recurring dreams

I often have dreams of being in a town between Dawson Creek and Vancouver, on the highway as I'm traveling on the bus.

I visit a small town community center. There are people there.

Then I visit a small outdoor museum at the side of the highway. It has pens for farm animals.



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As humans, we exist in this dimension and that dimension simultaneously. If you look at the human mind as an individual mind, probably not. But it works if you look at the Human Mind as a singular collective mind, then indeed at any given time of the day, there are lots of people in the World who are dreaming and in the dreamWorld and a lot of people who are awake in this World.

The fence behind the swingset. When I get there, as a spirit in the dreamworld, I teleport through the fence and go into the forest. The fence is the doorway. Actual doorways would be redundant in the ghostworld as ghosts can teleport through doors, walls, floors, etc. One is on the ground floor then on an upper floor in a dream thus quickly having teleported through floors. A ghost needs a doorway to walk through a passageway like a fish needs a scuba tank to breathe, that is, not at all.
This is very much like Platform 9 and 3/4 in the Harry Potter stories.


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"Your mother's vagina looks futuristic."

"Why does it look futuristic?"

"Because I'm going to fuck her in the future."



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"For the dead travel fast." Bram Stoker
I am on a bus now. My friend, the late Mark Roy is there. First he is sitting near the bank of the bus on a seat on the left hand side of the bus, port side. Then all of a sudden he is standing in front of me. We have an argument. He is glowering, hovering over me as I sit in a side seat of the bus, in the middle left hand side of the bus. He was wearing a hoodie that looked like a shawl wrapped round his face. Spectral. I felt threatened. Mark can be a very angry guy. Remembering Prince Philip, I say to him succinctly. "I have connections with the British Royal Family." He then leaves and sits in the back of the bus. I then go to the exit doors. He's there too. I tell him I'm not afraid of him, I think, this part is sketchy.


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The story of Mark Roy. Mark's been dead for the good part of 20 years. He might want his story to be told. He might, from the afterlife, say that I should write it not for his sake, but for mine. Psychic Marissa Ryan said as much when she advised someone to write their memoirs.
I first met Mark in 1993. Mark Roy was one of the greatest scientific minds in the neighborhood. He was into Lobachevsky, Marcuse, Heidegger, Schopenhauer, Spinoza, Hegelian Dialectics, calculus, Einstein, Sherlock Holmes, mathematical equations, chess. I told him that he was really smart at science. He said, "If I'm so smart in science, why am I still on welfare?"


Because Mark was such a scientific mind, I wonder if him visiting me in a dream on Friday March 9, described above was a warning about Stephen Hawking's then impending death.
One day at a party in Calgary years ago, he shot cocaine for the first time. During that experience, he ejaculated spontaneously. That's when his life took a ghastly turn for the worse because ever since then, he spent pretty much every last dime he had on cocaine, trying to recreate that experience. But he never did. Of course that's ridiculous. Even if he was able to, that would just be a five second experience. Like George Anderson said, "That person appeared normal outwardly, but there was something wrong with his day to day telepathy." That pretty much summed it up for Mark. Looking for cocaine shots all the time is bad telepathy.
Mark got AIDS from shooting up some bad drugs. Truth is stranger than fiction. Jonesing for heroin, he would looked for used discarded needles and then draw up water from puddles and shoot that up. Another junky friend of mine said, "Mark was too lazy to make a doctors appointment and then wait two weeks to get on the methadone program."
Aside from cocaine, at one time, he was always talking about rubidium. Then he re-discovered heroin and then became a hard core heroin junkie.
One time in 1996, just after the time Mark got AIDS, Mark was in an alley. He found a bag of crack in the hollow of a dumpster handle. He put it back there. An angry dealer accused him of taking a bag of crack that was hidden in the hollow of a dumpster handle. Mark said he didn't take it. The dealer took out two needles, one in either hand, aiming for Mark's eyes. The angry dealer made a point of holding up the needles, one in each hand, each hand a clenched fist holding the needles before attacking. The needles each embedded in Mark's temples. One of them entered and exited cleanly but the other one busted off and ended up in Mark's eye socket bone.
Mark was a very angry guy. One time at a Chinese restaurant, he yelled at a waitress loudly, "HEY!!!" as if she were a dog. Another time, when he was in an AIDS sickened state, 70 pounds soaking wet, we walked into a restaurant. Some people were sitting at a table. Mark said, "I want to sit here." They told him to go away. He took off the hood of the hoodie he was wearing. He looked like a demon from hell, and he yelled at them, "Can't you see I'm sick?!!!!"
Mark died from a self administered heroin overdose in April 2003 at the age of 41.
I feel guilty for having called Mark a parasite one time. I don't think he blames me for his death. Calling someone a parasite wouldn't kill a person. Shooting up used needles with water drawn up from rain puddles however would kill a person.
Mark has retained his angry personality into the afterlife. Snarky Marky.

Hermann Hesse's Demian mentions the mark of Cain. Mark had or was the mark of cocaine.



"Hey. I got something to say. It's better to burn out, than to fade away!" Def Leppard



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President of Israel - classified

Saturday, Sabbath, March 10, 2018



I saw a lady lying on her stomach, she was wearing denim jeans. I approached her.

I was in a room full of people. At one point, the President of Israel walked past me from right to left. I noticed he had his hands in a certain position in front of him, hands together upward, a hand posture of respect in their tradition. I did the same thing too. Then he stood 4 places to the left of me, back against the wall, facing the same direction I was facing.
There was a structure with railings. I had the dream on March 10. On March 20, I saw the Stephen King movie 'It'. Stan the Jewish boy was at his temple and there was a structure with railings just like in my dream!

