‡This blog is a return of a dream blog shared more than a decade ago. I am adding it here rather than my usual focus on principals of the House of Windsor and the evolving relations. I have chosen to take a break this month as I am working on a more detailed blog for next round. Besides, after the animus from last month’s blog, “To Be A Princess, You Have to Be Born A Princess.” I am so wary of predominantly Americans having decided that Meghan is Princess Meghan, Duchess Meghan et al. Why must Americans always decide that they must put their take on everything, because as it was – in this case royal styles and titles – of course it was all wrong until they decided to fix it.
Let me take the time to share this photo that left me brimming with joy. Never before has Catherine, HRH The Princess of Wales looked more glorious; furthermore, William wore the Windsor uniform and has his left hand on his wife’s waist. Someone chided me because I posted this image on my Instagram; they wanted to know how I could do so when I hate them. Firstly, you can hate no one. I will never forget how my lips trembled and I grew teary as Catherine stood there in her Sarah Burton for Alexander McQueen wedding dress, at the foot of the aisle. She was in closeup, looking at the dean of Westminster Abbey and smiled her earring matching her eyes sparkle. You can never eclipse a winning wow moment like that. Heck, everyone told me to be quiet as I began yelling at William and telling him to get up and sit properly but to remain standing until his new bride was sat in the landau. Then Meghan came along and they proved themselves far too human and myopic without realising the gravity of their roles. Meghan could never be a threat; they are both in their destined role as further King and Queen Consort/King Mother as was the case previously when William was then King Henry IV and Catherine his first wife, Mary, who died young. As Meghan was Margaret Beaufort and thus no reincarnational pushover, boundaries clearly had to be set and the current arrangement is the best way to have establish one’s self-respect and dignity and not be subjected to a insufferable, racially predatory degrading work/life experience.
These next dreams occurred on March, 26; however, rather than 1995, they occurred in 1998. I was then resident in Montréal. What’s more, the day was Thursday and at the time, the Moon transited both Pisces and my tenth house.
It was a rather long, involved, operatic dream and it was an encounter with an extra-human (ET) species never before encountered in the dreamtime. Hey, you want to believe that Mary lay down and gave birth without once having beautifully made love like every other woman and that the universe was made simply for unimaginative human dolts to gaze in the sky and praise their made up deity, knock yourself out.
The purpose of being incarnate is to explore intellect or else we are merely nothing more than semi-feral simians over-breeding and out of season at that… That having been said, the purpose of being awakened in the dream realms is so that one can awaken to the personal truth that all of life is experiential.
It is not for you, dear reader, to project and read into what the dreams shared herein are about, any more than it is good work to go crossing to the other side of the street, more firmly clutching your handbag, at the sight of me – Black male – approaching; I don’t want your fucking handbag… you pigeon-toed dolt…
After having read the next dream, please try and fathom the futility of trying to ‘read’ the signs of dreams. Experiences in the dream realms are as real, at times even more so, as the regurgitated maya-saturated dreck we daily drudge our way through oftentimes somnambulantly…
Why do I dream as I do… choice, of course. I chose to thusly be focussed in this incarnation. I do not nor have I ever done drugs; no shrooms, DMT, Ayahuasca, no LSD, hell, I do not look at television, do not own a television… it is mindlessness… the last time that I watched television was to look at both inaugurations of President Barack H. Obama and between those events, the royal wedding of William & Catherine – so beautiful when any two souls find each other in this vast universe – and you know that I’ve watched it repeatedly on DVD since… I choose being focussed in each moment of being incarnate whether awake or asleep; and trust you me with the amount of fear and bullshit in the waking state one needs the grounding and fluidity of the dream realms to repair the spirit. Of course, being focussed in the dreamtime is a function of being a sixth positioned, late-mature artisan; if I don’t like what’s going down on channel one, I’ve got four other options – who needs TV, seriously? Of course, why do drugs when crystals, isolation tanks and pyramids can do wonders for harmonising and focussing the mind, body and spirit to afford the unfoldment of intellect – especially when focussed in the dream realms… imagination is everything… besides, as a sceptic, it did not take too long before I realised that choosing the easy route in life looked like no end of ennui…
Now before you dismissively sniff, let’s move on to the reason why you are here, to be richly inspired by my spirit’s light as it manifests when in the dreamtime… there is negligible growth in fearfulness… pay keen attention to how I chose to respond to the dream experience as it unfolded; I’d be honoured if it inspires you…
Here, in this the first dream, I was lucidly awakened. Night-time found me with a friend whose sex I am not now certain of. The person was about my height and seemed energetically to be a man.
