Thread: Hi! I had a very weird dream, not weird in creatures and the alike, but in another way.

I don't think anybody read your work of fiction, other than me.

It is confabulation.

If there was any deep meaning in the dream, it would have been distinct and clear - not this string of endless drivel that you have written.

"since i’m high i couldn’t possibly escape,"

If you are so great, why did you need to seek assistance?

The only thing I believe is that you are a liar.

Learn respect for your parents and you will live a happier life.

You have a small circle of friends, which gets smaller "as IRL demands it". You feel deep down that you are not close to any of them, really. The circle grows smaller, "as IRL demands it".
You're always chasing a girl - but you are not yet mature enough to form any kind of relationship.
You have issues with authority (which doesn't make you any different to anyone else), and you dislike the idea that someone else gets the girl.
You are no exception to any rule and you lie in attempt to make yourself one.
You want to be the greatest, but it seems you're too soured.
The yogurt is your semen and the flies are your awareness that it is tainted - another sign that you are not mature enough for any kind of loving relationship.
There's some issue where you fell out with some friends over a girl, perhaps.
You're struggling to control an emerging adolescent sexuality, which is nothing more or less than the rest of creation has done.

Is that the kind of thing you want to hear?

All your words tell me is that you want so hard to be special, but you are not.

When you climb [higher] up the boat - it capsizes. Just like your life when you get high.

You don't remember you were high because you cannot keep your lies in line.
You are starting to believe your own lies.

You're such a fucking great guy, Blustrain.

If you're so amazing at interpreting - interpret this, skinkerytter:

Pell deg, dumming runknisse.

Work of fiction? I guess you could say a dream is a work of fiction. You could say my work of fiction is endless drivel, but i felt it was connected somehow and ended up here trying to understand how. Lies are there to protect oneself, i would love to be a great liar as there are many benefits, unfortunately..
If you don't live for yourself, what do you live for? You only have one life, and we're nothing more than humans, no need to be a saint...

Nasty? Great? Special? Liar? Happiness?
Maybe so

You should chill out some saccadas, i'm not really trying to piss you off.