipulating the various fingers with his own living hands, Malice was able to perform most rudimentary processes from this viewing chamber when it pleased him.

Gazing serenely out the view ports, Malice noted with satisfaction that the mist enshrouded Blue Mountains that marked the border to the near umbra were already in view, growing steadily closer with each loping step of the titan’s twenty five foot hydraulic legs. Grasping a digit from the control hand on his chair, malice caused the head chamber to rotate on its spinal axis, allowing a panning view of the infinite, surreal landscape. The first wisps of forming proto-myths and thought ghosts began to caper and dance at the titans golden feet. Malice had especially selected the feet to be composed of the softest of metals so as to ensure the absolute impossibility of the titans operation, and he was glad of the decision now. Had the feet been made of anything harder, they would certainly have smashed through the stained glass floors of this strange domain and into the boiling ethereum visible below.

A titanic storm was building some distance off, not yet visible through the abydrox eye ports but detected by the multitude of sensorial probes that buzzed around the biotitans body like flies on a dead horse, landing, departing, spinning, landing, departing... by twisting the pinky finger of the control hand and pushing it slightly downwards, he pivoted the titans chassis and redirected his course so as to avoid the center of the rapidly approaching maelstrom. Malice had never before experienced the ferocity of an Umbral thunderhead, but any novice psychonaut was warned in the direst terms of what happened to those who ventured into one unprepared. Although THE PILOT was confident in the reflective and reactive components of his vehicles armor systems, he was not looking forward to the emotional pummeling he was about to receive. He reached for the control hand, but before he could even signal to the habitation hatch in the prostatorium, the octopod butler was already slithering up out of the pressure seal, bearing in one articulate tentacle another freshly packed pipe, this one lacking any technological innovation and formed of simple black obsidian. Malice took it and noted with surprise that its edge was sharp and jagged like broken glass. Putting it to his lips immediately drew blood, but he sucked heartily anyways. The smoke released by the combustion of the butler's gland excretions was rich and tasted of cinnamon and urine. Malice’s multitude of tongues writhed appreciatively at the flavor experience, and the color schema of his visual perception changed indefinably. Sounds now came as if through great expanses of water, and the qualities of light seemed somehow comical.

Blood ran freely down Malice’s face, chest and neck now, the pipe having released nano molecular shards of porcupine glass, which were now burrowing inwards, lodging in neural nodes and drifting through his arterial system, causing havoc to the sensitive internal tissues. Pain flared up from a million disparate sensors, each individual occurrence of pain appearing on the blackness of his gestalt reader as a tiny prick of light. As more and more pricks appeared on the light-bright of his sensor, a pattern appeared. Refining the pattern, an image was deduced, an image of an anus stretched wide and full of fish heads and shearing teeth of carnival sheep.

Malice paused, aware of a loss in cogency. He could still see the control room, but it appeared dark and shadowy, as if seen through a fine black gauss. Suddenly he became aware of the control hands spasming compulsively, writhing in agitation, signaling intense system stress. A soft, seductive voice echoed in his ears "umbral storm causing severe hull stress. Psychic integrity at 68% and dropping... dividing... adding... subtracting...math... school... urrrrghhhh" the voice trailed away in an agonized groan, overwhelmed by schemata dysfunction. Malice struggled to find himself in the vortex of identity that he was lost in... Passing by his vision were many faces, all of them different but all of them inexplicably himself. He was assailed by emotions, extreme anger, horrible despair, malicious malevolence, that incredible feeling of pressure before a massive shit that makes you grab onto the walls in an iron grip as you rocket feces out your ass.

He tried laughter therapy, only to find the sad wisps of his mirth disappearing in the ever expanding void of the vortex. How had it come so fast? he had to do something, but the porcupine glass was shredding his brain like moss cheese and the titans control systems were acting erratically, as if of there own volition. Total catastrophic meltdown seemed inevitable. A gyration began at his feet, spread up his legs, reverberating in his iron and promethean bone synthetics and finally shattering his fluid structure skull like a water balloon thrown into a turbofan. His organic and augmetic selves sheared apart, and the process was mirrored on the mental level as all his conceptual structures divided infinitely into endless dialectical pairs of thesis and antithesis.

Malice, or some drifting remnant of his selfhood, was occupied with one desperate thought: his only chance was to wake up. It had been eternities since he had attempted that terrible maneuver, and he was not sure he could even remember the technique. Something about pinching yourself? it was all too foggy, and besides, after a thousand lifetimes of dream the concept of wakefulness terrified him. His fear leached his mind of resolution and turned his being into cold and flavorless jelly. A deep and gnawing despair entered him then, and he surrendered himself to it utterly, his edges blurring like smudged charcoal, until he became permanently and fundamentally indistinct, no more than a piece of grey construction paper, beset on all sides by fiskars.

And so, his essence consumed by an infinite variety of protolithic scavengers and monotheistopedes, and his physical form dragged off and defiled by catholic necrophiles and necrophages, malice sloughed off at last his immortal coils.



--------------------


Everything I post is fiction.