As we walked on a wide boulevard, up ahead I noticed that the street dead-ended. Beyond it was an empty lot. Here it was bright out though not necessarily a full Moon. Here the energies were strange, just a tad off. The buildings all around were made of red brick, like those buildings at Ellis Island New York where Eurotrash descended like feral jackals in the last century.
This place left me feeling as if I were in Brooklyn, New York City. The buildings were reminiscent of Brooklyn brownstones except that these were six to eight storeys tall. Set back a bit from the road, these were though rather colossal buildings. What was weird about it all was that the entire area seemed to have been long deserted.
Something about these houses just didn’t seem right. Sure enough, someone headed down the street towards us. Finding the place a bit on the creepy side, we had only noticed him for having turned around to check out the lay of the land. Swarthy, he had a full thick beard with a look that was not readily discernible. He could well have been North African, Hispanic, Jewish, Arabic or even Italian. His look was a mélange of so many ethnicities.
He wore a parka which struck me as odd as it was not cold out; neither, for that matter, were we dressed for cold weather. Joining us, he began speaking to us warmly with energies that were nonthreatening. I had been the one to have initiated dialogue. When heading down towards the dead-ended street, he had joined us in the middle of the block. As he walked, I encouraged him to walk between us. I pointed out that the buildings seemed like those at Ellis Island which were featured in the film, Brother From Another Planet in which Merlin’s friend the actor, Noëll Saltmarche starred.
As I had never been to Ellis Island, I added that I couldn’t be sure that it was as much. Perhaps, I speculated, it was that part of Brooklyn in the neighbourhood of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. However, he shrugged off the suggestion; he seemingly was more confident of its location than either my friend or I were. As we progressed, I asked why exactly we were headed towards this dead-end in the boulevard anyway. So we turned around and when I went to look up into the face of this burly brawny man to smile, I noticed the sky just beyond his towering face. He was a warrior-spirited man with a great deal of Jovian energies to his body.
Here, there were a phenomenal number of intensely bright stars in the night sky. One constellation caught my eye but left me confused as to whether it was Orion or Pegasus. I pointed out its odd formation in the sky but the stranger pointed out that it was nothing really. He seemed much too casual about it all. Clearly, he was trying to distract me from cluing into what was up here.
Right away, I grew wary of his motives and wondered what all of this was about anyway. My friend looked up and confirmed that this was not the heavens as, in the waking state, we perceived them from Sol local. Absently, he said aloud that there was something weird about this which there was. In the sky was white light in the shape of an arrow which led from what was clearly Orion off to another constellation. I remarked that there were never arrows in the sky before, either from Orion or any other constellation. Obviously, there was something about all this that was not Kansan in the least.
It seemed highly improbable that there would be any manmade objects in orbit that would be in the shape of an arrow. With that I suggested that we walk back rather than proceed any further. Artfully, I claimed, wanting to go explore the other streets. I said that I wanted to explore the architecture in the neighbourhood which I describe as being charming. Though the buildings were mostly red brick, there were some architectural signatures which were of pale sandstone that nicely set off the red brick. They were, however, far and few between. The colossal buildings here tended to have clock towers on them for the most part. The taller the buildings rose in the sky the more they receded ziggurat-like with towers of impressive neo-Gothic spires.
My keen sense impression was alerted to there being something odd about these buildings. To my way of thinking, they seemed merely façade for something else entirely different. Most of all, I knew quite lucidly that I was dreaming – which is to say that, at any time, I could collapse the experience by tuning vibrationally away from this place. Yet my curiosity was piqued by the outréness of the place. This is why I had been keenly observant of the stranger’s energies. For this reason, so as not to awaken any alien and possible inimical response in him, I had been warm and engaging with him.
Even his parka seemed so much cover, hiding god-only-knows-what outréness about his physique, which would prove alien to humans’. In a friendly but dismissing gesture, I went to place my hand on his arm – to affectionately pat him – pointing out that it was good to have seen him and hoped to see him around some time. I again touched him, this time just beyond his wrist, only to feel a skin that was covered throughout with large knobby clumps. For the life of me I couldn’t tell whether these were clumps of his hirsute hairs forming into little dreadlock clusters or the fact that he was diseased. If the latter, perhaps, it was his reason for wearing the parka. Either way, it just didn’t seem all that right to me.
It was as if the skin of a crocodile or at least as one would expect it to feel. Though it was most bizarre, I kept direct eye contact with him; I chose never to betray dread or fear in what sinister extra-human this could possibly be. Saying that he would stay behind to study the stars, he agreed to say so long. As we headed back trying not to do so, too hurriedly, I looked off to the right and noticed a spectacular array of stars in the sky. Both of us stopped to marvel at the beauty and intensity of the stellar concentration. It was as if being close to the hub of our galaxy, it was quite fantastic.
