Dream of Opening a Bank Account that Required as Verification a Homepage that detailed your Download History and then Revealed an Image of the Nixie

I was trying to open an account at the bank. It was difficult. I needed another phone for verification so I bought a flip phone which came with a whole host of complications. I went to the bank. I was told to see a certain lady. She was a young Asian girl and had just had a child. She was holding the child when I approached her. She tried to help me but wasn’t really that helpful. A guy from behind the counter, however, was more helpful. He said I would have to create an Internet page that could be viewed by anyone, like a homepage, that amalgamated my entire download history.

‘Let’s have a look,’ the man said.

I was worried my porn history would show up. I then saw the data. A Cyrillic-like background similar to what Neo saw in the Matrix. In the foreground Revan was swimming underwater in what looked like a swimming pool.

‘Wow,’ I said, ‘I never made a video of this so how does it know.’

Then the film, Escape from Alcatraz, was there. I knew the whole film in my mind. Directly downloaded. This amazed me. Judd agreed, because, he said, it’s a stupid film for the unconscious to download.

Overflow from last night’s conversation at Iain’s home. Judd and Iain discussed the old ways banks used to operate. I miss that world. The good old passbook. No passwords. No paranoia. The bank teller knew your name. Now it’s a shadow world of secret passwords and paranoia.

Judd also described the way porn shops used to operate. Nothing on-site except cover sleeves. Then a runner would collect the merchandise that was kept off site. Those were the days. The anonymous world. No they and them (or IT otherwise known as AI) collecting code for future shakedowns. They’ve turned the world binary by way of people seeing with their phones and not their eyes.

Whereas I’m the One

Like Neo I see the world for what it is

The download code beneath the bottomless sea of dreams

The last time I saw the Asian woman and child was in the Idiot Abroad in China Dream where the devastated mother was arrested by the state (October 2018). Judd mentioned China last night. He was in fine form. I may have mentioned my first suspicious blog click from Mainland China. Because of they and them and future shakedowns the less said about that the better except to say I’ve already declared my love for Chairman Mao (January 2020).

I really do …

This blog is my indictment. My entire download history is on the record. Murder, electroshock therapy, sex orgies, CIA mind control, campus death cults; you get the picture, just scan my blog post titles from 2019-2020.

But as I always say, ‘what can they do with all my dreams?’ They don’t care about the inner workings of my mind. Their goal is mind control. They want to control my dreams because they know all conscious activity must first become an unconscious reality.

At best they’re getting a measure of their success.

Added to which half of what I dream makes little sense to me. Like the Cyrillic text. A few dreams back the code was engraved in Greek (October 2020). I can’t read neither.

What I can read is Revan. Like Judd she talks about porn. Her revulsion of it. In the dream she embodied the Nixie. In October 2020 I set her free and then my carefully constructed inner world began to crack. The image of the code and Revan indicates a rectification of sorts. It says I’m back in control because the Nixie’s been returned to her watery world.

As for Escape from Alcatraz I watched it the other day on TV. I practically know the film by heart yet I watched it again. I like the film’s silence. It’s a movie without music and boom boom boom. Even dialogue is thin on the ground. Like passbooks I miss that silent world.

All this is part of my download, the sum total expression of my being …

And,

At another level of operation the dream was also working on a banking problem I had with Johan. The dream offered a flip phone solution. I wasn’t consciously aware of this problem at the time but my unconscious had a sense something wasn’t right. My dream took the contents of Judd’s conversation and formulated with it a solution. It solved the problem …

Dream of Driving Around Town in a Jeep with a Sexy Brazilian Chick that was linked to a Beach Dream Sequence and a Poison Preparation

I was seeing a sexy Brazilian chick.  She was super fat. Chunky legs. Big arse. She was self-conscious about her fatness but I said I liked her. I had no problems having sex with her. She was in the city near Castlereagh Street. We went on a drive around town in a Jeep. She sat above me with her legs over my shoulders while I steered the Jeep.

Then there was another round of sex, this time with a friend of hers, who said I didn’t have sex with her but then said, ‘oh, I did, sorry,’ as a joke and then laughed.

We then started to drive around standing on top of each other like acrobats. The only problem was I couldn’t reach the breaks as we approached cars at an intersection. So we had to adjust our positions while the Jeep was in motion. We were driving around town like this.

Return to dreams … I was going to learn how to make better poisons. The plastic cover of the straw had to be removed. Then the straw would be reactive. I could see what had to be done.