Edited by Moonshoe (03/28/07 08:32 AM)


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Offlinedeadheadjpc2000
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Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: Moonshoe]
    #5929630 - 08/03/06 08:03 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

I started to read, but then realized this should be in the Short Novel section. Ya lost me after that. Waaaaayyyyyy to long.
Peace


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InvisibleIcelander
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Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: Moonshoe]
    #5929639 - 08/03/06 08:05 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

I think it looks like Micky Rat. :mushroom2:


--------------------
"Don't believe everything you think". -Anom.

" All that lives was born to die"-Anom.

With much wisdom comes much sorrow,
The more knowledge, the more grief.
Ecclesiastes circa 350 BC


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Offlineleery11
I Tell You What!

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Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: Icelander]
    #5929856 - 08/03/06 09:40 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

that's very interesting and sobering.

did you write that?

i really have been an escapist in the dream worlds lately, favoring them more than mundane existence (which i am pressed to figure out what to do "with" in the first place.... in fact perhaps the only logical next step is enlightenment. what do humans do anyway? not a lot, but yet, a ton, so many things)

but really the dreamscape is a fruitless place for the most part, if you just run around it as a playground. it is fun, but only so much. i've tasted the unsatisfaction of it too.

it is time to start seeing the source of the dreams, working on clear light practices, and uprooting karmic behaviors, perhaps.

though i do find them interesting for attempting experiments in psychic connections to other people, etc. and for letting myself be taught things about myself. perhaps it is good to let them function normally whether you are lucid or not, rather than doing silly things.

i don't know.

this was useful for me to read. what are your thoughts on this subject, or ARE those your thoughts? the imagery is very potent and imaginative.

this also trips me out, because i really feel the "life is a dream" thing, but the way of that character is seemingly not the way to go at all. It should be "woken up" from rather than played with eh? and i feel like the dreaminess of reality is increasing moreso, probably in relatoin to 2012.


--------------------
I am the MacDaddy of Heimlich County, I play it Straight Up Yo!

....I embrace my desire to feel the rhythm, to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow, to feel inspired, to fathom the power, to witness the beauty, to bathe in the fountain, to swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human......
Om Namah Shivaya, I tell you What!


Edited by leery11 (08/03/06 09:52 PM)


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OfflineGomp
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Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: Moonshoe]
    #5930712 - 08/04/06 08:03 AM (17 years, 5 months ago)

Sounds like a "warning" from those who "don't dream"..

But then again..

"Both, ..and then some!"
-unknown :p


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Re: A warning for dreamers *DELETED* [Re: Gomp]
    #5931590 - 08/04/06 02:11 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

Post deleted by soulcircus

Reason for deletion: .



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OfflineGomp
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Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: soulcircus]
    #5931904 - 08/04/06 03:42 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

Imagine... Realize... BE!


:wink::thumbup:


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Offlinefireworks_godS
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Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: soulcircus]
    #5932089 - 08/04/06 04:46 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

Quote:

soulcircus said:
i read the first chapter, thought it was a great read, i thought it was only me.. i personally, get sick and tired of it, and am so glad when i shake myself out of the imagination.
real life is far more interesting, i think living in the imagination can be pretty dangerous if your not carefull




I think this is a good post. :thumbup:

Imagination is a great tool, with which we can conceive new ideas and possibilities, but yet if one is not firmly centered in their direct perception and experience of reality as it presents itself, then one is incapable of truly interacting with reality in order to bring that which one imagines into reality.

I see no benefit of floating off into the clouds, unless one is simply interested in escapism. We are embedded in reality, as reality, for a reason (the simple fact that we are so :lol:), and we should embrace reality, while recognizing the constant growth and oppurtunity for change within reality. Imagination has its place, but it is not a state of being - that can only be derived from direct interaction with reality. :wink:

:earth: :sun: :headbang: :satansmoking:
Peace. :mushroom2:


--------------------
:redpanda:
If I should die this very moment
I wouldn't fear
For I've never known completeness
Like being here
Wrapped in the warmth of you
Loving every breath of you

:heartpump: :bunnyhug: :yinyang:

:yinyang: :levitate: :earth: :levitate: :yinyang:


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InvisibleMoonshoe
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Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: leery11]
    #5951007 - 08/10/06 04:21 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

yes i did write this.  And yes these are my thoughts.

Im glad some of you picked up on what i was trying to convey. However, i am not entirely pessimistic. I think that the continual submergence in ever more liquid and fluid realities is an inevitable trend for our segment of the human population. One way or the other , we need to come to terms with our own place as authors of much of our experience.

So on the one hand, this is a call to stay grounded, to bring your creative energies to bear in the consensual waking world AND the individual dreamscapes.

However, it is also a call to master our imaginations, to prepare ourselves for what i see as an inevitability: total submergence in the playground of the self and total responsibility for our own experience. Are you comfortable in your own head yet?

Well, work on it, thats all

Because all the walls are comin tumblin' down

:wink:


--------------------


Everything I post is fiction.


Edited by Moonshoe (08/10/06 04:28 PM)


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Offlineleery11
I Tell You What!