Just then, I noticed yet another arrow streaking through the blackness of interstellar space; this one considerably longer than the one which streaked from Orion. From our extra-stellar perspective, both Orion and Pegasus seemed to have collided several million light years earlier and left an amalgam of both. It was all very strange. The head of the arrow, plus a bit of its stem, had been protruding from Orion. Now with this newly discovered arrow, its light was made of black light.
Even against the blackness of interstellar space, it was a discernibly black light. It was considerably longer than the white arrow. To my right, its point was headed away from the street on which we stood truly spellbound. It was at a fifteen degree angle to the deserted street. Since there was something much too weird about it all, we decided to turn back. What’s more, the man was no longer with us. Though extra-human he may be, it was good to have had anyone rather than no one.
On turning back, though we had only taken a few steps, the man was no longer anywhere to be seen. Certainly, he couldn’t have entered any of the buildings as they were far too removed from the sidewalk for him to have dodged into any of them. Quite simply, he had vanished into thin air. My companion said matter-of-factly, “Oh well. He’s definitely an extra-human and has beamed up.” Even if he had leapt into the sky to take flight, we would have at least seen him aloft, yet he was nowhere to be found. There was definitely something afoot here.
I told my friend that we had to make ourselves as scarce as possible; thus, walking briskly to the point of being on the verge of jogging, we took off. However, looking as menacing as one would expect sinister extra-humans to be posturing, two other men had immediately come from the buildings up the road. Again, they looked pretty much of the same stock as the disappeared, parka-clad extra-human did and were also just as abundantly hirsute. They were exceptionally tall, close to seven feet, and seemed as if hobos.
That, of course, was all part of their camouflage. However, it was not their true identity. I told my companion that we simply had to split up, to confuse them, he agreed.
With that, I pushed off immediately and took to flight. Now I was flying, at great speeds, veering off to the left though I had been on my companion’s left. Going along a street after having sped across a row of identical, red-bricked colossal buildings, I flew on ahead. As I flew on, I looked after myself to find them standing there on the ground. Surveilling me keenly, with an intense fixed gaze, they stood there on the street below. It was as though, by means of telepathy, they were recording my flight to transmit it live elsewhere. I then noticed as I flew overtop the city that there were never any persons on the streets.
However, from time to time, one would see the same kinds of people like the hirsute stranger who in his charming way had at one point had his arm around us whilst directing us ahead. Had we not been aware, he could well have captured us. What was of concern to me, rather than their camouflaged, none-too-convincing human disguise, was how these persons looked in their natural state. Who knows what their agendum was? Were they here to hurt us? Did we represent nothing more to them but food? Were we dispensable collateral?
Were their interests solely in seizing the planet for their species and as such Earthlings were like Africans, squatting on valuable resource-rich, real estate, are perceived by the rest of humanity? This left me thinking of how very vulnerable we are for being here isolated on this planet. We are as if truly alone in this sector of the galaxy. Of course, like any individual long isolated, we humans have been a deeply troubled fragmented tribe. How pray tell would we fare if we were to be visited by an aggressive species of Extra-humans?
One rather suspects that they would care little about who was who on the racial pecking order but see us all as dispensable. We are not a united species and for that there would be no way that we could prove anywhere of a threat to any species with designs of a hostile intervention on this planet. These people walking about in human camouflage were quite Wotanesque in stature and looked very healthy indeed. Clearly, neither Earth nor humans posed an inimical proposition for their agenda however sinister or otherwise. Following the streets below, rather than staying over any of the colossal buildings, I kept on flying over the city. Too, I remained not too high as I didn’t want to be tracked by the Extra-humans.
Besides, who knew if there was some ‘cloaked’ spaceship of theirs hovering invisibly just above the rooftops. This would leave me vulnerable to being readily attacked or apprehended by them.
Eventually, I flew on ahead and came to an area where more of the same buildings enclosed a square. Here the buildings were ancient and were built such that it was reminiscent of being in Lower Manhattan, where that part of town was built during the early part of the 20th century. On arriving at one building, I hovered above the courtyard or the back thereof. Just as I was about to alight on a ledge, I looked for an open window. I discovered an open window so slowly began alighting towards it. Before touching down, I saw a young Chinese woman inside it who looked like a student. I remained hovering in the air outside and slightly above the window observing her as she paced neurotically about the room.
