an imaginative segue

Having come from a short nap, I awakened with a sharp awareness of moments in dreaming where one scene shifts to the next. Let me explain, because this is an unusual discovery for me.

Normally when we dream, we often dream of something with a single narrative. While multiple-dreams often occur over the same night, we aren't usually aware (at least I haven't been) of the junction between dream #1, dream #2 and so on. What triggers that critical moment where you stop dreaming about having sex with Megan Fox and embark on a secret agent mission (which later involves sleeping with someone else, of course)? What causes the split?

To recap, here is everything that I remembered. Interestingly, I'm unable to figure out any motive or reason behind any of it. Usually dreams are deep metaphors, and perhaps I am not being as analytical about it as I could be.

Here goes. I kick things off by assuming the persona of the main character in the newest video game "L.A. Noire". Which I don't own, I must add. The main character in that title, is a goody two-shoes, no-nonsense "Imma clean up this town" detective. Which is the role I assumed.

At first, I found myself being followed by foot down the hills of San Francisco with three men in tow, spaced exactly apart by three or four feet in a neat, tidy row. Approaching some area caused the "caution" meter to go up, indicating that my paranoia was going to expose myself to the risk of being fingered for a detective. Which is apparently a bad thing in this crime-riddled city.

My destination was a scene in which a murder is about to take place, with me holding the smoking gun. A frame-up job, cooked up by a group of cigar smoking, nefarious businessmen with designs to eliminate anything that gets in the way of their illicit activities. Which included detectives, unfortunately.

But before I could reach this place, the three men following me vanished and a scene triggered in where I get involved in shooting my way to the murder scene. Looking rather dapper in a blue fedora and suit, I'm holding up a pistol and blasting away one by one at any pin-striped fool that gets in my way. KA POW! Down! KA POW! Next!

After a few of these, it begins to get gory with my discovery of having a "precision aim" ability where I could focus myself to the point that I could aim my gun along the bridge of the hoodlum's nose and plug him between the eyes.

A gory interlude follows as corpses pile up and the retro, 50s noir backdrops changed with each group of vanquished foes.

Then, like a video game, the enemy becomes progressively more difficult, until I reach one that seems impervious to bullets.

Ronald McDonald.

He looked exactly like the park bench likeness we've all seen at some point in our lives and in this dream, he sported a malevolent appearance, dodging and absorbing my firepower with ease.

He was also holding a drink with a straw in his hand. It certainly added insult to injury I'd say.

As I'm trying to figure out his weakness (maybe shoot him in the balls?), he gets paired up with an equally nefarious villian.

A smoking hot, big-breasted lady who's operative was to seduce me away from the carnage and thus, end the game.

Let me tell you, my rapturous audience. I came pretty damn close to putting down my sidearm when she appeared.

I guess my self-analysis on this is that I enjoy boobies more than violence, but hey this was to be a noble quest to eliminate the undesirable and criminal elements of my fair city.

As the seductress plied me with her wares, Ronald McDonald slurped away on his drink with a smile thinking I was done for as I meekly requested if I could just "look" at them. To which she cheerfully obliged and began to remove her shirt..

POOF! END OF DREAM ONE.

In this vision, I'm walking along a trail following the gal with the big hoo-has and I am no longer decked out in 50s regalia.

I'm in a park somewhere, holding hands with a small boy who I assumed to be my son; and to my left, a woman who I took as a depiction of my wife. We walked forward, trailing behind the boobied girl, who by the way, was masked from the eyes down at our initial encounter and is now unmasked to reveal a rather startling, serpetine face. Good thing I didn't "hit" that.

We walked this lady to her home, which was conveniently by a movie set that was being filmed in Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta, Canada. There was some motive of sympathy involved in this, as if we felt sorry for her.

Eventually in the distance, we spot a grand, blue house sitting in the middle of the field. In an area where no houses should exist, and this was apparently where a movie was being filmed. Starring.. omg.. wait for it...

Brad Pitt.

