Please keep any derisive comments to yourself

Because this post is about Second Life….well, partially.

So I’m really down in the dumps right now because of school, and there are only three things that could potentially cheer me up. One of them is asleep right now (boyfriend). One of them I just finished consuming (cereal). And the other is a virtual world (Second Life).

Listen, I’m not going to lie or pretend like I’m cooler than or above these sorts of pastimes: I’ve really been missing my Second Life lately, and all of my virtual friends, activities and hangouts that I had over the summer. If that makes me sound dorky, then so be it. I like what I like, and I do what I want…

Snapshotsetr_002s

right?

Snapshotsetr_003s

right.

There was something comforting about playing Second Life. I miss Lainey and her quirky friends. I even miss all of the silly virtual drama (and there was tons of it…). But most of all, I just miss being able to explore different worlds for hours on end while not having any real outside responsibilities (and by “not having” I mean “not needing to immediately attend to…”) I’m not entirely certain why I’m so easily sucked into virtual worlds and God-games. But you know I could have worse vices, really. I won’t go into details about the things that slightly concerned me about my Second Life usage, but I do see the value of taking a few months off from playing. I dunno…I just keep thinking about it.

Enough about that though. I’m beginning to feel really inadequate. I’ve had Pnau and Pnau remixes on repeat for a week or so. It makes me feel better. As does this super spooky, Halloween-appropriate Ladyhawke video. She’s so 80s all the time, which is fine with me. Also, her “boyfriend” in this video is super cute…too bad we only see him asleep…

Speaking of Halloween, I will be back on Friday most likely with a preview of my super sultry Halloween costume.

…Also speaking of spooky, I think I just hallucinated something out of the corner of my left eye.

That means it’s time for bed.

Later, d00ds.

Yet another dream oddity.

Yesterday morning I awoke from what was perhaps the most recursive dream I have ever had. The weirdest thing about this dream was that for a good portion of the end of the dream, I dreamt myself recording the dream by hand. I was writing down what I was dreaming, as I was still dreaming it. I think maybe I thought I was awake, but I definitely was not because when I woke up for real, I was disappointed that I had lost all of the notes I had taken regarding the events of the dream. But here is what I still recall:

The earliest portion of the dream was taking place at my house here in Kirksville, but the house looked radically different. It had no front door. My room was technically the same as the living room. Chris was over, and we were lounging on the couch talking about the cat, Mikey. We were intimate briefly, and then we discussed the implications of getting up and going to class when neither of us wanted to do this.

Joyce was there. She was going on and on about how she needed to use a flat iron/hair straightener but that she was afraid she would start a fire. She also expressed that she felt like she was going to trap Mikey in a stairwell by accident. Shortly thereafter I remember sitting at a table, joking with some friends about how ridiculous it was that Joyce acted like it was so hard to turn on a hair straightener, and that she was afraid of killing the cat. I recited everything she had said to me, and we all laughed about it.

The next part of the dream I remember is finding myself in a building that looked like it was the rec center. This guy was there. I think he might have been a cross between three different male friends of mine, but I can’t determine who he resembled the most. For the purposes of recording this, we will call him Carlson. Anyway, Carlson was sitting in a chair next to some yoga mats and bar bells. All I remember is another female friend and I rolling out yellow yoga mats to his left. Over and over again, we unrolled a yellow yoga mat.

Then there was a tour group. It was a family. They were coming through the rec center. Suddenly I was one of them. I was in the tour group. We all looked the same; caucasian, faded curly brown hair, slightly overweight. The person leading the tour group was actually a family elder. I sensed that she was the grandmother. The mother announced that on our way through the rec center, we were going to order pizza for dinner. The grandmother was taking the orders on a clipboard. She asked each individual what type of pizza they would like. When it came to me, I really just wanted to order a pineapple and pepperoni pizza, but she kept telling me that my only options were cheese, black olives, or a third vegetable that I cannot recall.

I didn’t want any of those. I tried to get her to let me order a pineapple pizza, but she refused. It was at this point that I noticed her beginning to take a pointed interest in me. I didn’t like her face, it made me nervous. She had huge eyes, and deep wells underneath them. Her face was almost as gray as her hair. She started following me a lot with her eyes. All of a sudden the rest of the tour group had disappeared, except for this grandmother. It was just she and I, and she was following me around a track in the rec center with her clipboard. She was asking me strange questions about the equipment around the rec center, and taking notes on her clipboard.

