A party was being thrown at my house. Slavoj Žižek crashed it, then got blitzed and ended up crashing on the couch on the back porch.
While this was going down, my sister was elsewhere. She did something foolish which caused her to take a rather nasty spill, earning her a large blood-blister on her chest, over her heart. This blood-blister was potentially life-threatening, so someone called an ambulance and she was rushed to the hospital. Me and my parents — who were alive — only found out about this after she returned home from surgery the next day, tearfully relating the story to us as she peeled the bandage on her left breast back, showing us where the blood-blister had been removed. Suffice to say, neither of my parents were pleased by this news.
* * *
I was a teenager back in high school. I had a new teacher, who was Alannah Myles — an Alannah Myles who was sometimes muscular, sometimes her familiar slender self.
She possessed mystical powers. At a dance, she used her powers to instill me with the courage to dance with a girl I had never seen at school before. So the two of us danced; we both had two left feet, but we enjoyed ourselves nevertheless.
Then the dance ended and the girl disappeared. Alannah told me the girl had been like me, a poor soul crippled by social anxiety. I was told I'd never see her again, but the purpose of this moment was never to set us up as life partners, but to kickstart our spiritual evolution.
Now is where the dream gets absolutely bonkers. This portion is so bizarre, my hamfisted descriptions can't do it justice. Turns out Alannah was one of many angels sent to Earth to kickstart the spiritual evolution of all of mankind. Myself and millions of other people around the globe had been chosen as the first recipients of this program. We were force-fed deep-fried, sausage-sized slugs; experienced Noah's Flood from the perspective of those who'd drowned; and forced to snort a powderized poisonous insect which burned at the touch and was 90+% fatal. All this and a series of other scenarios were meant to reinvigorate our empathy, though I'm pretty sure a good number of them were counterproductive.
The dream ended on a hopeful note for the humanity. A Rob Zombie cover of Bryan Adams' "Heaven" played as it came to an end, like a movie going to end credits.
* * *
The Marxist-Leninist YouTuber BadEmpanada
came to me while I was in bed. Leaning over my ear, he began reading in a low whisper some anti-Christian screed from a heavy ML textbook he was carrying. I knew he was only trying to get a rise out of me, so instead of lashing out, I smiled, saying he was an amazing ASMRtist.
* * *
Mira Furlan spit in Kevin Sorbo's face.
Then they kissed passionately with full tongue action.