As my two companions excitedly took what they were seeing, I couldn't help but point out that I was here before and had already met some of the cast involved with this production.

"But not Brad Pitt" my wife chimed in.

"No. Obviously not him" I replied.

I gestured animatedly towards certain sights and explained how I'm sort of famous by association for having come across all this weeks before anyone else did.

My wife and child beamed with pride towards me during all this. We held hands and made our way forward. Marvelling at how realistically the set was designed.

Approaching the blue house, the background upon which it rested began to assume a very CGI feel. As if we were watching the movie playing before our eyes. What was once a green, grassy hill -- turned into snowy banks that people were skiing down.

Here is where the dream begins to shift, as while we are seeing all this, the surroundings warp and we found ourselves in a darkened theatre, staring at the screen with the house on it.

My son smiled and curled up next to me, resting his head on my shoulder while I positioned my right arm to better accomodate him.

On the left, my wife reached out a hand that I held gently.

And that's it.. I woke up.

But.. It's the segues that prompts me to blog about all this. How do they occur? Why?

I am trying to think of a reason as to what prompted my mind to go from being seduced to becoming a family man. There has to be an explanation for it. Did I achieve my initial objective? Or should I credit boredom and a lack of imagination for the L.A. Noire segment to converge into something else? I don't think it was boredom, as you can see it left off on a moment I would've liked to, uhm.. continue with. So what did it?

If this sounds like a waste of one's resources to consider, I would like to submit that I am personally very much fascinated by the mechanism of dreaming. It's apparent function and purpose are often debated about in the world today.

Do we dream as a way to create events so that our waking selves can be more capable of handling wild and (in this case) improbable situations should they occur in real life? Obviously this isn't true, though that is one theory I have heard.

Or is it something else? Whatever it is, it's interesting to think about. The segue is a key component of understanding the purpose of dreaming, I'm sure of it. Whatever prompted the change, might be a critical piece of the puzzle should I continue along with this particular debate I'm having.

I'll let you know once I figure things out.

Soon as I finish having sex with that big-breasted gal.

deep thoughts

Getting out of bed at 6:45 this morning, and late for work -- I started off feeling a thick cloud of resignation hanging about my person. On the commute, I began to perceive that it was a residual effect of what I wrote in my blog last.

It took me a full day's work to realize why I was feeling so melancholic. It wasn't the string of disappointing dates. It was something a little more upsetting.

I had let go of my purpose in life.

Namely, to work at finding someone to be with.

This kind of mini-epiphany brought back (ugh, here we go again) a memory involving my ex. After our final breakup, she insisted that I should let her go back to her sad, lonely life.

Apparently, I demanded too much of her. Which I disagree with to a certain extent.

But, in remembering that, I began to acknowledge the importance of spending time alone. To allow oneself to hit the bottom and to put focus back on personal development and growth.

It's a smart idea.

Yet only if you happen to be concerned with hitting the reboot switch on life and hoping to find yourself.

Perhaps, that is exactly what I need to do. Posting a consecutive entry like this, would not be possible had I went about my daily routine. I'd get home from work, fire up a cup of coffee and answer messages on OkCupid or wherever. That was a good hour and a half right there.

Now that I've disabled the accounts, I've gotten back that time.

And this is the result. An increased desire to contemplate my situation and blog about my thoughts on it.

I've always been an introverted person who needs to be left alone every once in a while so that I can have moments like this. To reflect and put together the pieces of who I am and what I want to be. When I'm getting inundated by messages and spending weekends going out with random girls; opportunities for quiet introspection are often hard to come by.

As a result, when I am not thinking enough about myself, I become crippled. Whenever my thoughts flow out to extraneous things, I'm diverting attention that could be better used elsewhere.

For instance, I have been a member of the Writer's Guild of Alberta for almost a month now and have yet to submit to them a story for evaluation, knowing that it's something I need to do.

But, the desire to send it out has never really reached the point of no return. Yet, isn't writing something that I deeply aspire towards doing for an eventual living? Why aren't I taking it seriously enough?