Then he was in a row of people in front of me, his left side towards me. He was with a few people including his wife who obscured his face so I only saw a part of his face.

Then he walked away from me. Going to the right. At first I thought he was Benjamin Netanyahu because he looks like him, but for a second, I was thinking of the name Ariel Sharon. Just below and behind his ear, I saw a shadow of a natural crease. I saw this when I saw the movie Slamma Jamma. The bald white guy in the movie had that as well.





This happens in dreams if you don't recognize someone, you narrow it down to the closest two choices. I thought for a moment, Christopher Walken was Eric Idle. In another dream, I momentarily mistook King George 6 for Edward 8. People see my dream pictures and say, "That guy is getting a few elements right that he doesn't even realize." When I first did dream observation, I saw my friend who had looked old when he died, looked young in a dream, like a Hollywood movie star with feathered hair. I thought, "This is different." I didn't know then that I got an element right. Construction workers look at me funny, as if saying, "In your dream pictures, there's a couple of elements of architecture and construction that you don't even know about but that you're constantly getting right.

Prince Philip, Christopher Walken, classified, intense

March 9, 2018

Oriental ladies, a near a hallway. Then I was all over downtown. They were doing film shooting in Vancouver's downtown. At some point, I saw Christopher Walken. He was on a film set. Meanwhile I was busy doing my things, getting on the bus, travelling across town.

I met some ladies. Then we all went to my apartment. A few other people were there too. At one point, Christopher Walken was there. I told him I used to be a teacher and would show him some photos of that. He said, "You don't have to." But I wanted to. So I went into a bedroom to his right and looked for the photos. When I found them, in a small photo album, transparent plastic, I was going to show Christopher Walken. But when I went to the kitchen again, where we had all been sitting. I was told that he had left. I was despondent. I had one chance to talk to him but I missed it.

Soon, he returns with beer. I introduce myself, making sure to take his hand. Instead of offering me his hand, he gives me a can of beer. I tell him I'm glad to meet him. Then I sense some enemies with guns are coming.

We are all sitting next to a window. Someone is standing behind me. He walks away to my right. It is Prince Philip. He is dressed in a brown Scottish tweed suit. I talk to him. All of us in the room do. At one point, I am in tears being so moved to meet him, as I tell him that most of my life was unsuccessful, he reassures me, without saying a word, it was just his presence. He walks away towards an area with a kitchen to the right and a white leather sofa to the left and I see the whole thing. He falls, says something about not being able to get up and then he evaporates, leaving only a dry shell. The Evaporated Kid.

'The Police are on their way.'

We attempt to call the Police. Look out of a window onto some houses in a neighbourhood. I sense that the Police are on their way. I'm thinking, this is a major thing. A taxi cab hearse appears and as soon as he finds out the News, he throws away another body he had in the car. This is a teaching moment. When one dies, the spirit isn't thrown out of the body, the body is thrown out of the spirit that is still moving fast.

"For the dead travel fast." Bram Stoker
I am on a bus now. My friend, the late Mark Roy is there. First he is sitting near the bank of the bus on a seat on the left hand side of the bus, port side. Then all of a sudden he is standing in front of me. We have an argument. He is glowering, hovering over me as I sit in a side seat of the bus, in the middle left hand side of the bus. He was wearing a hoodie that looked like a shawl wrapped round his face. Spectral. I felt threatened. Mark can be a very angry guy. Remembering Prince Philip, I say to him succinctly. "I have connections with the British Royal Family." He then leaves and sits in the back of the bus. I then go to the exit doors. He's there too. I tell him I'm not afraid of him, I think, this part is sketchy.

I am then on a plane. Not a regular plane, but an Air Force One type sumptuous plane with suites and hallways. Although I don't see them, I know that Prince Charles and Prince William and Prince Harry are there. I am there with them because for some reason.

Then on the streets. There is a gun fight. I am given a gun but not instructions how to fire, "It's real easy to fire. Just point and shoot." and advance the chamber and reload. It was a silver gun, old West style. I don't know how to use it. I am able to use the gun on a few people before the dream ends.




Total recall, baby.


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Later on, another nap in the morning on the same day: "Everyone's waiting to see Bill Clinton!" A house, mountains, sweeping vista. Then camera, so to speak, pans right. Downhill. There's President Bill Clinton wearing a white short sleeve t shirt, white hair, distinct hairline shape. Sitting in a folding director's chair near a white trailer, Hollywood style. It's as if he's at a film shoot. There are other people around.



March 8, 2018

A hypnagogic vision of Queen Elizabeth. Hazy. Blue dress, white pearls. Old, white hair. Standing in a room looking at a wall. I heard the words, slight, "The crown."

Then I had a slight dream of Charles Bronson. He was in an apartment. A movie was shooting. He was to carry a package walking down the hall. The director gave him directions on how to carry it: "Not like a Charles Bronson. Like Charles Bronson."

March 9, 2018

Before the dream. A hypnagogic vision of Queen Elizabeth. Old, white hair. Gold dress. Leaning over 3 chairs. Back towards me.

In light of the dream, these hypnagogic visions make sense. They were so slight that at first, I was going to dismiss them.

As intriguing as they are, I never asked to have dreams of Royalty beforehand. I certainly never asked to have dreams specifically like whatever before they happen. I have no idea to the meaning. Why would Royalty visit someone like me in my dreams?