Earlier; associated in some way to the Brazilian dream, my friend Peter drove the Jeep onto the beach at Brighton-Le-Sands. Huge seas were washing up against the beach. He parked the jeep on the sand. We then decided to go on a walk to get some Turkish food. After walking some distance I realised I left my camera, my wallet and my phone in the Jeep. So we had to return to the Jeep. People called out, ‘we can’t park on the beach.’ Peter had driven down a flight of concrete stairs in order to reach the beach and I was thinking we’d have to drive up them somehow when leaving.

Also people in wetsuits turned up for a swimming competition.

It turned out Peter had my stuff in his bag. Nevertheless I wanted to leave my camera in the back of the car, because the camera was big and bulky, so the return to the jeep was justified, though I was worried that the camera might be stolen.

This sequence was linked to the poison prep …

***

Five night’s later; I bought a waterfront Duplex that Ben owned. The downstairs unit was rented for $400 per week. I thought I’d increase the rent but Ben said leave it unchanged. He said the person is a good tenant. Then I was driving with Dad. Beyond our home across the bay on the Cronulla peninsula there was a giant sparse mountain. I thought the mountain looked spectacular and Dad agreed. Also, Why go to university if you don’t want to live in the city? It just prepares you for city life.

***

That good South American girl who lives in Hyde Park that I took on a date to St Mary’s Cathedral and to a kebab shop run by Donald Trump has gone the way of the dodo. That positive inner relationship, on the mend since I came to terms with Lori the South American Prostitute (October 2015), is on the rocks again. Now she’s turned into a reckless Brazilian sexpot. This is unconscious proof of what I asserted in the dreams of fracture (October 2020) that my inner constructs are at risk of collapse because I set the Nixie free.

Not hitting those breaks is all about losing control, obviously. Fancy acrobats can’t obscure that. The Jeep is recklessness. And the intersection is an unconscious crossroads. I’m heading for a car crash. Once that intersection is crossed there’s no coming back.

The Peter dream sequence was recalled after writing down the Brazilian sex dream. It preceded the sex dream but was somehow linked to the poison preparation, which was dreamt after the Brazilian sex dream. What I think happened here was that after waking up to record the sex dream I fell back to sleep and picked up on Peter’s dream by way of the jeep – the one dream image common to both dreams – and then continued Peter’s unconscious thread which led by unrecorded dream content to the poison preparation.

Why Peter? I went to his home last night for a Drink & Fire in his backyard. His four year old son asked me if he could come to my home to visit Pez’s grave. Peter and I were touched by what he said. So was my unconscious, which recalled my recent Pez dream (September 2020) that also happened to feature the chubby South American girl from Hyde Park. That’s what the Nixie latched onto and made with it the sexpot we now see.

Turkish food is the kind of thing Peter does, he loves food from the eastern shores of the Mediterranean, and he’s always there to get me out to join him on one of his culinary capers.

The camera was my primary concern during the Peter dream sequence. My growing sense is that the camera in my dreams represents my desire to capture dream images (May 2019 and February 2020). Did the appearance of the camera motivate me to draw the picture of the Brazilian sexpot? If I didn’t draw her then I wouldn’t have published the dream since, you see, I have this rule, no drawing, no post. Therefore it seems the appearance of a camera in my dreams focuses my attention to the dream narrative described on my blog thereby enabling its expansion and elaboration through dream drawing.

Which means my entire dream experience is a morning exercise of the lucid mind.

So pick your poison

For chaos reigns supreme

Until the Nixie’s back

Below the sea

I included the Cronulla peninsula dream for two reasons. Firstly, because I found the image pleasing. It reminds me of Sintra, it’s feeling, the microclimate, the good food. And secondly, because Peter bought a block of land south of Cronulla, which ties it back to the Jeep dream from a few nights before. Dreams are like that, a thread that never ends …

I also liked the line, ‘why go to university if you don’t want to live in the city? It just prepares you for city life.’

It reminds me of what I said to Little Jonny the other night at the pub, ‘there’s no money in dreams.’

Jonny said I should put that on my tombstone.

Quotable lines. Quotable lines.

Dream of Talking Cats who want Bananas and the Woman who became a Catwoman on a Supermarket Line

My cat Pez was the master. Like the Emperor. And his number two cat was six months younger. They could understand me and could talk as well. I was sent out on a quest to buy stuff for them, including bananas. I got stuck on a Woolworths shopping line with Greg. He wanted to buy a bag. He found a cheap bag for sale. He put a toiletries case inside the bag.