And the answer to that, is probably because I'm far too occupied with work, chores and people calling, texting and emailing me at all hours of the day. It almost feels like I'm losing a bit of myself each time I speak to someone. Like.. I've emptied the reservoir just a little more.

It's funny how my mind works sometimes. I get so much satisfaction from just sitting by myself near a lake with an iPod and a book at hand. It feels so rejuvenating to do stuff like that and I haven't been doing enough of it lately.

Perhaps that is partly responsible for this mood of emotional exhaustion I have been experiencing lately. I am simply not spending enough time on myself.

However, I have a plan. Yesterday I emailed Shaw Cable asking them to cancel my cable tv. Who needs that shit? A hundred some channels all peppered with redundant, brainless garbage (really, Man vs Food... again?) and I finally had enough of the temptation to flick on the one-eyed demon and gaze into it's cathode soul for hours on end.

Because it doesn't benefit me or my cause, in the slightest. Maybe it does allow me a brief respite from reality and the chance to put my finger on the cultural pulse of our world, but why should I be choosing this particular medium to accomplish those ends?

And should I really be hiding from reality in the first place?

Those are some of the things that I ponder on. With my chin resting on a pair of knuckles as I gaze out past my dusty window blinds into the dandelion infested back yard of mine.

Maybe.. happiness is a total submersion in reality. To accept that it doesn't hold the same allure as Dancing with the Stars or another episode of Destination Truth. That life is more complex, more opportunistic than simply staring at a screen.

And that's the way the cookie crumbles.

yesterday.. all my troubles seem so far away

Saturday.

Our hero gets out of bed at 11:30, still basking in the glow of being crowned Super Mega Awesome Poker Lord the night previous after winning 50k in a ten player tournament.

Fake money, of course. Otherwise I wouldn't be typing this.

So, yesterday was a date with Beverly whom I met on OkCupid and we were set to go to the zoo.

Only problem is, I am burnt out on online dating. I'm annoyed and frustrated at some of the girls that I've gone out with or have been messaged by. Look at who last messaged me, I mean.. Does she look like my type? You decide.

Do I really appeal to pudgy, East Indian women with huge boobs? Looking at her profile, I'm at a loss as to why she thinks we might hit things off. Girl, I'm white! Not to play the racial discrimination card, but really.. not only am I white, I'm skinnier than you and schooled in the decadent ways of Western civilization. There's no compatibility between us, save for the possibility that Lord Ganesha lives in my pants. Colour me ignorant on this, but I'd rather use the two hours of driving and having a drink/conversation to boost up a few levels in Call of Duty instead.

So, back to Beverly. She messaged me at a time when I was a hair away from closing my account. After a great date with Robyn the week before, where she later texted me saying "I don't think we would work out" and sending my notion of a "great date" out the window; I felt convinced that it was time to close shop.

But then, I did have this one girl left who seemed really eager to meet me. Despite my being brazen about how much the female species suck and that online dating favours guys with ripped abs and hare-brained profiles. For the girls, all they gotta do is lay back and watch the messages come in. Guys, however, have a much harder time of it given how fierce the competition is out there.

I told Beverly that I wasn't interested in dating anymore. And the only thing I might consider is "casual" which is a nice way of saying that I just want to be naked with someone one or two nights out of the week with zero responsibility and emotions involved. Of course, she wouldn't go for it, not that I was directly propositioning her, just sayin'.

She emailed me suggesting we do a trip to the zoo and I responded with agreeable indifference. I haven't been to the zoo in awhile, and if she wants to tag along, so be it. I didn't have any expectations going through my mind because I figured it was just going to be another disappointment.

How right I was.

Check this out:

(oops - she deleted her account. no picture available)

Anyways, Beverly looked decent. Despite her profile saying she's 5"11 and does Olympic Weightlifting. Again, my expectations were as low as they could go.