She started cornering me and asking me stranger and stranger questions. We were passing by a row of treadmills that were in a glass cubicle with a locking door. I ducked into the cubicle and locked it behind me. I began jotting down what was happening in a notebook that I pulled out of nowhere. I called out for the rest of the tour group to come back and get this grandmother away from me. The rest of the tour group never came back, but these two maintenance workers came in. They preoccupied the grandmother, and she eventually left.

But the two men were just chuckling at me, asking me how I had gotten myself into that situation with that grandmother. I don’t remember whether or not I answered them. I just remember feeling compelled to record what had just happened to me. My dream documentation of the dream as it was happening was very detailed. It was handwritten. It was much more detailed than I have just recounted it to be…but how weird.

I have another dream from the night before this, but I’m debating whether or not I want to post it. It could be potentially incriminating…

I love this.

Au Revoir Simone – Another Likely Story (Neon Indian Remix)

Also…the left sleeve of the sweater I am wearing seems to have retained the scent of a significant other who happens to be 70 miles away right now. Its an impossibly dingy blue sweater, but I’ll have to make sure mom doesn’t try to wash this one.

Last night’s dream

…prefaced with a documented and clarified thought. What happened was that I was increasingly amazed at how much I perceived us to have in common. But we were poor at solving puzzles, not knowing how to execute such an uncanny, but fragile fit. Still, the more I learned of you, the more beautiful you became. To have that entire blossoming experience dismantled so abruptly was the source and slow-burning sustenance of my shock. I still see you that way sometimes. Except now, I’m not really participating. It’s a one-sided warmth that I can’t really justify these days.

I dreamt that my family was having another summer reunion. I was trying to plan around it so that I could take a standardized test during some summer course of mine, and so that I could visit Cathy, Meagan and a couple of their friends. I discussed all of my options with my aunt and mother, and then headed over to Cathy’s apartment, where I watched her and her date make twin beds while we talked openly about boys. They lifted the sheets over and over again, trying to properly place a sheet on a bed? Something about it was really nice. I could have watched them make their beds all day.

A bit later, I was in the car with Lily, Cathy, her date, and some mutual friends. Buildings we passed by looked like paper. I felt like maybe we were in London. I remember claiming that I was glad they had made their beds, but that now they ought to lie in them. I was reprimanded a bit for this perspective, but I recovered by saying that I loved them. Then I recall being at home again. The lighting was a little odd. My mom was there, as were Joyce and Lorrie. We exchanged clothes in a corner and talked about Second Life. I sat at a computer and asked my mom if I had missed the reunion. She said that it started tomorrow.

The reunion actually took place. I kept answering the door to timid cousins and indiscriminate black relatives who just wanted to say hi to me. The lighting here was weird. I could feel my dad’s presence somewhere in the background. A woman who I assumed to be a younger, more lively version of my ailing grandmother arrived. She said she wanted to sing during karaoke, but that she needed the proper lighting and sound setup. I discussed with her all of her options. I set up chairs for all of the attendees and explained to her where each person should sit for maximum listening enjoyment. But as the night wore on, she was upstaged by Celine Dion, and the chairs kept shuffling. Except, instead of there being people consistently in the chairs, sometimes it was people…sometimes it was empty bottles. I think they were bottles of wine, liquor and beer. I saw a few of the labels, but I don’t recall exact titles…just that they were alcoholic. Bottles were sitting in chairs in place of people, and moving around the room in tune with the lights. Everyone was there, either in person form, bottle form, or in spirit(s).

I was suddenly no longer at home, but in a large white room outfitted with professional grade cameras, photography equipment and two black leather sofas. Light canopies surrounded us. Against the back wall were racks? It was like…a store. It looked like a Big Lots or a Dollar General of some sort. People were against that wall, buying things. I was sitting on a couch in the center of the room, however. I was with three other girls, and a photographer. Two of these girls were redheads. The other was a deep brunette. We were all Caucasian girls. We chased one of the redheads around and talked shit about her to the photographer. He made slightly lecherous comments to us about how he wanted to shoot our album art, and this was when I first noticed that we were rather scantily clad.

I don’t remember all of the details of this part, but I feel like he might have violated one or several of us. I seem to remember running through underground corridors with these girls, trying to get away from him. He was pursuing us in one of those ice machines they use at skating rinks. The nearness of its buzzing gave me chills up my dream spine. I think the photographer might have been Matt…Sitting in the center of that white store, we discussed which one of us wasn’t worthy enough to stay in the band. I guess that’s what this was about.