Registered: 06/24/05
Posts: 5,998
Last seen: 8 years, 9 months
Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: Moonshoe]
    #5951395 - 08/10/06 06:00 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

well dude i think we may see a dreamification of consensus reality, but i think as we merge to higher energy vibrations there will be no possibility of dreamscape. rather we will understand our ability to consciously influence and authority physical reality...

and if we move on to higher dimensional beings, i do not think there will be much to do other than to recognize our existences and share in whatever energy vibes we want to inhabit.

for instance there are many vibes on earth, and you can choose not to have vibes. but you can go the route of the dreamer who sees this place for what it is (illusion) or you can go the route of the pleasure seeker, or the loving romantic in love with the birds and trees and despots and infants .......

and there are just a lot of vibrational possibilities. but i think dreams are only reflections of our karma, inclination and indications of how we construct the world, and reflections of physical reality.

i'm not sure that fantasies, astral planes, etc, have any real point to a human being evolving........ they are only for exploration, learning, fun, but i do not think that the universe can simply become a dreamscape with lucid nitwits going all zany and power crazy.

however if each individual siphons off into his own universe based upon his desires, it is possible that someone may decide to permanently reside in the dream/fantasy planes and just goof around until they lose interest.

this is kind of a scary notion.

i myself being a heavy dreamer it's like well.... its kinda funny. i go to the store just now and the doors open automatically, and i'm like "I don't remember these doors being automatic" then this song goes on "dreammmmm..... dreammm... dream" and i dunno. it was just strange bobbing around the peoples, because i was in a high-ish state of mind and still am from doing chakra toning, and it's like...... it wasn't dreamy but the juxtaposition between me and reality had altered some.


--------------------
I am the MacDaddy of Heimlich County, I play it Straight Up Yo!

....I embrace my desire to feel the rhythm, to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow, to feel inspired, to fathom the power, to witness the beauty, to bathe in the fountain, to swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human......
Om Namah Shivaya, I tell you What!


Edited by leery11 (08/10/06 06:01 PM)


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InvisibleMoonshoe
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Registered: 05/28/04
Posts: 27,202
Loc: Iceland
Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: leery11]
    #5956153 - 08/12/06 11:10 AM (17 years, 5 months ago)

i love your brain man. Keep growing, keep flowing, and ill meet you in the ocean!


--------------------


Everything I post is fiction.


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Offlineleery11
I Tell You What!

Registered: 06/24/05
Posts: 5,998
Last seen: 8 years, 9 months
Re: A warning for dreamers [Re: Moonshoe]
    #5956339 - 08/12/06 12:26 PM (17 years, 5 months ago)

dang dude i just got back from the ocean.

i thought i'd indulge in oversleeping.

i got up and tried to do some chanting but my voice wasn't working well and i'm sidetracked and jump off my balcony and fly over campus.

there is a giganticly strange and geometric martial arts presentation going on involving people lying on the ground. buzz past that with some interest.

then people are graduating and my brother and I's name are called. i felt like I "had" to have my photo taken so I did that.... then i flew off.

well i didn't know what i wanted to do other than something new so i kept flying up and up and up and up and up for a long time willing myself somewhere else.

i then found myself at a new and very beautiful campus. this place was very familiar and intimate to me and i was thinking, i wonder if this is from my future.... i would really like to go here.

this guy dressed a little bit gothy but having a good character walks by and then talks to me wanting me to hang out with him (this is based on my interaction to him and the way i thought of him) but i tell him i want to go to the astral plane.

i make a mirror and step into it, and feel very watery and don't see anything.

i move around while keeping the water.... and am still at this campus type place but there's an ocean.

i go flying out into it and come to fhis big house looking thing sticking out of the middle of the ocean on "docks" and it's square.... and i wonder if it's some astral temple or something.

i ring the doorbell and some dude comes up and he lets me in but i'm hesitant and he goes away.

then i ring it again and he doesn't respond until he's all the way back where he came from.

so i ring again.

he comes back and i apologize and ask to be let in.... but i ask where this is. he doesn't really tell me.... so i say "well if i come in can I come out on my own free will?" and he says "probably, but we have to work on your fin and we might kill you"

so I run away and try to fly back, and go through a long series of false awakenings, knowing i will be awake eventually though.

actually while flying i was remarking on how less afraid i was of my phobias, and then eventually i hit a barrier across the ocean where some guy was standing post, and i said to him "I just set a limitation in my own mind of where i don't want to go any further based upon these fears" and he was just standing there kind of as a guard.

i dunno.

the ideal thing would have been to explore the university.

astral plane also seem like BS.... i think you have to activate your chakras... unless the dream plane is the astral world, and the astral world is boring.

i did go somewhere higher and incomprehensibly beautiful in one of my first ever lds, but i just got there through dream exploration. so. it makes me think i can go somewhere "tangible" but not particularly by wanting to.


--------------------
I am the MacDaddy of Heimlich County, I play it Straight Up Yo!

....I embrace my desire to feel the rhythm, to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow, to feel inspired, to fathom the power, to witness the beauty, to bathe in the fountain, to swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human......
Om Namah Shivaya, I tell you What!


Edited by leery11 (08/12/06 12:29 PM)


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