‘Mate, can you pay for it?’ he said.

He had the cash, a couple of hundred dollars, but he wanted me to pay. He said he was short of money and would return the loan when he received his next paycheck. [Cash flow problems].

On the Woolworths queue the cashier, a very open woman, couldn’t understand the girl next to me. The girl spoke all strange. Then she started to look and act like a cat.

Then I was in the car. No bananas for Pez. My late friend Joe sat down next to me. [He started to look like a composite of Joe and my friend Tony].

Joe found beautiful bananas, behold Pez.

The bananas?

Pez then appeared from inside the glove box and sat on Joe’s lap. The other cat said he’d known Pez all his life, since he was six months old. That made Pez six months older than him.

My inner redhead turning into a cat. Then Pez and Bananas (September 2020). Well Pez liked to watch me eat fruit. As for what bananas means in dreams, can there be any doubt? You don’t need to have read Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams to hazard a guess. The phallus; the fountain from which life springs. So life springs eternal even for my departed Pez. Or could it be that a new and fertile life awaits me now that the burden of Pez has passed? According to dream dictionaries bananas represent fertility and sensuality and that a new partner is on the way, perhaps a redhead with a penchant for cats?

But,

If you believe in Dream Dictionaries

You are without a doubt

A fool …

Actually it was Greg. He came over to my home the other day. Because of his voracious appetite I had to hide my bananas otherwise he’d eat them. I carefully calculate how many bananas I need to buy each week and when Greg eats one he throws out my system! Greg’s association to the dead, Pez and Joe, is a probability prediction of mine that because of his poor dietary habits he too will be packing his bags to join them one day soon. Or, it could be the less macabre feeling that solving Greg’s financial problems, which is what invariably happens when he comes to my home, is the collected baggage of a life misspent that belongs to me? Those toiletries infer a desire to clean up these odds and ends that constitute my daily life.

Meanwhile Pez is comfy in Joe’s lap in the land of the dead. From the perspective of my unconscious Pez has shifted over to the other side. The talking cats can be attributed to Genki Kawamura’s book If Cats Disappeared from the World. This book is a Faustian play on death. I gave the book to Brother Bill before he died (August 2019). In this respect Pez is the key to this dream, the master if you will, because the undercurrent theme in between the waking lines is death.

That inner kind of grey redhead is a known representation of my inner feminine (December 2019). Her distortion into what appears to be a catwoman is something that’s been happening in my dreams lately. People have been breaking down into weird shapes and angles. It happened a few weeks before with Iain and me. My feeling is that since the Nixie broke free (October 2020) my carefully cultivated unconscious constructs are being challenged. Either I can hold them together or they’ll fall apart.

And finally, we have number 6. The love number. I can feel the love Johan (October 2020) meaning only love can contain the roaming Nixie. But to counter that we have Richard M. Nixon and his mathematical proof: Numerology is, at best, a spurious science (April 2017).

Dream of the Telephone Service that Scares You and the Happy Camp with a Black Guy and University Dilemmas and finally the NAZI Execution Park where I Watched Victims Hang: A Four Fragmented Tibetan Dream Yoga Farce

There was a service you could call. They would scare you by sending you strange messages on your phone and then order KFC to your door. How did they know your address? Before the KFC home delivery – for me – there were police cars and ambulances outside my home blocking the road.  Something had hit Glenn’s home from a great height. From space. It had hit his roof. I saw workmen repairing the roof.

Then I was at a school-like camp till Monday. I met many new friends. I was having a really nice time. My roommate at the camp was a black guy. We had a good time. We came back on a train.

I said to the black guy, ‘see you tomorrow since we’ll be at school tomorrow.’

I got confused walking down the train platform. A saw an oncoming train.

‘Get off the tracks,’ someone yelled.

I did. It was a close call. I jumped into the gap.

Later; I was in the lab. I was teaching. There was a tall guy who was struggling with the process. I helped him calm down – not that I was a good teacher but I knew the system. The lab was chaotic like a crowded supermarket. My PhD Supervisor Max passed by. He said to me, ‘you can start writing papers next week. Come and see me when you’re finished talking with this guy.’

‘But I don’t have time,’ I replied.

‘I can do your teaching so next week you can start,’ Max said and then walked off.

