Okay, I'm all upset about how life sucks and everything, even when I have everything a man could want except the most important things. That is, exciting work, work that means something, the respect and status that goes with that work, the adoration of 16 year old pretty girls all over the place in the land of the living, pictures to brag about it to everybody else.
There are simply things that are more important. So I take a dump early this morning after a conversation with the dorks about growing organic body parts [I have secrets you can't even uncover!], and thinking about how horrid I feel, and tall, I paint some lamb's blood on the bathroom door. For those unfamiliar, when Moses calls the final plague down on Egypt, it is the cloudy Angel of Death, named Azriel in Angband, a roguelike game I play. Those with lamb's blood on their doors, even Salieri, whose wife or slave paints his door for him, are spared the death of every firstborn in every family. I dunno why I did, perhaps because of bad feelin's. Then, wanting to make the dorks wait to make our conversation about organic and machined body parts, cartilage stuff [which regenerates at a snail's pace compared to bone, and which holds the cure for cancerous cells, and probably directs cellular rejection], etc, I go back to bed and dream. Somehow, I go to a party for my "cousin" and end up in a wherehouse, and I'm in the situation I'm in now, not able to speak literally about things on my mind. So these young college girls sit down next to me and they're cute and very pleasant. They touch me, but I'm not thinking about doing them at all, and that makes them sit closer to me. We talk about things, in the manner I talk to the dorks. I check their toes; their bellies are pleasant to caress. I feel the warmth in their hearts. People parade by, all attractive in one way or another. The girl next to me to my left has a craggy caucasian face, nice body, the girl I'm holding on my right has a peculiar haircut I saw in a magazine, and the others are all different; and there's lots of activity now in the convention hall. We play games like, bumper cars, and family stuff. Food is passed around, and I eat. Then I awake, and remember everything in vivid detail. I confirm from my son, who wants a baby sister, but wants a set of magnets for his birthday. Everything else is manufactured, like playing certain Dave Matthew's tracks, and posts to the newsgroup. Or everything I'm writing now is manufactured, take your pick. People usually remember dreams because they are abruptly woken, because the brain washes garbage information from itself as part of the sleep cycle. My brain chose to wake me up gently and retain this particular dream of ecstatic communion. Either biofeedback or superstitious religious crackpottery, take your pick.