She was speaking to herself and was noticeably upset about something. Exasperated, she sighed heavily saying, “I just can’t take this anymore. I have to do this…” With that she came and stood on the ledge of the wide-open large window in what seemed like an industrial-building-turned-loft-space. She squatted on the sill, wearing black pants which revealed her wide-hipped with a burgundy-coloured top over top that. She would have been in her early twenties but very intense.
Hers was a cramped, very beautifully laid out apartment which reminded me of my tiny apartment at 425-1915 Haro Street in Vancouver’s West End. Even down to the walls, they were the same cream-coloured affair as that apartment of mine. Before I knew what next, she pushed off and began falling straight down to the ground. Never once did she make a single sound. She landed hard with a thump that had a massive sonic impact on the environment. This I think was because of the gravity of what she had just done. Definitely, there was no way that she had survived this fall. In an old building with high-ceilinged floors, she had been more than five storeys up.
She fell into the courtyard where it was damp below. At the time of her suicide, there was no one about to witness her violent exit. I then landed on the same sill just after she pushed off. I had no intentions of trying to stop her as it was fairly obvious that she was determined to carry out her deed. The whole thing was much too massive, karmically, for me to have tried intervening. I didn’t know the score – what was motivating her to do what she did. Like all suicides, what she was doing carried too massive a psychic burden for me to have become entangled with her.
Since I needed desperately a place to hide out, her place seemed ideal. Her untidy, selfish exit was all very convenient for me. On entering her just-vacated apartment, I began exploring it. The place was a very scholarly-looking dwelling. There was no getting around the fact that this woman was a Scholar Soul. She was quite a well-organised student. Off in one corner was a kitchenette where she clearly did like to cook. Lots of seasonings and drying herbs were stuffed everywhere in the kitchenette. Though a tiny space, every nook and cranny of it was perfectly laid out and compartmentalised.
Taking the time, I tried to get a good appreciation of her just concluded life. To that end, I went pouring deftly through every square inch of the place. I absorbed all the clues to her life and emotional makeup as exhibited by her dwelling. One had the sense that this woman was so tightly strung that suicide would seem to have been a most logical solution to a major crisis. I tried not to leave fingerprints about. To that end, I had grabbed a piece of fabric from the kitchen that was green and white though not checkered. I used it to pull drawers and items open as I poured through the place. All that I wanted to know was where the devil was the door from her tiny apartment that led out to the hallway.
Each time that I opened a door, the cloth in hand covering the knob, it would lead into yet another well-stocked, cramped closet. After having cautiously opened yet another door, only to find no such thing as a door to the hallway, it became a bit amusing. One door, which I was convinced led to the hallway, led right into her bathroom which was fragrant-smelling. To say the least, it was quite nicely stocked and ladylike a place. The kitchenette was beautiful with a wonderful rack system in which she kept all her fresh vegetables. There I saw spaghetti squashes, on one shelf, whilst above that ripening tomatoes. Still below the squashes were onions, garlic, shallots.
Interestingly, she used the slat-filled crates in which produce was shipped to stores, converting them into a drawer storage system in which her produce were stored. In that way, they were able to breathe without growing mold and going bad. This was so beautifully organised that it was quite good to have seen. I was saddened that she had had to choose suicide rather than seek some other resolution to her crisis whatever it was. I thought that for having experienced her dwelling that she was a beautiful person which only made her passing that much more tragic a loss. I was saddened after having taken a tour of the place.
In all honesty, it had never been my intentions to do any such thing but in the end that’s what happened as each door led me to anywhere but the hallway. I wanted to be able to leave the apartment unobserved without, having disturbed anything, giving the impression that I had been an intruder. From there I had planned to go downstairs, and take my leave of the building, so as to blend in with the locals. Off to the left of the window, on entering, was a door which originally I had assumed was a broom closet. In the end, it would prove to be the apartment’s front door but there were no demarcations on it to suggest that it was such.
The bathtub was a tiny affair which couldn’t have accommodated anyone other than a child. Adults would have to stand up and take a shower rather than attempt taking a bath therein. The whole style here was decidedly 1930s, in the deco style though not exclusively. The student had a laptop computer over on a desk on which were, piled high, all manner of books. Rather a beautiful space, this place. An old faded rug dominated the central living space which was not especially large. The main room was not square as over in one corner the lines were broken to accommodate the bathroom area. Diagonally, was the alcove which led to the front door, next to the single large window which flooded the room with light.
The window was a sliding affair whose bottom half slid up to open. A lone futon was the only signs of a sleeping area which I suspect she customarily never had time to open beyond the sofa position. The desk with laptop was directly across the room from the large open window. Off to the left, beyond another alcove, and across the room was the door which led to the kitchen. Once inside, there were tiny, white, quarter inch square tiles covering the kitchenette floor. Intentionally faded, the look was caesarean Rome.
