Recent DJ Posts

Something has affected the masses of society, so I escape to the mountains with my friend Dustin. We "hideout" in a classic log cabin, complete with a thigh-high wooden fence surrounding it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lincoln built it, but he probably didn’t.

Dustin and I are hiding up and away from the rest of civilization because something vague, yet dangerous has befallen mankind. We’re not sure of what it is, or how we’re aware of it, but once we find our supposed ‘solitude’ in the mountains things start to unravel. I should note that this Dustin wasn’t anything like the Dustin I know, except for the fact he looked just like him. This Dustin is immediately hostile toward me, and advances upon me outside of the cabin, and he ends up instigating a dream battle between us.

We grapple at first. To the casual observer it looks as we’re yanking each other around or shoving one another, almost as if we were “Indian Wrestling.” It is interesting to note that it was mostly Dustin attacking me. My end of the “physical” battle consisted only of defensive blocks. My offensive combat are more clever and creative (mind-oriented) whereas Dustin resorts to grunt physical movements (body-oriented). I spend most of the dream battle antagonizing Dustin verbally. My assault consists solely of insults, sarcasm, jokes, and a lot of laughter… everything I say makes Dustin angrier and causes him to retaliate stronger. I counter his punches and kicks expertly, which makes him angrier. I even allow him to land a few of his blows, all the while laughing and instigating.

I am winning the battle even though I haven’t landed a single physical blow. I believe this is because my verbal assault distracts his attention and focus, which gives ME more power. Dustin grows weaker as he spends more energy on physical attacks. I back him up against the short fence and all while talking to him, I execute my first physical assault, which is to pushhim over the short fence. He topples backward over it awkwardly, but not painfully, it was more embarrassing than anything. I have won the battle because Dustin has been made to look like a fool.

We both know that I have won, we seem to both understand the unspoken rules of the battle. I laugh in victory, which pours salt into Dustin's wound as he, upset on the other side of the fence and covered in actual dust, makes a quick movement and draws a firearm from his side. He fires the pistol at me once, as I feel a bullet tear through me. My laughter stops. I am not hurt. I'm not exactly shocked or surprised that I am shot, as I seemed to anticipate it earlier, but I am more disgusted/disappointed at the "cheap shot" (lol get it) after the end of the battle.

I touch my stomach where I am shot, and look down at my bloody hands. I shake my head at Dustin, and fall to my knees muttering snidely something about his inability for honor. I laugh again. I am mortally wounded, though I do not die before I wake up.

A beautiful woman lies naked on an ornate bed sprawled amongst numerous tall stacks of ancient books. I stand shirtless a few feet from the bed and place a few choice books on my shelf. Instead of having sex with the woman I turn away and collect the rest of the books on the bed so that I can return them to the library. Once I arrive at the library I see that it resembles the Akashic Records, which I’ve visited before. The entrance to the Records is spectacular, framed by epic pillars.



I head inside and replace the books and knowledge that I have borrowed and assimilated. I browse the aisles for a bit and stumble upon a specific dream character jerk that causes trouble within the library, and starts shit with random visitors like a bully. I walk by him and ignore him, but he steps in my path and scowls at me.

He tells me to never get in his face. Wanting nothing more than to put him in his place I step up to him and jab my finger at him and “get in his face.” This angers the jerk and we proceed to battle, first hand to hand grappling before it escalates into an epic old school sword fight. We slice and duel amongst the many rows of books throughout the library until I finally defeat him.

As I stand to walk away triumphantly, I realize that I have also been mortally wounded from the battle. I stumble over to the dying jerk I defeated in battle and say “See you in another life, yeah?” I shuffle back to the naked woman in bed, lie next to her, and wake up.

So I figure this can't be all bad, what with convenient tagging and other features and such. Carbon copying from dream journal, go!

7:00 AM awakening time:

-First part of the dream I'm with my sister and mom, sister's playin' the vidya and mom calls me to help her move furniture

-Later, I was a father, with a wife and two kids. We were moving from slums to slums, because we were being chased by the Asian mafia. We don't want our daughter (age six) to know. Our son (age 14) found out, though my wife has some mental deficit, some automatic repression which prevents her from acknowledging the cause of the mafia's dissent with us, but she is very aware of the danger. so we pack. we pack and we are silent, segmented. Are we being watched? Would they bother monitoring us? We have a plan to escape. I'm staying up all night, nerves a wreck, clutching at every outlet for comfort, thirsty for normal conversation, giving long hugs to my little girl during midnight water trips, coaxing them into midnight snack trips, eager for that added two minutes of family contact. My wife and son believe me, when I say I know where we're going. The truth is, I know they'll never let me leave. Let us leave. This hackneyed plan is only a gesture, all I can do to show that my character does not stem from dogged compliance with this situation, but the drive to do what's right. My last lesson...

We don't get very far at all. I'm on the porch with our last box. We were going to leave at dawn. An agent steps on my foot and is about to say something clever. I tell him to shut the fuck up. I'm crushed, alone. My last lesson...

We're at our new home, mother and son resigned to slavery, daughter introduced with all manner of sinister as to what's in store for her. Only half of our belongings made it here. The rest go to pawn shops. Three agents now, and I recognize them by face. They're here to give me punishment. They taunted me; they were sure I wasn't armed. Of course, I was sure they weren't watching when we packed. I bided time for strategy, but that soon caved in (caved in like my survival rate, judging by the way they talked). By a staircase and a toolbox, I wrenched out of their grip. I shot one down in an instant, turned to shoot the one behind, shooting twice in one fluid turn, so that both shots were at sloppy, thoughtless (no revenge, no regret, only instinct) angles. The third man is terrified. he has a round face and rounded teeth, and a swoopy bowl haircut which makes him look none the less ugly. I make a terrible error: I think. His gun won't fire, he makes no excuse but I'm sure I've seen the shells fly out on an earlier day. I try and bribe him in a tone that asserts confidence, but a vocabulary so honest it betrays the status quo. A door opens from a floor above. I know this well-groomed tan man. I shoot the nervous round-face, and my bullets bounce off his chest. My gun isn't forming a good seal with the bullets...? The bullets are too small...?

The man from above tosses at me some trash, contemplates his pistol, reholsters it, shuts the door as I glance at the flash bomb beside me. As the light envelopes, I can't think about my family at all. Only this. This is death, and it lasts a few seconds, and there's no pain, just a powerful thump to all of my body. Then that is gone. What now? There's the warehouse, and the flash, and I'm

a 19-year-old girl, staring at a sleeping 19-year-old boy, light filtering through the curtains.