As I parked at the entrance, I texted her saying to watch out for a dorky looking guy with a hat and there she was.

Six feet tall and built like a fucking tank.

It wasn't even possible for me to cringe when I first saw her. I already had it in my head that this was going to be FAIL written in colourful flashing letters.

But it wasn't until I heard her talk that I realized why Beverly was having trouble finding a guy.

She IS a freakin guy! Her voice was something like Vin Diesel getting off a helium high and every time she spoke; people would turn to look at us. I'm sure most guys in this situation would turn around and leave, but hey, not me! After inspecting her for an Adam's apple (okay, she really wasn't a guy), I kind of had to laugh at how absurd this all was.

This was the perfect summation of my experience with dating online for the past few months.

Getting pictures of vaginas, boob shots, offers of casual sex, women who still live with their parents and don't own a vehicle, unattractive gals, ladies who aren't able to have any kind of a conversation beyond answering questions (those ones are brutal), promiscuous whores and so on.

In short, I don't know whether to laugh or cry at all this. I have spent half my life hoping to find the right girl and I tried so hard going out on as many different dates as possible with the most unlikeliest of people -- to see if anyone was worth pursuing.

I can tell you this. Not a single person was.

Just like Beverly.

We walked around a bit, shot the shit, had a few laughs and whatever. Despite knowing that I should feel rightfully embarrassed to be around this person, I didn't feel it in me to be disappointed. I was already prepared for that. There is no reason to be all high and mighty, thinking that I'm hot stuff while this poor girl is uncomfortable. No. I was as emotionally generous as I could be. This wasn't going to go anywhere, but that doesn't mean the whole experience should be awkward for the both of us.

As we chatted around her car afterwards, I was about to make my exit and jokingly pursed my lips at her.

Well, despite it being a mischievous gesture on my part, I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised that she planted a smooch on my face, which honestly felt quite nice to receive.

Leaving, I realized that it's always been my ego and expectations that has turned dating into such a chore. Thinking and hoping and wishing and praying for that "girl of my dreams" (tm) to somehow be around the next corner, just waiting for me to swoop her away in my scrawny arms. I mean, that's not what I should be doing. Putting pressure on myself..

Later on that evening, I felt for the first time -- a true platonic connection between myself and an attractive lady emerge. It occurred at Indigo, while I was browsing the graphic novel section and laughing at a compilation of romance comic books from the 50s.

The girl was short and cute with glasses and I simply asked what she thought about Scott Pilgrim. Because I genuinely can't figure out what's so great about the movie.

And then, a conversation emerged.

We talked about books, movies, the sexual appeal of the Twilight series, the Walking Dead, the viability of graphic novels as a medium vs straight-up novels, X-Men First Class, the Batman films, etc. It was this pleasant, twenty-minute exchange where I didn't have it in the back of my mind that I was talking just to get her number, or to ask her out.

I was living in the moment, enjoying the conversation and walking away once it tapered off after about twenty minutes or so. There was no, "want to go out sometime?" or attempts at steering the conversation towards a more flirtatious direction.

It was such a liberating experience. To be emotionally generous and not asking for anything in return.

But.. I do feel sad right now. I don't know what my future holds, despite Psychic Anna's suggestion that I stop focusing on relationships. Because..

I .. I really do want to be in love again. I want to make someone feel good. Someone I can come home to, who is waiting with open arms and a ready peck on the cheeks. Someone I can kick back and unload my thoughts on.. and to listen attentively to hers.

Someone I can curl up next to on a sofa and watch episode 7 of HBO's Game of Thrones with, rather than sitting by myself in bed alone, with a laptop resting on my stomach as I plan on doing after.

This isn't how I want to be spending my life.. but.. I can't whine about it. I tried my best as far as online dating goes. Maybe it's time to take a break from all this.

But.. I .. really think I deserve better.

And thoughts of Lauren mock me on a daily basis once more.

God.

I am such a punching bag.

getting there...

