Phantasms of a Bereaved Orphan

Some context for this dream. On 1 February, 2019 my father passed away after a short battle with cancer. On 11 of last month, after over two years of chronic hospitalization, my mother passed away from complications with COPD.

* * *

I was asleep in my bed when I felt a presence with me. Opening my eyes, I found the spirit of my father sitting over me, 25-30 years younger than he'd been when he passed. Calmly, with much affection in his eyes and voice, he told me he'd been dwelling in Bethlehem, that he'd been sent to watch over the family. He then vanished into thin air. I was elated by this news, but that elation didn't last long; I quickly realized something was amiss. The way he'd referred to Bethlehem was as if it was a spiritual plane, which it clearly isn't. But the biggest glitch in the matrix was my mother still being alive, which I knew was wrong. At this point I realized I was dreaming and woke up.

Except I hadn't woke up. It was a false awakening. Then I woke up. Except I didn't. Then I woke up. But I still hadn't. I was trapped in a cycle of false awakenings, one quickly sequeing into the next.

I emerged from the cycle. Getting out of bed, I went outside. In my mother's garden, she and my sister were hosting a party with a group of 5-6 people. I can't remember who all the guests were.

(Barbara Hershey and Vincent van Gogh are the only two I'm certain about.)

I hadn't emerged from the cycle after all.

I approached my mother. She was 35-40 years younger than she had been. I tried making conversation with her, but she didn't seem to notice me; she only stared into the distance, face expressionless.

The number of guests suddenly doubled or tripled in size. Now among the attendees was Tara Reid, wearing a bulky bodysuit of cabbage leaves. I took her in my arms and started peeling her leaves away, eagre to uncover her body. However, once I peeled the last of the leaves away, I found nothing but a transparent membrane containing green protoplasm and organelles undernearth. Without the leaves to provide rigidity, her head came clean off her shoulders, killing her.

Then I emerged from the cycle. I went into the kitchen, over to the sink, and standing there, looked out the window. The layout beyond was radically different than I knew it to be; in reality, where a long unpaved driveway surrounded on each side by empty fields are, were two pristine homes with neat lawns directly facing mine. My sister, with her friends Todd & Dave, were fleeing one of these properties in a hurry. Tripping and falling, she transformed into Dave, Dave transforming into a third man I'd never met before. I hadn't emerged from the cycle after all. Entering the home, Todd, nuDave, and Man #3 headed towards the basement. As I approached them, Todd introduced us; it was Alice Cooper.

Then I emerged from the cycle.

Russian Drug-Trafficking Ponies vs. Yog-Sothoth/The Lady Vanishes/Wet Fever Dream

I got mixed up with a small group of Russian drug traffickers operating out of some snowbound region north of the tree line.

Bryan Adams was a social studies instructor, the ringleader of the traffickers, or both. They were trafficking blue crystal meth à la Breaking Bad.

The traffickers invited me to an orgy. One of the Russians, a 40-something blonde with a nice rump, offered said rump to me.

*↑*

But the orgy was taking place in a small, crapped office with garbage strewn everywhere; my libido was swiftly overtaken by disgust and I couldn’t stand to linger there, so I got the hell out.

*↓*

The traffickers transformed into MLP-style ponies.

A Lovecraftian deity – probably Yog-Sothoth – showed up and consumed the traffickers.

* * *

Andrea Nemeth

and I were each other’s first, true loves. Though we’d been separated at some point in our early teens, we managed to reconnect through the Internet during the late 2000s. Then around 2008, she vanished abruptly. She ceased sending me e-mails and her presence online became nil.

The only physical clue I had to the cause of her disappearance was a case of insulin vials.

For the next several years, I tried figuring out what happened to her. I got nowhere.

* * *

It was frigid and snowing outside. I had come down with a cold, and I was so physically weak that I kept falling over on my face, nearly paralyzed. At some point, I had a fever dream within a dream that I was clumsily trying to make love to a middle aged woman with long, straight, raven-black hair.

From the Dream Archives: Secret Kung Fu Agent Man/Glenn Frey: Hypnotist/3 is the Loneliest Number/Mad World/Reservoir Toydarians/Hissing High

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 12 JULY 2016)

I had this really wacky dream early this morning. I dreamt I was a time-travelling, Kung Fu-fighting secret agent — sort of a three-way cross between Marty McFly, Bruce Lee, and James Bond.

