Budgie Dream

I had a fucked up dream. I passed out after dinner. I dreamt there were two oversized budgies on the kitchen table. They seemed a little depressed so I started to make kissy noises at them. They then started to happily make budgie chirps back and then they began to make love like birds do.

I remember thinking that was a good thing until they started to drink water out of their bowl. One fell to the ground and seemed like it was dying. The other fell over in a fruit bowl on the table. I started to freak out and began to blow air on them. They then woke up as I started to awake from the dream.

Happy Valentine’s Day?

I decided to google a dream dictionary to decipher it and from my first search hit I got:

To see a parakeet in your dream suggests that a message is being conveyed to you. Perhaps, a message from your unconscious is being transmitted to your conscious mind.

Ok, budgies are a type of parakeet and this makes sense I guess for a dream.

To see birds in your dream symbolize your goals, aspirations and hopes. To dream of chirping and/or flying birds represent joy, harmony, ecstasy, balance, and love. It denotes a sunny outlook in life. You are experiencing spiritual freedom and psychological liberation. It is almost as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Ok, that was definitely the first half of the dream. That’s positive.

To dream of dead or dying birds indicates disappointments. You will find yourself worrying over problems that are constantly on your mind.

Aw fuck. This sounds like it’s representing my last relationship. At the end of the dream I was trying to save the birds and I believe I did.

That’s pretty crazy and kinda true I guess. If you don’t mind; Internet, I’m going to post my dreams and analysis regularly. I don’t know how often I pass out and have vivid dreams but it’s worth journaling. God bless.

Losing Faith while Praying the Bad Men Away

You may lose me here but I used to have a strong relationship with “God” when I was a kid. My mother was very religious and together we would pray before I went to bed and when I would wake up everyday. The praying wasn’t like in the movies where kids would kneel by their beds and actually talk to god asking for something like writing to Santa. It was more of a mantra that would put me into a meditative state–sort of like a trance. I would do this ritualistic act twice a day and it would put my mind at ease. It would allow me to easily fall into a deep sleep and wake up refreshed in the morning.

I remember I was so good at getting into this meditative state that I believed I could go deep enough into this world that I would never come back. I firmly believed I couldĀ  shut my brain off and die. Not in a scary suicidal sense but in a crazy metaphysical way. I also felt this childhood magic was beneficial to my well being as I was getting good grades and praise for my creativity. I was able to do anything because I could focus on the task at hand with the utmost clarity.

So what happened?

I entered high school and was bullied almost every single day. I would tell my mother about the bullies and her answer was to pray more. I then put it upon myself to wake up at 6 AM on school days and pray for hours to make the bullies stop. It was torture and I was miserable. I wont go into detail but they were picking on me because I was a visible minority. The bullying went on for a year and so did my praying. It wasn’t until the second year when it finally broke me and I lost my faith. I stopped praying and confronted the bullies. I sarcastically would play along with them to the point they would laugh at how ridiculous it was and the situation would diffuse. The evil smoke hole kids found a lot of respect for me. I had won and realized through humour I was accepted into every clique. I was the plainswalker. I then dominated my entire high school from starting as the outcast nerd to becoming the most popular kid.

So what happened?

I peaked. The rich hipster kids introduced me to alcohol and shitty music. The poor smoke hole kids gave me access to drugs and even shittier music. I felt a big hole from the absence of my daily prayer routine and turned to psychedelic hallucinogens to continue my adventures in metaphysically spelunking. I would trip on psilocybin mushrooms twice a week for a year until I couldn’t keep them down anymore.

I was at my peak and done. Nothing made me happy. I had zero motivation to do anything. My mind was full of so many thoughts, doubts, and worries that I ruined my academic career. I was emotionally tired all the time and stopped showing up to class in my senior year when I was student council president. It was really bad and lead to an avalanche of poor choices.

Now I’m not saying I’ve become some sort of hippy dippy religious freak or anti drugĀ  lamer. I’m just saying balance is important and don’t knock meditation. I understand now what “prayer” is all about and why it worked for me. I hope I can do it again and it’s not too late to regain the power to focus on my dreams and achieve what I set out to do 20 years ago. And I’m not afraid to admit my mistakes, swallow my pride, and do the right thing for myself. I don’t care if I’m an old, bald, white whiskered Billy now. I’m still that kid from 20 years ago full of fire and hope. Something burning inside of me kept me young at heart, kept me from doing anything too stupid that would keep me from being here and typing this out to you. Now let’s stop being cheesy and do something with ourselves.

Say your prayers and go to sleep.


Wake Up and Smell the Rotting Carp

I’m going to try to blog at least once a day to keep my mind from going like a 70 year old doing their Sudoku after an unsatisfying lunch. It feels like I woke up from a coma or walked away from serving 15 years in solitary confinement. I don’t know what happen–know exactly what happened but I don’t feel comfortable writing about it yet. Is that bad?

Writing in a LiveJournal or my ghetto geocities page 17 years ago had a sense of anonymity. The internet was this secret thing that didn’t matter to anyone except us dregs of sorrow. Now you are weird if you aren’t connected to the web at all times with a smartphone radiating your tender parts. When did people stop caring about the people who actually care about them and start chasing likes, views, and favorites from strangers and spambots?

What made me once feel ahead of the times is no longer my secret something. This private world which I would once run away to is now closely monitored by potential employers, government agencies, and friends you sometimes need a break from. What happened? Did I grow old and the world passed me by? Am I going to be bitter with the rest of my generation who didn’t cash in on creating insidiously monetized social networks, boring business app middleware, and manipulative free-to-play mobile games? Oh the dreamer that never woke up in time for class, didn’t chase a lucrative career, and stopped bothering to keep up with his peers. Where did you go? Fishing I guess.

Late to the Banquet

I have been having vivid dreams lately and I think they may be a result of being sick and going through caffeine withdrawal. I rarely have dreams or at least dreams that I remember so I’m going to document them in this here journal. WELCOME TO MY DREAM JOURNAL DURRR

Blogging dreams! Hell, I’m going to make a new WordPress category for it. Too bad this dream constitutes a nightmare.

Ok so the dream starts with me being pulled into a crowded banquet hall by my friends. It’s completely packed with everyone I have grown up, went to school, or worked with. Pretty much anyone I could consider a peer or younger that I have encountered in my life crammed in a banquet hall serving a buffet dinner. I get shoved a plate and am trying to get some food from the tables. Everyone is drunk and laughing at me while pushing me around. I lift the lid off every food warmer to find nothing is left. A server scrapes through some sauce at the bottom of a warmer and dumps some veggie bits into my plate as another server throws some left over pizza in an oven for me. The servers aren’t taking me too seriously as I clearly came late and missed dinner. They leave the pizza leftovers in the oven for too long and hand me back charred black slices. I end up throwing my plate in the garbage and that’s when everyone in the hall begins to laugh at me.

That’s when I wake up, say “fuck you, subconscious,” and make something to eat.