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Yesterday I wrote that I was going to try lucid dreaming, but I didn't get a chance, I guess this one happened too deep in rapid eye movement sleep or whatever. I only remember from the middle on ...

A group of friends were over with their kids, and we had to go inside the house because something bad was happening outside and we needed to get inside and barricade the house. But it wasn't Artie and my little bungalow, it was some huge multi-story mansion. Anyway, we go in the back door (that we don't have) and up some curving wooden stairs (that we don't have either) and then just into the upper hallway the floorboards give way, like they're rotted out in one side. I make everyone wait and try to fix the floor, but it's all rotted and there are rats or something inside squeaking and then when I shove on the floor something screams. There's a kind of monkey or a homunculus of some kind inside the floor and it squeezes out. It's obviously been trapped there and I accidentally freed it. It's like a chimpanzee (no tail) but doesn't have any fur, it glistens. (Did you ever have a toy you loved so much all the fur wore off until there was just a shiny nap left? Like that.) I try to close the pocket doors at the top of the stairs but they're warped and don't quite meet. I know the monkeything will be able to squeeze through it. So I started throwing things over to try and kill it (for some reason there's no ceiling now) and when this only makes it angry I climb up on a table to look over the top of the pocket doors. The monkeything is rushing towards the doors, and I know it's going to hurt everyone. I leap off the table towards it, and then there's a bullet time moment in the dream where my perspective shifts and I see myself and the monkey from the side, and then we collide.

Instead of getting my face ripped off, there's a merger, and suddenly I'm back in my body again. I have a real sense of calm and peace, and I'm outside the house above the roof. Now the dream is in color (I didn't realize until now that it wasn't before). I start flying outside the house and around the neighborhood through the trees and around the homes. The sky is brilliant blue, the grass is vibrant green, the dwarf apple trees are in glorious white bloom, a yellow and black bumblebee flies beside me for a moment. It's amazingly beautiful.

So as I am flying around, I meet one of the women from Desperate Housewives (Lynette) who is flying too! We fly around a bit together and she talks to me about how we all need to keep secrets, and the flying is one of them. But she says there are bad secrets too, and that she needs to show me a secret. We fly down the street and behind a house and there's my husband Art sleeping under a tall tree with Nicola! Nicola is a single woman who lives down the street for us, who I thought was a friend.

I woke up mad, and wanted to kick Artie again, but he was already out of bed, playing X-box in the basement.

"Quiet yourself fool and begin the sequence"

From the right came a siren muffled by the screams of dying manifested images. I sat in repent of the music I had yet to create. A world of hate in which my writings became fewer as I died inside. The network of shifting sounds of pain rising up from the down low interests of wilting life. This was not a mythical place, I did not believe in such places surrounded by spiritual shit. This was real, and it came to point at which even switching off the speakers of the dead was not enough to keep the ringing from causing your head to burn, yet hurt only when thought of. This was death baby, and it ended only with you. But no such entity controlled these urges of power, these figments manifested through the tireless sitting, infecting itself with the anti-comedic satirical artwork that was but a black sheet cloaked in the smell of rot. From now on nothing changed in the darkness, the sound had ceased but the memories of tomorrow's coming kept those with ambition from interfering in the realm of murder. When would the next rising become less of a tilting chamber and instead control this world of regret? The end proved itself less of a fact than a mindset in which those with understanding of it could not know its origins, but rather had to confine themselves in a trap that would soon lead to their demise. This was no story of meaning, but rather the ramblings of an insane man, a man with the intent of destroying whatever it was that kept at him in the wakened points of drug runs and cult meetings. I cannot explain the events to just anyone, for the enemy lurks even here, in these words. The mark of mentality could no longer bring itself to the resting place in which it had promised nearly an hour ago. My time was not now, it was instead a broken plate surrounded by dreams, floating in time with the music (aforementioned). The discretion of the ones in bondage of this place was one that few understood with any clarity. The clouds had not cleared as hoped for on that dreary day, and the kids were kept inside to become martyrs and thieves. Those with the intent of not stealing were stolen from and soon became vagrants in search of death. Time and again there became clouds, and soon the world became a visionary quest for greed. The remorse was drowned out by the pills, the antidote of happiness, the queen of the damned. very soon collapse of the nation was in session, and those in its path were mercilessly crushed. Hope for the future became pain over the present, as there was no way of hoping for anything but a quick demise. And yet the music, played on...

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