In back of the sofa, there was a wall of bookcases. Every square inch of each crammed, of course, plus there were lively, healthy hanging plants cascading from on top. One didn’t get the sense that she owned a pet besides which I didn’t see one. The bookcase unit created a partition of sorts around which she could retreat to get undressed. Obviously, this woman did not entertain. A very studious woman she was. Wondered as to what could have caused her to have snapped. It didn’t seem as if she were the type to become caught up in some intense amour fou ménage à trois, in which she was betrayed and lost out in the end.
More than likely, she had probably failed miserably on her exams. Or perhaps she had been found out cheating in which case the only way out for her was suicide rather than be expelled and dishonoured. I really did feel for her loss. Going to the apartment’s front door, I slowly pried it open cautiously. Before doing so, listening to see if there was anyone outside who would possibly see me, I had stood there a long while. Seeing that it was the dead of night, I thought better of being so overly cautious as there was likely no one outside. Indeed, hearing that there was no one outside, I slowly opened the door only to have discovered the bathroom. It was hysterical indeed.
Eventually, I did find the nondescript alcove through which one entered and exited the beautiful little apartment. Sure enough, this was the apartment’s front door. The large window was the second to last from the end of the building; however, there was a stairwell close by as soon as you got into the hallway. She was in the back of the building and looking to the courtyard; once outside in the hallway, the building was laid out confusingly. There was a large, grand square formation staircase in this wing of the building which led downstairs.
Looking below it was quite the drop to the bottom which was a marble-tiled affair. A long-haired White male student had just left his apartment and heard when I closed the door to the Oriental’s. His was dirty blond and parted in the center. Familiarly, he had called out to her, calling her ‘Junko’ which is definitely a Japanese name. On seeing me, he became immediately concerned… understandably. He knew that she almost never had anyone in her apartment. Even more awkward was the fact that I couldn’t tell him that his friend had just committed suicide.
More than that, there was the matter of her apartment window being open with her dead body below in the courtyard. This did not look good for me at all. He naturally had every right to assume that for having seen me leave her place – a total stranger – that I had been an interloper who, once confronted, had shoved her to her death. It was the only logical thing to have concluded and race had nothing whatsoever to do with that conclusion. Junko, a loner, wouldn’t have had a stranger there. Seemingly, this was a student’s residence connected to some university or other. Naturally, he would have known that I was not a resident in the building.
Since I was clearly out of sorts there, I doubled back on myself. Only further implicating myself, I made my way into a tiny, narrow wooden fire escape. This was, of course, inside the building itself. On leaving the building, in a bit of a rush, I noticed two women standing outside. Wearing outfits which made much noise when they walked, these women were unusually dressed. There were tiny squares of bronzish-purple colour which were made of pliant hard plastic. They stood at the foot of a wonderful old European cobblestone bridge that spanned a river; it was not as wide as the river Thames is at Westminster Abbey.
All the fixtures here were beautiful, rich with black art nouveau lampposts from a bygone era. Their lights cascaded over, like hanging plant in bloom. They were on the left side of the bridge when looking towards the city’s other bank. Standing there, they solicited by handing out flyers. I for one didn’t want to get too involved in the crowd that they were attracting. Then again, I didn’t want to make myself conspicuous by snubbing them. Instead, after having taken the flyer then feigned reading it whilst hurrying away along the bridge, I pretended to be in a hurry. Here, as I crossed the bridge, the sunlight was beginning to come up.
The first thing that I noticed on crossing the bridge was that all the buildings here were like those first seen which reminded me of Ellis Island. Something was quite so off about this entire place. Seeing a table close by, I decided to go there to sit and get my bearings. There were already three women seated at the table. Approaching them, I asked if they would mind my sitting there. It was a large round table at an outdoor café. It wasn’t until sitting down that I noticed in my hand the same dish cloth, so as not to leave my fingerprints lying about, which I had been using back at ‘Junko’s’ apartment to handle everything.
Discreetly, I placed it on my right thigh to make it look like a napkin. My back was being bathed by the rising sun behind me as I drank in the energies all about me. The women were visiting warmly, laughing and enjoying themselves. These were genuinely happy persons. Not wanting to intrude on them by doing or saying anything, I ordered something to eat. They told me not to mind them as they visited and I assured them that I would be quite okay keeping to myself. The next thing that I knew, however, some undercover cops showed up. They apprehended me and placed me under arrest. Feigning ignorance, I asked what they were talking about. Yet deep within I knew that, my having been in Junko’s university residence and after having been seen by her long-haired friend, I was a prime suspect.