The dream was going really good — I foiled a demon’s attempt to re-convert me to Armstrongism,

(Read 1975 in Prophecy! to learn just how right he was.)

and I was kicking all sorts of malign ass — when the real-life bickering between my parents woke me up.

Just gotta love my parents. When they’re not sabotaging my life, they’re sabotaging my dreams.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 16 JULY 2016)

I had a dream early this morning where Glenn Frey

hypnotized me and Gillian Anderson using a video played from a smartphone. Once in the hypnotic trance, I had a dream within a dream of a woman getting her teeth cleaned at a dental clinic.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 19 JULY 2016)

Had a dream were I met and got romantically involved with two different, equally vivacious women.

I informed neither of the other's existence. Regardless, one of the girls found out about the other and gave me an ultimatum to choose between them. As I liked them both equally, I didn’t want to have to choose between them.

(Where's a Fly-type transporter when you really need one?)

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 7 AUGUST 2016)

My last dream was pretty disconcerting.

It was like I was trapped in a Twilight Zone episode where the laws of physics themselves seemed to be breaking down around me.

I would see things appear and disappear in-and-out of thin air without anyone else noticing,

and the people in my life themselves would change shape – take on different hairstyles,

skin colours,

even different dimensions.

Matters got so bad that I opened the front door of my home, and facing the cold winter weather outside, I screamed out to God to deliver me from whatever was happening. It seems God did answer my cry, for the weird breakdown of reality came to a halt. In this new stabilized reality, I found that I was now blond, in my early teens, with a pronounced overbite.

I was also the sidekick of both Superman and the Flash, dressed in some Kid Flash/Superboy combo outfit.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 12 AUGUST 2016)

This dream began with me connecting an N64 console to my TV and struggling to get a pristine reception through the screen. Then some weird shit with my house catching fire transpired and the dream realigned. Suddenly I found myself watching a SW equivalent of Reservoir Dogs. Watto

had brought all these gangsters together for some nefarious purpose. One of the gangsters was played by Bryan Adams.

Anyway, Bryan did something which pissed Watto off, so Watto had him killed.

* * *

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 15 AUGUST 2016)

Had another one of my “back to high school” dreams earlier today. In this dream, I was crawling through the hallways and up-and-down the stairs on my belly like I was a giant lizard, hissing at anyone who looked at me the wrong way or tried to interfere with me.

From the Dream Archives: All that We See or Seem Is but a Dream Within a Dream (Within a Dream)

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 10 JULY 2016)

Basically, this dream began with me going back to my old high school to finish off my high school education. This is a recurring dream theme of mine — going back to my old school, where I was expelled back in 2004, the only student there in his twenties, with all the classmates I knew from way back when long gone, leaving me peerless and lonely. Anyway, in these dreams I usually just go through the motions. I may be searching for someone or a photograph of someone I knew from the past,

but otherwise I handle myself well under the circumstances. This time, however, this time I had a nervous breakdown. I started screaming that I shouldn’t be there, that if it weren’t for all the bullshit I had gone through, I would’ve graduated years ago.

That’s when the dream got really bizarre. Suddenly, it was revealed that I wasn’t really myself and that none of this was really happening. I was really a teenaged kid — fourteen or fifteen — who resembled a young Rod Taylor,

the adopted son of a lesbian couple, who had suffered a psychotic break, leading me to believe I was a completely different, older person.

Oh, but the weirdness really jacked up from there. I then slipped on a red visor,

and in doing so I was able to perceive another person in another world; this person was me — not the teenaged Rod Taylor me, but the me me.

Only I was dressed like a man from the '50s — with short, slicked-back hair, attired in a neat black suit — and I was seated in a chair, hooked up to a virtual reality machine.

So, to make it clear, the dream was about this: A 1950s version of myself was hooked up to a virtual reality machine, causing me to experience a VR simulation where I was a teenaged Rod Taylor, who was suffering delusions of being a far older man, who was suffering a mental breakdown as a result of having to go back to his old high school.

(I think Philip K. Dick would’ve been proud of this dream.)