I hope I've gotten this figured out. Tonight, I would write! Damn the plot! Here is an excerpt of what I am experimenting with at the moment. It's quite an experiment, given that I've hit the 10,000 words milestone with this.

A bit of backstory.

I originally wrote this for a lark. Having a cool idea about a guy in prison who may not be the person that people think he is... I didn't take into consideration how it would all come together, but tonight -- after revisiting this particular piece; I tacked on an extra page and came up with this. Mind you, it's just the first draft and it's frickin' .. almost midnight when I really should be getting my lunch made for work tomorrow that I have to get up at 5am for.. but it's something I'm proud of accomplishing. Sure, it might not be anything special. But it's progress. And that means a lot to me.

Enjoy. (I'm skipping the previous dialogue portion just because it would be read out of context)

Jack walked over to the door, trying to peer around each corner, hoping for a glimpse of activity in a nearby cell.

The oft-talked about pool of blood was nowhere to be seen. Only the smell of industrial-strength bleach soured the air.

He could hear a rhythmic tapping sound echoing down the hall. It sounded like an orchestra of bored fingers drumming against a hard, wooden surface.

“Hey” Jack called out, in a tone of curiosity.

The tapping stopped.

He paused, but only the whir of overhead ventilation could be heard.

Someone yawned.

The bars he held onto, were cold to the touch. They resembled thorny vines, more so than the traditional ones he had envisioned a prison to equip. Everything was cold. The only saving grace was a gentle gust of ventilated air that caressed his face in brief intervals.

That chalkboard was in front of him again. But the symbols on it were different. Whatever was on there before, appeared to have been smudged strategically. Something that now resembled two swooping lines curving over an elliptical, almost diamond shape in the center looked suspiciously like the Eye of Horus. It was the symmetry of those two lines that served to awakened in him a memory of a long forgotten dream.

One that he would revisit momentarily.

Looking behind over his right shoulder, he could see Paul slumped against the wall with crossed arms, the rise and fall of his chest and the head that nodded fitfully each moment a spark of awareness would creep in.

Holding the bars, Jack squatted slowly to the floor. Feeling the metal thorns run down the crevice of his palms. Skipping over a horizontal metal truss that held it all together.

Feeling his posterior flatten itself out on the hard concrete, he took a deep breath.

And closed his eyes.

The memories came stealthily once more. The sandstorm appeared once again, but this time, the wind parted to reveal a partially completed face that filled his vision. A giant loomed before him with hollow sockets and a single ear turned inquisitively towards it’s left.

The Sphinx.

It rested on a block, brandishing the claws that long defined it’s feline characteristics. A monument that would endure for as long as perpetuity would allow, given the whims of nature’s predilection towards the creation of abrasive winds that would weather down it’s surface and erase all evidence of human artistry.

He stood, watching the hurried shadows of workers climb their way down from the neck of the statue wielding reed pails. There were men who surveyed the proceedings with disdainful looks and pointing towards a small, stone building which undoubtedly was used as safe haven or storage.

Despite the screech of wind, Jack could make out a sustained hum emanating from the direction of the Sphinx. It almost sounded like a generator engine, but having relived this dream before, he knew what it was.

In his mind’s eye, he experienced the walking motions of his avatar as it strode towards the source of the sound. A dark door made of polished, black granite and an iron hoop appeared to beckon and hasten his approach.

He clutched his hood, feeling the slapping of grains against the fabric as the howling of the wind and the hum intermingled to create a curious energy that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Before him, to the left and right of this door, were two guards. Each wore a tiara shaped like two snakes joined at the tail, with mouths wide open facing each other. Gleaming, green stones of jade were placed in their eyes, undaunted by the muted colors of the sand that swirled amist their countenances.

The words that greeted him were difficult to pronounce, yet oddly familiar. Both heads lowered as each hand grasped the hoop of each half of the door, and pulled it open.

Light bathed him from the chin down, as Jack could see a lamp burning without the aid of fuel. A flame that did not appear to flicker. Almost as if it were powered by electricity. The humming was much more insistent, and he could hear the door behind him close with a hollow echo.