Of course, no one had shoved Junko to her death any more than Junko had willed her way to her death with great forcefulness. They told me to stop pretending because they had gotten a good description of me from a key witness who had discovered Junko’s body. Apparently, many persons living in the complex had seen me leaving. Basically, they had pieced together a scenario not wildly removed from what I had long concluded: that there had been a struggle between Junko and me when I broke into her apartment. Naturally, being larger than her, I had been able to shove her through the window of her apartment to her death. They told me that one of the witnesses had heard Junko scream.
This I knew was bullshit as I recalled distinctly Junko never once having made a sound as she violently tossed her body to her death. Needless to say, this was not what had happened but naturally this made sense as they made a science of pinning me with her death. The officers then instructed me to look to my left as further proof of my having been the perpetrator of Junko’s demise. There, I noticed that the wall was a reddish-to-sandstone colour which looked like fired clay. Nicely camouflaged against it was a ladder which was of the same material and colour. Its purpose was for getting one up to the building’s fire escape system. This, of course, only further cemented their case against me.
They accused me of having used that ladder to make it onto the fire escape. As it turned out that building though on the other side of the river was part of the same complex in which Junko lived. That having been the case, it stood to reason that after having murdered her, I had slid down the fire escape then sat there at the table taking a meal. All of this conjecture when I didn’t even know the women with whom I shared a table. True enough. This definitely did not look good. They got me up, carrying me to a low-riding yellow transport. A lone Black woman stood there looking on at me with a look of deep anguish warping her face.
To protect its passenger, the yellow transport had flaps on it. There was little room inside as I sat down low to the ground – the flap covering me up from being made a shameful spectacle whilst being transported. Soon I was joined by a Black female officer who came inside the already crowded transport. Before I knew what next, she began groping me being really aggressive about it too. More than that, she was really squeezing on my balls. Ouch! Forcefully, without missing a beat, I began violently kicking at her and told her to fuck off. Kicking her aside, I shoved aside the flap and bolted from the transport.
As it travelled, seemingly on autopilot, I had been sitting with my back to the front of the transport as it travelled. My transport was part of a long caravan of similar transports. Obviously, the other cars were filled with other convicts whom they had already picked up. I intended not to be part of their daily catch. As the others were quite prepared to be hauled off to some holding cell or other somewhere, I had no such ambitions. This was much too ridiculous. Escaping, by not running but simply soaring high into the air at fantastic speeds, I simply took my leave of the place. My destination was back to the complex where Junko had committed suicide. If only to somehow right an injustice, I wanted to return to the scene of the crime. I wanted to see if they had already removed the body.
I alighted onto the sill of the open window which was opposite Junko’s across the courtyard. Naturally, this apartment was set up differently as it was reversed to Junko’s. I entered, only to find a young White woman there who was all skin and bones, definitely she was suffering from anorexia nervosa. As a matter of fact, she was so skinny as to look otherworldly as though an astral plane habitué or an extra-human. On closer inspection, I noticed that her complexion was definitely not human rather she was yellowish-white. Not unlike the extra-humans in the, Ron Howard film, Cocoon, was she.
Throwing water on her body, she was seated in the quarter-sized tub. Further scrutiny revealed that she hadn’t any hair on her oversized cranium. This was not a situation where she was bald for having undergone chemotherapy rather she was void any hair whatsoever. Clearly, I had long flown the coop which is Kansas. There was no escaping the fact that this woman was an extra-human. It took a while before she noticed me and when she did she fixed me with jet-black oversized eyes. Quite simply, she was bizarre-looking. Depending on her moods, thoughts or emotions, her skin seemed to glow at varying intensities. There was a yellowish hue to it but not as if she suffered from jaundice.
In that sense she looked as if made of time-yellowed old ceramics. My initial thought was, “Well I’m definitely not going to want any pussy off you.”
With that I didn’t even waste time making for the door, I simply tuned out; thus, I effortlessly moved through the wall of her apartment and went into the hallway. On this side of the courtyard, the building was set out differently than at Junko’s across the courtyard. From there, I went to the apartment where Junko had lived until recently. On entering, I was stunned to find that it was completely gutted and as if having been ravaged by a fire. There was not a sign of furniture anywhere. More than that, the man whom my companion and I had originally met on the street, the brawny, Wotanesque supra-hirsute, was now there. Clearly, he was there to capture me.
With him was an old man who was quite tall. Toothless, the man was at least an octogenarian with a briskness of energies which was reminiscent of Isadore da Braga’s. This, of course, would leave me to believe that this mercurial man was a priest soul. Furthermore, he was the quintessential ‘Dark Priest’ archetype. There was a fanatical zeal about him which was unmistakably priestly. As far as he was concerned, I was the enemy and to that end I had to be captured if not eliminated. He came to get me. At that, I flew up and went beneath a steel staircase where I held on to its underside. Looking like a fly on a ceiling, there I hung upside down.