I didn’t want to write papers, or do the teaching, so I wandered around and came across a group of artists. They were making drawings with coloured chalk on a blackboard way up near the top of a huge shelf. The blackboard was really high up. I stared at these drawings …

This transferred me to a NAZI execution centre. They had a system. They put the noose around the neck of the victim, the noose tied to what I speculated must be a central boulder, with the river carrying the victim on a raft along a creek until it reached the waterfall, where off the raft went and the victim was hanged. It was interesting to watch. The victims, all men, were well dressed, wearing suits. They were then turned into a liquid that was then used as fertilizer for the execution park.

Tibetan dream yoga. Well not really. By coincidence I captured a four-part dream sequence punctuated by a half time waking episode. I can’t be sure I obeyed the prerequisite sleeping patterns because I’m a lazy bastard and as with all things habits are near impossible to change unless by want of extraordinary will. I may have gone to sleep on my right side because after having tried it thanks to reading Wangyal’s book (August 2020) I find it rather comfortable.

So that’s good enough for me …

The first dream was preceded by a vision of the strange Christmas tree lights I saw last night before I walked up the stairs to bed. Those lights made me feel weird. Then KCF was delivered to my door. Does that make KCF my definition of bliss?

The telephone service that scares you recalls the film ‘The Game.’ I don’t know why I dreamt about this. I haven’t seen the film in years, however, the film can be associated to one of my Cornforth lab friends who liked the film and recommended it to me (October 2020).

So let’s blame that on Nixon …

The meteorite from space crashing into Glenn’s home comes from the Google autofill on my phone. Every day on the drop down menu I see the meteor is approaching, it’s a near miss, the end nigh 2023. Has Google picked up on an unexpressed death wish of mine? I don’t wish Glenn any ill will rather it’s those stars that shine so bright over his home at night.

And now that Nixon’s gone don’t we blame EVERYTHING on Google?

What can be said of clarity and the oncoming train? That train comes from an investor I follow on twitter. He always posts a photo of a train coming round the bend before the market tanks. So are we near the end? I hope so since I’m set to make a ton when the market tanks. That’s me, always waiting, waiting, ready to strike it big, then at the last minute jumping off the trade. Those new friends were nice. I could do with some. Especially the black guy, he’s the part of me that remains unacknowledged in shadowy darkness. Is he saying, stay on that train, don’t get scared and jump off into the mindless gap?

Then we have the Nixon Overflow (October 2020). Since Nixon was the President why wouldn’t this fragment represent power? I’m still reading his damn memoirs, which shifts my unconscious back to student days. If this fragment is about power then it’s done a crap job reprising feelings of mine akin to banging my head against the wall ad infinitum. Writing pointless papers and the teaching nonsense are things I’d rather leave behind. I once made a writing-teaching deal with Max. Saying that Max also told me about Woodward’s lectures where he’d start with four pieces of coloured chalk and an empty wall of blackboards. According to Wikipedia Woodward won the Nobel Prize “for his outstanding achievements in the art of organic synthesis.” I once felt that art in science but progressively it was killed off by a computerised zeitgeist that dictated my terms of engagement. I was working for the machine, for its systemised values, rather than for what I thought was beautiful and neat. One day they’ll see computers killed science.

So yes Nixon stands for power since I read Six Crises when the student me was a practitioner of art …

From which the logical step is obviously to the NAZI execution park. Burroughs’ hangman strikes again. He’s big on stringing up older guys (September and November 2019). Does this mean I need to be fearless when it comes to tackling the burdens of the father?

Does it?

Or does it mean I goad my Austrian mum every Sunday night for SBS NAZI hour. I get her nice and comfy then out those black and white bombs come falling down. Sometimes I wonder why WE the collective like watching people die? Burroughs made obeisance of its visceral appeal (May 2019). It’s that human failing otherwise known as taking pleasure from the agony of others. I once read about the NAZI chief executioner Johann Reichhart. I often wonder what he dreamed at night? If he was anything like the collective I bet you it was fields of daisies.

It’s of such things that Huxley extrapolates. Only recently I read Brave New World. Like Nixon’s memoirs this book too remained unread in my study. In it the cut off age was 60 after which you were turned into fertilizer …

And why not

Some Soylent Green

For the daisies

Of human need

Wasn’t it Bukowski who said, ‘beware of those who are always reading books?’ This may explain the sinking feeling I have that something bad will come because of the corona? That meteor, it’s coming …

AND

P.S.

Biden came a-knocking (March 2020) …