A stone staircase winded itself down. He could not see anything more than seven steps ahead as each measured decent enunciated the hums until they resembled a rhythmic chanting.

A beetle watched him from it’s vantage point near the lantern. The antenna on it’s head swaying in greeting once he made his way past.

Several minutes of decension later, a stone wall revealed itself. Without thinking, Jack inserted two fingers of both hands into a groove cut along the side, and pulled.

With sullen, creaking protest; the door yielded to his hand and opened neatly into a wide, gaping chamber.

===

That's not too bad for an off-the-cuff, stab-in-the-dark, spray and pray first effort isn't it? I'm pretty good with editing, so there's a fair amount of optimism involved when I say that this kind of stuff will kick ASS. But maybe that's just me.

I plan to follow that bit up with a little thing called "The Hall of Records". It's a legend that tunnels beneath the Sphinx hold access to this mythical Hall of Records which purport to contain the entire history and achievements of a possibly extraterrestrial race. Obviously I'll be putting my own spin on this idea.

tangential overdrive

Once in awhile I like to visit the far corners of the internet and peek into the windows of the fringe.

In this particular case, I hit up AboveTopSecret.com, a website devoted to the pursuit of Truth and rich with topics ranging from the validity of Obama’s birth certificate, to the latest UFO sightings and recordings of strange sounds which may or may not be emanating from the bottom of Hell itself (it sounded like seismic activity to me).

But rather than going over the latest Jersey Devil sighting, I explored a less controversial topic entitled “The Enlightened Ego: Solving The Problem of Awakening” which dealt with the spiritual roadblock that usually emerges when a person who actively solicits enlightenment, comes face to face with an ego that bills itself as superior to everyone else merely for achieving some measure of insight into the human condition.

What’s fascinating to me is the entire process of seeking The Truth, which I can’t help but capitilize and fight the urge to insert a TM in enclosed parenthesis after.

There is a huge market, stretching back to the dawn of time that deals with this pursuit. However, due to to the experiences I have had in life, I am convinced at this point that the very seeking of enlightenment is an egotistical and ultimately fruitless endeavor.

If reading hundreds of self-help books, religious documentation and implementing various means of finding The Truth has taught me anything, it’s this.

There are no words ever written that will fully reveal what The Truth really is. Simply because, it evades a precise definition.

Consider how Dictionary.com defines the word truth, for instance.

1.

the true or actual state of a matter: He tried to find out the truth.

2.

conformity with fact or reality; verity: the truth of a statement.

3.

a verified or indisputable fact, proposition, principle, or the like: mathematical truths.

Let’s start with number one. The true or actual state of a matter.

What does actual state, mean? Indisputable? We can agree a rock is solid and hard to the touch, but is that really The Truth as we know it? Or as we perceive it? There is a very important distinction to be made there. Who’s to say that reality is a subjective experience and that our brains are projecting forth tactile feedback onto what may simply be holograms created by six extraterrestrials who have created a computer program called “Earth” populated by beings who consider themselves self-aware and of free will yet are in actuality, bots that act in a predictable, self-serving fashion?

I do admit, such a proposition would be a silly one to earnestly believe in, but one can gather up “evidence” to support such a bold accusation if so inclined. Reality is what you make it.

Conformity with fact or reality. Fact: We cannot prove anything with any degree of certainty in this world. Everything is taken on faith, even science. In fact, had it not been for faith, science and humanity would largely cease to exist. Just because something is measurable, repeatable and is accepted in droves -- does not necessarily means it conforms with facts or reality. Not even the fact that I presented above with could be considered a "fact" . It is a line of questioning that serves to inspire intellectual discourse within one self. Nothing more.

Number three lists verification and being indisputable as components of Truth. This too, is an entirely subjective judgement.