Back at the reunion, I heard my grandmother start ranting about which of the catered foods should be eaten, and which foods were unhealthy. All of the white and pale colored foods were safe, according to her, while the colored foods, the deep oranges and rosy reds of the fruits and casseroles in the adjoining room…those were somehow dangerous foods. In what felt like a second, I found myself in the other room, gorging myself on some sort of red pasta dish. It was so heavily seasoned that it looked entirely encrusted in red. It might have been paprika. I wasn’t certain, but I stuffed myself with everything in that room, while I could hear my grandmother’s voice drawing near. It was shrill and dripping with admonishment, but I never saw her enter the room. So I ate my fill.

The dollar store from earlier was having a closeout sale. Joyce, Maddy, Kim and myself all stopped by. They were down to selling real snakes, fake rings, and alcohol. A number of locals were lingering around the alcohol case. I asked Joyce what type of alcohol young people most like to drink, and she wouldn’t really answer me. I remember repeating the question “Vodka?” over and over as I walked down the aisles.

Now that I think about it, this dream was really all about having options, making choices, and living with the consequences.

Last week’s dream

I am going to post two recent dreams in a series. The following dream is from earlier this week. I recorded it a few days ago, but have dragged my feet to post it. The one in the next post is from last night.

About two weeks ago, I dreamt that I was an employee at the United States Treasury, and that people would just walk in off the street and try to get change or pawn objects. This one guy comes in. He looks like he might have been a construction worker of some sort. He throws down a bunch of coins and two little white plastic bottles. I identified one of the coins as a silver dollar, which he apparently did not know.

He then explained to me that the two little white bottles were somehow used in the construction of turrets. I examined the bottles. They looked like containers used to administer or collect fluids with a tiny syringe attachment.They had a bit of red fluid in the bottom of them. He said that this fluid was a special wax that they used as a sealant. Some of the fluid got on my fingers. I told him I would have to call my administrator to see what I could do about giving him paper currency for the silver dollar and the bottles.

I got on the phone, and after waiting on the line a while, the man’s wife showed up. She had a baby carrier with her. While still waiting on the phone, I asked if I could see the child. She uncovered a baby boy, lifting him out of the carrier. When I saw the baby’s face, I was repulsed. He was very unattractive. His eyes appeared as lumpy red slits, and his nose looked like it had been smashed in. I held him briefly, but he cried a lot. I gave him back to his mother. When I looked at her face, I realized that she had the same facial features as the boy. I was really disturbed by this.

Then I guess my administrator came on the line, and after describing to my administrator what the man had brought in, I was instructed to have him immediately removed from the Treasury premises and to call the CDC. I hung up the phone and said “You have to leave.” The man, realizing that I had been warned of his mal-intent, grinned, took the two white plastic bottles, and quickly left. I reached to contact the CDC, but I started to dial 911. Before I could even hear the ring, ambulances and police vehicles pulled up in front of the door.

An officer informed me that they had been called on my behalf by the administrator. He said that the man who had just left was wanted in that county for disseminating the H1N1 virus via a red waxy substance, which turned out to be samples of his own blood. I assume that for the purposes of this dream, “blood”, or this waxy bio-substance, was also a conduit for H1N1 viral particles. An EMT came and carefully washed my hands of the red fluid.

Meanwhile, there were large quantities of people who were trying to get into the Treasury. I told them that there was a health emergency, and that they needed to evacuate or remain far away from the lobby of the building. But these people, primarily older women, kept trying to flood the lobby. I physically tried to block entryways, but they poured in from stairwells, other doors, windows… They all had gifts, and cakes, and cards. It was apparently my birthday? They all kept trying to wish me happy birthday, and I was like…you stupid godforsaken women! Don’t you know there’s a virus on the loose in here?!

I couldn’t stop them from pouring in. It turned into some sort of social gathering. I was at a country home all of a sudden, but it was filled with older women and also debutantes. Young Jewish girls. It was a bat mitzvah. It was also simultaneously my birthday? I walked around and noticed that all of the young girls were wearing combinations of brown and blue in dresses that looked like they were purchased from Kohl’s or Macy’s. I overheard that this was the color combo of the season.

Yes. Yes. Oh god. Yes.

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So track 3, “Laughing Gas,” is quite the new favorite of mine from Neon Indian’s Psychic Chasms. I want it to last forever, but unfortunately Palomo teases with a 1:43 track…shame on you, Alan. I want more.

In other news, I have been considering purchasing some spats soon. There are tons of neat-looking pairs on Etsy right now. I really shouldn’t be on Etsy right now though. It is so expensive, and I don’t really have the means. But I want these:

https://i1.wp.com/ny-image2.etsy.com/il_fullxfull.92427062.jpg

Yea? Nay?

Listen, I don’t care whether or not you like those. I’m going to end up with a pair of spats someway somehow before the end of this year. Mark my words. Also, I am currently listening to Courtney and Cathy’s radio KTRM radio show, and I just heard Cathy’s voice, and it sounded beautiful.