Both men had been outside on a fire escape a few storeys below where I had been in Junko’s former apartment. They had looked up and seen me there because on this visit much of the building was now gutted, not just Junko’s former apartment. Remaining where I was, I waited for them to enter my wing of the complex. As soon as they did so, I flew out the window from beneath the staircase’s underside. On noticing me, sounding pretty much like a cave filled with bats in heat, the priestly accomplice furiously screamed. Flying close to the building, I dropped down a few storeys and then dodged back inside the building through another of its windows. Once I had alighted, I set off running at full speed through the building’s cavernous labyrinthine interior; thus I tried to lose them in my wake.
I managed to have eventually made my way outside where I saw them again. Much to my surprise, they had already captured the other human with whom I had originally been. Presently, they were torturing him which was not the most pleasant of sights; nor was it anything with which I remotely wanted to have become familiar. He was being fisted by these truly sadistic men with the old dark priest man really getting off on the torture. I shuddered as I watched them reach in and pull out his innards. This was serious shit. Literally! I was immediately reminded of my youth in Sandy Point, St. Kitts when I would go to the market on the weekends and watch the animals being gutted. It was truly grim.
There was definitely something wrong with this image and it had to be stopped. I simply couldn’t abide that being done to a friend. What next happened was truly amazing, I saw that there were lots of pigs in a clearing in a slot. This looked pretty much like one was on New York City’s 5th Avenue going down towards Amsterdam Square. They stood there in the open area of the abandoned street, in the equally abandoned city. There was a great deal of pig feed everywhere. Looking very white and on the hideous side, all of the pigs were shaved. Presently, they were in a feeding frenzy; the look and sound of them being truly gross.
One of them I noticed had been neurotically twitching. Closer inspection revealed that its arse was exceptionally fat. It seemed as if it were trying to either have a big dump or even give birth. Quite bizarre! The stuff which started coming out of its arse was basically the pig’s innards. Right away, I realised that there had to have been a connection to the companion of mine who had been fisted to the point of having the life, literally yanked out of him by way of his innards. Clearly, these pigs were totemic animals for what few genuine humans there were among this culture of disguised extra-humans; though, as in the case of the female bather, they were not all in disguise.
I thought that, perhaps, they were doing this to the human as this was the way that they achieved a sexual high. It then dawned on me that, perhaps, the pigs were more so representative of the extra-humans rather than being totems which the extra-humans had fashioned of their human captives.
With that in mind, I got a torch and approached the twitching pig’s body setting it ablaze. I figured that it was connected to my companion or the persons torturing him. True enough, I could hear cries of protest from the next block away where the human was being tortured. The other street was off to the left whilst facing the pigs. When I attacked, the pigs were feeding in a tight frenzied cluster. Definitely, it was the extra-human with whom my companion and I had been speaking who screamed aloud as the pig burnt.
The pig was more than his familiar. They were both connected and such that his response was a simpatico psychic phenomenon which didn’t need for them to be in close quarters for the extra-human to have experienced the terror which the squealing pig did. It was definitely his voice. Then and there, I knew that I was on to something. Immediately, I began setting all the pigs afire. Enraged the extra-human stopped screaming and headed in my direction to exact his revenge. Obviously, these pigs were further-disguised extra-humans which were more so in accord with their true nature than not. What was telling about these pigs was that they were the same yellow-white colour as the lone extra-human female whom I had seen taking a bath – in the apartment across the courtyard from Junko’s.
Indeed, it was on seeing the pig’s complexion that I was able to make the connection to the humanoid extra-humans which was more disguise than not. Closer inspection made me realise that the pigs were not feeding exclusively but were rather engaging in group sex. It seemed that they had at least two sex organs in the rear and possibly one or more close to their hideous faces. So their eating was for the most part a sexual act. Their large exposed sex organs in the rear could have made it look as though they were being disemboweled; however, they were in a state of arousal. Truth be told, the pig behaving neurotically was more accurately in the throes of orgasm.
Their bodies were shaped differently to a pig’s. Truth be told, these creatures did look from their long-backed selves more like a greyhound’s or even an upright creature which had reverted to walking on all fours. This was so confusing when initially I had assumed that the twitching neurotic pig was going into labour; rather, it was having sex. The pigs were having sex because their humanoid fellow extra-humans were having a sexual high for torturing my companion. Obviously, both these extra-humans had a symbiotic relationship of some sort. After having discovered their weakness, I set about to destroy the pig-like creatures who were having an orgy disguised as a feeding frenzy.
