Sunday, April 26, 2015
Dream: I am in a strange kitchen of a house with stepmother, adoptive siblings. Adoptive father not there. Knock on the door. A massage therapist shows up. He is here to massage adoptive sister. Stepmother says, "I hope that he is really giving massage rather than just fooling around on the back for half an hour." Adoptive sister is hiding in room on bed under blanket. We find her. Massage therapist asks "Who is this?" referring to me. Stepmother says in her usual broken pigeon English, "He children friend brother." That means two things. He is my child, I once referred to myself as a friend when I called them on the phone, and I am a brother, adoptive brother, step brother, ostensible brother, whatever. And also that I could be a brother of a friend of adoptive siblings. Characteristically, or true to character, she shunted me into the lowest rank. I couldn't even be a friend of the children, but a brother of a friend of the children. Curious she didn't say friend of a friend of the children. Often it's what they don't say that's just as curious. Brother, obviously I figure into the schemata intensely as a brother. Brother isn't the best word. Brother has been used in such Satanic political catchphrases as Big Brother, etc.
Someone visiting to massage, that's very Oriental. Also sister getting massaged. That means sister is getting on in years. She's not as young as she used to be. The word massage in some Oriental languages is an idiom: pounding bones. Something usually associated with the old or the getting on in years.
"Dreams show the forces behind life." Edgar Cayce
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Saturday, June 6, 2015
Military round up. Me and a bunch of people including some women run into a bungalow type house. The house is messy but sparse, a few pieces of furniture strewn about. Cloudy day. Looking out the window I see troops, soldiers, running past. I hope they don't capture us, I thought, but sure enough, they come into the house and capture us. I run out, escaping. I say to the others, "When there's a military round up, it's best to run into a windowless room!" Certainly not the living room with windows while you are looking out and seeing them, they are looking in and seeing you.
I teleport to Thailand, it is an underground cave. I see a bunch of Thai Police. I want to tell them about the military invasion. I walk past them and see the abbot of Wat Th****** the one I know and recognize sitting on a leather couch. There is a coffee table in front of him. He is pissed. "Bow down to me!" I bow and he says, "Walk around the way you came and do it again!" I look at a statue to my right, against the wall. I say the words, "Galbaransingh, and Freemason." The abbot looks at me weirdly. I say the word George Baker. See, King George the 6th visited me in my dream. George Baker is code because either there is a 6 embedded in the capital letter B or else lower case b itself looks like the number 6. Just then I sense a guy behind me, he is holding a stick with a needle sticking out from it. I telepathically infer that he wants to stab that needle into the big round spinal bone that juts out at the level where the shoulders are parallel with the bottom of the neck, feel back there, it's there. Like Jet Li, Kiss of the Dragon, if that needle hit home, it would have devastated me. I turn around and grab his right wrist with my right hand. This is in a darkened room, darkened like a room would be darkened for a rock concert.
I teleport away, flying above some people sitting at tables. I say the word "Mason!" and throw a scrunched up piece of paper at them.
I meet up with another group of people. I tell them, I'm going to proceed. I look into a trunk and see my silver radio with the small blue ONN brand headphones which I was about to use but woke up soon after.
I don't know why I always have dreams of Thais and Thailand. I implicitly don't want to go there again. The only way I can avoid them is if I end my Earthly life. Or maybe they're planning to kill me. I mean, if they want to be the instrument of my death, why the delay, in the off chance that I could die in the meantime? If they were to kill me, in my case, it'd be a boon, since I'm often semi suicidal at the worst of times. There's every hope I could die of a heart attack or whatever. That would change the context. I wouldn't have to worry about going there anymore then, well I certainly wouldn't go there in this physical state.
I mean, really, if they were planning to kill me, what could I do about it?
Note: Mr Galbaransingh was my 8th grade French teacher. As you guessed it, he's East Indian or as they call them nowadays, South Asian. I guess I thought of that name or that word because it has a portentous mystical East Indian vibe about it. Almost like a talisman or protector.
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Sunday, June 28, 2015
Proviso: Keeping in mind that all dreams are weird, even irritatingly weird.
I was looking through the pages of a porno magazine. On one page, which contained 5 frames, there was a youthful looking granny, wearing very transparent peach colored silk. There was a lot of that. She was bent over, posing in various poses. In one picture she was lying on the bed with her knees up, her vagina clearly visible but looking spectral like a dried out fish.
In the last picture on the bottom of the page, she was lying down on her back but her skin was blue as if she were dead.
