>>5
Paxil dreams, reassembled from notes. This is notes from several dreams stuck together, but it gives the sense of the sort of writhing complexity that goes through my mind for hours when I lay off Paxil for a couple of days so I can fap to /s/ and /h/.*
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Riding on the subway past unusually small sheet-metal hangars with aviation logos of various types painted on them, edge of town, night, with some oriental womens. Then I was riding into El Paso to go to graduate school at the Texas School of Mines (not something from real life). Outside my window, herons the size of men strode by the road.
Japan, Christmas? A house, some friendly ghosts, having beer with ghosts including the spirit form of an American POW who was a witchcraft version of a metal detector; the Japanese guy that knew him said he was spiritually like an oddly-shaped piece of limestone which he pointed at in the corner.
South Africa, power lines on the Karoo, radio towers held up by guy wire posts made to look like cacti, windmills; looking like Texas but prettier. Was with a family who lived at the bottom of a sandy mine shaft in a cylindrical house one room wide; they were English or Welsh or something, Cornish miners, tea-drinking types, I dunno. Up on the surface Dad and I were driving across the green deserted land in a Toyota (me) and a Chevy (him) and this bridge over the Orange or Tugela or something has this sharp turn RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RIVER and we both go Plop! Plop! Into the water. Fortunately we can swim out easily and there’s SA highway patrol people who pull the cars out. They are very friendly folks and a couple of the officers (one guy, one gal) seem to desire social contact with me (what are they thinking? The poor fools!) I am not particularly interested in them but any attention is flattering.
Pooktavius did a series of [art]works where he was sailing with vikings who sought (something) by burning a fire all night in the northland woods and islands; but every time one would sit down before a fire, leaning up against a square of stacked logs, they would get sleepy and the coals would ignite the logs, and they would be incorporated into the ash; then P. sat down to do this also, and was really really sleepy (in the work of art he was showing us) and all these really well-done self-portraits of him appeared, warning his sleeping self of the fire; all the tesseracts, egyptians, and terrible Lovecraftian things came surging about, not sure what happened. I’m guessing the fire and ash represented his near-thirty-year smoking habit.
I woke up (still in the dream) and it was 3 AM, the sun wasn't up, everybody still asleep, but it was light outside--a really strange kind of day-night. I walked around the house, non-solar yet non-artificial light coming in the windows.
Cut to the Congregational Church, night rummage sale in the fellowship hall (in the dream I was thinking "this is where I had the dream about setting the church on fire to immolate the body of Socrates behind the plywood bookshelf/chalkboard thing, and then I turned into a really hot woman. Damn, I sure had a nice body.").
At dawn, church youth/toddlers/etc. were coming into the church for church purposes; anime nerds were still there from a thing from the night before; cops showed up, on motorcycles, in vans, buses, portable hospital, obviously there to deal with a riot of Parisian proportions; I was walking out with my briefcase thru the hospital, where burly meds were unfolding aluminum and canvas and mattresses; somebody mentioned The War and Col. Sanders laughed and said some of the people around here talking about it were there when it was still happening--I looked around for ghosts, forgetting that Col. Sanders was doubtless one himself.
Cut to a magnificent canyon descent into desert, a steep doorway, me on an invisible mule in 1864; off-stage confederates talking about The War and how it’s already lost; my hat-wearing shadow before me as I descended on foot (don’t know where the mule went). An industrial waste in the purple Chinle rock; a dogie with an injured foot; I leaned into a fried chicken/burger stand to leave a message for (a wandering veterinarian) to come by Flat Sink and help the calf. I went back and it was most attached to me, I walked by giant wheels of rolled sheet iron.
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*Ask the doctor if it’s OK to skip a couple of days every once in awhile so you can fap.