More later.

Beautiful.

Is the only way to describe it.

It's so white!

Just beautiful

A rather fat glass of milk I poured myself the other day. I was almost taken aback by how gorgeous and pure it looked.

Don’t get all anal on me and start commenting about all of the impurities potentially found in store-bought milk. I do not care. Also I am referring more to the purity of its appearance. Similar to water…yet, when I think pure…I think of milk as opposed to water. Perhaps it’s the whiteness of it? Not all white substances are pure. But this one, this particular one….it has this association with it, this indelible association with childhood, but more significantly innocence. Perhaps that’s why I’m so attracted to the idea of milk….that is plus the fact that it tastes amazing.

This is really what this blog is all about….how much I adore milk.

Speaking of pure and clean …. I have a new retail crush.

http://friedbananas.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/muji.jpg

MUJI is one of those no-brand stores that sells simply designed products that >_> <_< aren’t branded. The products are free to be independent objects of the world, no corporate strings attached (I mean, besides MUJI strings).  Has anyone been to a MUJI yet? Let’s go to New York.

It reminds of this article I read a few years ago about this d00d who wore only unbranded clothing and used only generic household products for an entire year. He said it like changed his life or something? I dunno, I’d say you should read it, but…it is nowhere to be found.

Speaking of clothing, I’m becoming more and more lax about actually wearing clothing while at home now. I was going to post a picture I took possibly captioned “Meh, no pants.”…but then I realized that it is a photo of myself in which I am meh…not wearing any pants. So I had to nix that one.

Lastly, a disturbing thing of note….if you Google “wore no brands” but only go as far as “wore no b–“…it will offer the most common search queries that seem similar to “wore no b–“…which apparently include “what if there were no black people?” and “what would the world be like if there were no black people?”. Try it.

I would like to clarify something.

…because there is apparently some confusion about what it is I am looking for in a friendship.

I am going to try to state this as plainly as possible. I am not, nor have I ever been an entirely sarcastic person. I enjoy sincerity, and I would hope that people take the majority of things I say at face value. It is not that I am shallow or have underdeveloped thoughts. I just don’t want anyone to feel like they have to dig through 9 layers of bullshit or annoyingly obscure references to understand what I am saying. I can become extremely literal if need be.

Is everyone so disenchanted with sincerity that we now have to try to prove the more forgettable perks of knowing one another? Are the end times really so near that we have to develop war-like strategies just to get a lol? Or is this a forecast to what the burgeoning singularity of super-intelligence will be like? …where we just meme ourselves into oblivion after all of our referents are long gone, and where everyone is so endlessly intelligent that our interactions, including our conduction of humor, cease to be intelligible. If the only types of relationships left are the overly indexical ones, then I don’t know that I want to have friends.

I understand that you’re really trendy, or that you’re really smart, or that you have a lot of nuances or something….but that doesn’t mean that I would like to bullshit away an entire friendship on convoluted humor. It’s just as bad as extended small talk*, if not certainly worse…And for the record, I don’t feel reaffirmed by people who only affirm my friendship after I am “clever” with them. Clever, as a commodity, is a dime a dozen these days. So don’t act like it speaks some wonder for my personality if I can formulate, or worse yet, regurgitate jokes with you.

You’re right. This rant is rather pointed. It is coming out of my frustrations with people who are seemingly incapable of being genuine with me. You don’t have to water yourself down to be my friend, but the more concentrated you claim to be, the more I am tempted to think you are a mostly watered-down individual anyway. I understand that jokes, sarcasm and pretentious banter make for really effective defense mechanisms…but they are also pretty effective at derailing communication at times when that is not the desired effect. They quickly lose novelty if you do not know when to refrain. Hence why I am bored with this.

*making small talk with people you have already established relationships with.

This just in…

Milk does not actually cause mucus. Being gullible does. Thus, I will resume drinking milk like a fiend.

For someone who loves milk as much as I do, I can’t believe I fell prey to such a silly milk myth … why would I ever agree to believe something that would keep me from drinking milk?! Who am I??? *identity crisis*

Dropped in Second Life to catch a few sets at my friend’s new club. Several folks were really pleased to see me in world again. *virtual warm fuzzies*. If you were curious (which I’m sure you were not), this is essentially how the night went…

Mint Royale – Show Me feat. Pos

The Horrors – Scarlet Fields

The Kills – U.R.A. Fever

Edwyn Collins – A Girl Like You

Felix da Housecat – Rocket Ride

Starfucker – Biggie Smalls

David Bowie – Let’s Dance