Whilst doing this, so that together we could suppress the extra-humans among us, I screamed aloud calling for help from other humans. As the other pig-like creatures were being set afire, they were so obese that it was hard for them to have taken flight. Meanwhile, no humans had appeared on the scene to come to my aid. Soon enough, I noticed that there was an outflow of extra-humans from all the abandoned-looking buildings on the street. They were all the same tall, Wotanesque supra-hirsute types as the original extra-human who had befriended my companion and me. They looked truly enraged – deadly even. Without exceptions, they all wore parkas. I do believe that the parkas were to maintain a certain body temperature and to block out as much natural sunlight as possible.
Too, there seemed to be some parasitic culture to which their bodies played host and which needed to be protected by the parkas. Indeed, the parkas were more than likely their space suits as it were. Sure enough, the two extra-humans – who had been looking at me, when I initially had taken to the air – I saw again coming down the street towards me. I was quite aware that though they never took flight, any of these extra-humans, that they were quite capable of doing so. I had seen them do as much. Earlier, when escaping the two back at the abandoned complex where Junko lived, the unusually tall octogenarian-seeming zealot had come flying after me whilst screaming much like a pig so enraged was he.
As they came towards me, they began screaming as if their bodies were afire. They pleaded with me not to do as much to them. The more they tried to come closer, the more their progress became laborious – to the point where they could no longer move. They were arrested by fear and by a psychic terror that was crippling. Their bodies in conjunction with the burning pig-like creatures experienced immolation. Though they were not on fire they were being burnt. As the pig-like creatures’ bodies burnt away, the extra-humans’ bodies correspondingly simply began disappearing. It was as though they were being erased or being made invisible, in patches, throughout their bodies.
Indeed, perhaps, these Wotanesque humanoids were merely holographic projections. Quite frankly, I had the upper hand. Though they wanted me to stop, I told them no way. They had already unleashed their sadistic terror on humans, therefore they deserved just retribution. Before I knew what next, there appeared above them in the sky a massive flame. Blue, it looked like the flame from a gas range. It was a square formation rather than the quintessential flying saucer shape of conventional human extra-human vehicle wisdom. Hovering there, it undulated whilst spewing out little red charges of flame.
The flame was a live entity which immediately began speaking. It did make biblical references to ‘Jeremiah’ and to Christ having been murdered. Telling me that it was wrong of me to have attacked the extra-humans, of which it was obviously in favour, the flame was speaking to me. I didn’t, of course, see his Flameness anywhere in the sky, pontificating whilst my companion was being fisted and disemboweled. The energy given off by the blue flame entity were extremely intense. I was convinced that the flame had appeared to retaliate against me, in the extra-humans’ defence; instead, he was there to deal with the extra-humans.
What I could gather from what transpired here was that the flame was an extra-human bounty hunter; he, the flame, was on the hunt for fugitives which in essence is what this colony of sadistic extra-humans represented. As the extra-humans were afire, this created a tear in the fabric of their cloaking devices which made it possible for the fugitives to be detected. As a result, the flame was – so to speak – beaming up the fugitives who were suffering immolation. Though they feared being on fire, it was clear that they didn’t want to be captured by the flame. For being in distress, they set off the signatures which allowed their pursuers to locale them across Space.
Clearly, these extra-humans had the ability to jump space and possible travel cross time. The voice from the flaming entity in the sky had a booming strong resonant voice which was reminiscent of the actor, James Earl Jones’s. The booming voice made several references to human history – all of which were fairly accurate and impressive. With that, the flaming entity in the sky started consuming the pig-like creatures which were screeching whilst on fire in the middle of the street. As it consumed the creatures, it was clear that they did not relish their fate. There were no illusions as to the fate of these extra-humans. They were being relocated elsewhere and it was definitely to their home which was nowhere on this planet.
I then realised that the buildings, which all looked like they were out on Ellis Island, actually were the extra-humans’ spaceships which were artfully disguised. All the buildings were on dead-end streets which likely had not existed before. This entire neck of the woods had been artificially made. The whole affair had been plunked down in the middle of nowhere yet made to look like part of a large metropolitan area. It was a factory of sorts. By that I mean that, the captured humans were brought there and subjected to various forms of the hunt. Afterwards, they were captured outright and subjected to sadistic torture sessions in which the extra-humans sexually got off.
Quite intriguing, most especially since the real extra-humans were closer to being like pigs than humans.
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You are to Jazz what wings are to an ostrich; what the fuck do eagles care that queer, unaware ostriches have wings?
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©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.
Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul. 