Interpretation: I look at granny porn. I admitted that. In about 50%, maybe 75% of the granny porn I look at, especially sometimes omageil, those grannies are dead. The porn industry is shameless about reusing porn featuring actresses who died. But one doesn't have to look at granny porn to see porn actresses who have since passed on, but it sure helps. In about maybe 4% of the porn featuring women in their 20s, they feature dead actresses. I heard of Tolkien's Armies of the Dead in Lord of the Rings but this is ridiculous. There are probably over a hundred if not a thousand Hollywood actors and actresses who have since passed on who still continue to entertain through blu ray and DVD movies.
Black lace is a symbol for the dead. Transparent peach colored silk is a symbol for female erotic sex, featured female based pornography, etc.
"Dreams reveal the forces behind life." Edgar Cayce
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Saturday, July 4th, 2015
On a bus, sitting in the middle of the bus, on the left or port side of the bus, sitting at the window seat, the bus driving through Bangkok, through the window, I see that we are passing Nana Plaza, or Patpong plaza, some place with one of those particularly shaped signs. The British expat I talked about is sitting directly in front of me. He is wearing an olive green, grey wire knit sweater, some black fleck patterns on the sweater. I only see the back of his head, his big British head. I crane my arm back my left hand curled in a fist. I'm thinking of punching him in the back of the head. For some reason, someone is sitting next to me the whole time, my spiritual guide because he says, "I don't know if you want to do that." So I don't punch him.
If he did to others what he did to me, I think a lot of people hate him. I don't think this about everybody, too. I reflected on the dream later on in the day, I thought, "I didn't know that I hated him that much!" I told my girlfriend about the dream. She said, "You must really fucking hate that guy!" I don't like him, that's for sure. I don't look at his website, ever and never will ever again, not even for a fraction of a second, not even once every ten years.
I'm not legally required to look at his website. If there was a law that said I had to look at his website that means a quorum of legislators would have to had drafted a bill, even a private member's bill, and at one point, they would have discussed that expat: "Who are we talking about? Someone in our league? No, just some fly by night drifter who would consider himself lucky to get any job there. After working all month, he doesn't even make the amount of money someone on old age pension in Canada gets."
I don't care if he dies, just as he wouldn't care if I died. If he died, why should I care? It's not like I killed him. If he dies, it'll be for his own reasons.
The last time I saw that guy was in the early 2000s. It's like this is 1985 and I'm talking about someone I last talked to in the early 70s. Or it's 1975 and I'm talking about someone I last saw during the early 60s.
Ha ha, if I'm having these kinds of dreams about him, that means chances are, a bunch of other people are too.
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Saturday, August 15, 2015
I was crouching beneath a half sized table draped over with a tablecloth looking into a kitchen. It is night outside. There is a large flourescent light on the ceiling lighting the room. There was a sink to the left with a small window with a curtain above that sink. It goes to an L shape and the cupboard extends into that L shape. There is a hallway to the right. There is a couple. I am thinking, "I am 16 right now. Why don't I go up North and work as a cook? I don't need my high school degree, it's useless." I emerge from under the draped small table and go into the kitchen and tell the couple about my decision to go up North.
Interpretation: Watch out for areas like under chairs, or especially tables with a tablecloth draped over it, or closets with a curtain over it. Ghosts often like to use areas like that to hide and observe.
I was then at a McDonald's kitchen. It was so vivid the floors had a shine, the orange tiled floor.
I really thought I was there. I said, "I am here now," and telling the co workers around me, "I had a dream I was working here! In the dream, I stood here, and here." They gave me a blank but ultimately benign look, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with me. And I asked them to hand me the silver funnel used to make pancakes and also the spatula.
Just then, the cook who used to work at the restaurant I worked at up North, Joe, he brushed past me. He touched me on the upper arm, the deltoid with the back of his hand as he walked past, in a hurry as ever. I said, "Sorry, Joe." but he didn't hear me.
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Thursday, September 24, 2015
Running through an alley in Bangkok. Night. Someone is chasing me. I run through the alley and then turn through any doorways, any openings I see, I turn left then left then left then right then right then left then right then right then left, that kind of thing. Sometimes while turning I see crates or someone working at a kitchen, chopping up food.
Interpretation: Dreams teach you things. When running through an alley and being chased, don't just run through the alleys, turn many times at random points, any openings, not just 3 or 4 times but up to 20 times or more. This is almost tradecraft. Laura Linney used that word in the movie Breach.
