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    The Nomad Chronicles

    Smoking Weed with don Juan

    by , 03-26-2011 at 11:29 PM (980 Views)
    I am chilling with don Juan on a mountain in Arizona. We are smoking weed and sage out of a long peace pipe. “Look, soldier. The enemy approaches, and yet none is there.” I see a swarm of locusts, and zombie confederate calvary approaching through the desert, then they suddenly vanish.

    “Nothing is real, blah blah blah.”

    “The way of the shaman is upon you. Listen to me.”

    He roars into my ear like a demon. I feel like I am falling into Hell.

    Dream Diverge

    1) I fall into Hell. Everything is obscene. I alter my perception. Now the same thing is beautiful.

    2) I am still with him on the mountain.

    “All those drugs are just gates, man. You found the gate, and now you can open it any time. But even still there is a superior way: do the drugs in dreams in your invincible dream body, and find the doors that way. Do only drugs that benefit your physical body. Avoid drugs that are only for symptoms or to alter your mind or mood. For that, we have the Realm of Gates.” We have been walking on a old dirt road in what feels the 1600‘s of New England. He swings an iron gate to a graveyard. We walk through, but all the stones are now gates. They have names of different drugs, mindsets, brainwaves, and chemicals in our own bodies named on them. We return to the mountain.

    “Now you know where that is, I will reveal you the mysteries of the universe.”

    “Yeah right.”

    Suddenly I feel like my soul is melting, and vaporizing into steam by the ray of a star. I feel like screaming, but I can’t conceive a scream due to the fact I feel like my mind is completely gone. I am nothing and everything... I am the universe... everything is. All is one, and one is all. Everything orbits around everything else. I am really one snaking centipede not really moving through time, but growing through space, using time as a vehicle.

    I slam my fist down on to the surface of the dream. BAM.

    “GRANT MORRISON!” I shout.

    He appears before me, like Professor X in a leather jacket. “You are beginning to get it, Nomad. I am you. Everything is you. Everything is everything. We’re all just part of this childish larval universe, and I am cool with that. Star in your own movie. Write yourself into your dreams. Write your life and may it be so.” He flips me off, and laughs, then disappears.

    A graphic novel appears before me.

    It’s called: NOMAD: Oneironaut
    A second one appears in my hands. It’s called NOMAD: Oneiromancer

    A series appears in my hands: The Nomad Chronicles

    A miniseries appears in my hands: WEEDMAN

    A video game console appears before me. It’s called the Wii 3. You step into a suit to play video games. I put the suit on. I am in a lucid dream video game. I am playing myself. I see Raven, Tigress, and Mosh characters in the game.

    I excitedly summon a pen and a book, and begin writing a book about myself....

    There is a writer... he is a lucid dreamer... in dreams, he is called Nomad. He becomes a god in dreams. It’s a joke... no one gets it... He dreams of a beautiful woman called Selene... He dates two women that look like her... like Grant Morrison... He writes of himself becoming a superhero, Weedman, a multimillionaire playboy writer who dons a ridiculous cannabis Green Man costume at night, and runs around giving people the cure for cancer.

    He writes of himself having a hot girlfriend who is his best friend. He draws sigils and burns them. He forgets he does this. The sigils work. Aliens laugh in joy at his magical madness. He forms a gang of dream warriors, calling themselves VIRUS with the goal of infecting the Hive Mind with the revolutionary idea of equality and peace.

    The writer is about to write about himself getting abducted by aliens, when aliens abduct him, mind, body, and soul. He visits planets in Sirius. He is only gone for five minutes of earth time. The writer appears back in his bedroom, writing about getting abducted by aliens. Everyone thinks he’s insane, but he’s making the comic book companies a lot of money, so they don’t give a shit.

    He publicly states that IBM worked with the Nazis to help them track down Jews to kill them in the death camps. His publishing company cuts all ties with him. He starts his own company, and buys all the equipment in cash.

    He makes e-comics and paper comics. The comics are all completely true, but he writes them as fiction.

    I close the comic.

    What the fuck? That was insane.

    I write in the air, “Tomorrow, I will meet a beautiful woman.” I erase it, and write again, “Tomorrow, I will have a conversation with an interesting, single beautiful woman.” I erase it again. “Tomorrow, I am me, as I always am, and always will be.. a part of everything, and nothing...” I smash the words together into a sigil, crumple it up, and eat it.
    Snowboy and Dthoughts like this.

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