With all of the above in mind, would it not be safe to say that given the resources we have available and the vastness of the universe; that pursuit of the Truth is an ultimately fruitless endeavour? Finding The Truth implies achieving an understanding that transcends the need to question and wonder about. However, in the context of seeking enlightenment, it is only a construct of the ego to seek out a permanent, unchangeable notion that will shape one’s individual makeup in ways that an ego perceives as enlightenment.

This is ironic and to apply an analogy to better digest the above point with, picture if you will a man driving a car loaded up with fuel that can last for the lifetime of the engine. The man, in the spirit of progress, drives his car towards a destination that is rumored to contain an immensity of riches beyond imagination. He has a map, purchased or gained from an individual who claims to have arrived at this particular destination.

However, the man drives for hours, days, weeks, months and years. His curiosity wanes over this period and at some point, the search is abandoned in favour of something more appealing and realisticly attaintable.

This, is the search for enlightenment. No matter how much one perseveres, physical death is the only certainty we have.

What I found interesting about the particular topic being discussed at AboveTopSecret, is that ego inevitably clashes with itself when looking for answers. Motives are called into question, and despite benevolent intentions, humility often degrades itself in the process.

Which is what enlightenment is all about, I suppose. The attainment of humility and understanding of one’s place in the world. Yet, how would it be possible to become enlightened and not feel proud or honored by it? Should absolute power corrupt absolutely, does this not also apply to those who claim to have discovered what the meaning of living is?

I enjoy thinking about this kind of stuff, and I realize that in order to be fully awakened, contentment and self-satisfaction are crucial components. One must be happy with who and what they are and respect the world around them.

The Truth IS out there, but it cannot be found just by looking for it. And even if one should think that they’ve attained it, I can assure you that anyone who makes such claims can safely be ignored because they likely have not achieved enlightenment at all.

The wise man is the one who knows nothing, and accepts it gladly.

Or perhaps true wisdom is only the honest expression of one's true desires.

But don’t take my word for it.

Find out for yourself..

real life is more interesting than this

My blog ain't being updated. Well, not as much as I'd like anyways. There just wasn't much to blog about despite some of the stuff that's been happening.

So I woke up this morning with a dream about some white bread, cherubic looking twenty-something year old and it was set in the 1950s. The guy was backstage with what looked like an uncool version of what's supposed to be a guitar; and then he gets up on stage in front of an audience of about thirty people all dressed as he was -- in white, dressy shirts, black slacks and befuddled expressions of amusement on their faces.

He shuffles up, starts playing his guitar in the most boring, uninteresting way possible and on his right, is the "presenter" who stands watching his every move. Turns out the presenter was marketing a new gimmick, and this performance was a demonstration of it.

After a few moments of playing the guitar, the guy suddenly rams it into his microphone and starts hammering away. Everyone in the audience looked horrified at the spectacle taking place -- remember, this was in the 50s, so smashing your guitar is something that hasn't been done at that point.

The presenter dutifully explained the purpose of it and the audience applauds. The "hook" being the guitar smashing as they were all players in the music industry and were looking for the next (or in this case -- the first) Jimi Hendrix.

Then i woke up. And thought about what my subconscious was trying to tell me. The words that floated about in my mind were: "Manufactured Image". I've no idea how it relates to my world view, other than thinking of artists like Kurt Cobain, Lady Gaga, Marilyn Manson and Alice Cooper; artists who've all manufactured their personas. (Yes, even Cobain -- go read one of his biographies).

So.. is my mind telling me to re-invent myself? Or is it simply reminding me that perception eclipses the truth? It's one or the other I'm sure.. just not sure which. After my date with Robyn last weekend, I think this particular vision served as an acknowledgement towards the importance of keeping true to myself and not putting on a show of extravagance in order to impress.

Keepin' it real, is the lesson gleaned from all this. And from what I went through with Lauren -- holy shit do I need to get this tattoo'd onto my forehead.

It's that important.

And god damn it. I still fucking miss her. Why can't she grow up?

Better yet -- WHEN will she grow up?

And will I want her then?