I had this strange dream about an hour ago, it was pretty much about Suicide Girls and my changing body.
I can't remember all of the details, so I'll abridge it... and deprive you, sorry.
You're sorry too, I'm sure.
Okay. So, there is this underground sort of cult of sexual expression. Not literally underground, mostly; it really is conducted in a secret mansion that you can only access through a secret passage way in a toy store wall. Not nearly as magical as it may sound, really kind of cynical and creepy actually.
I'm there though, just there... with no real introduction to the environment I'm already participating. And it is a place full of attractive people that have no souls and are complacent and unpassionate, it atleast seems that way.
There is a crotchety older man that is sort of the king pen of the mess, leading the waves of frustration and awkwardness by strategic, chess-like, moves of inviting and dismissing memebers. Towards the end of the dream he has a few members sent away to be killed because they'd both failed to advance any further and experienced to much to return to outside the compound.
There is a instance where our performances are to be monitered and judged, and when it is my turn I am distracted by some sudden bout of phantom weltschmerz and cannot go through with it.
Right when I'm about to get the thumbs down from the gilded throne of the emperor of repressed sexual impulses, I leave my body; just outside the wall that is the secret enterance is a battalion of foot soldiers poised for assault and following two investigators sniffing leads. I think that I'm one of the investigators.
This is just about where I'm stirring from sleep and so everyone seems like one thing with several voices droning the same undistinguishable hum of a mantra.
The sweet old lady with a brown dead tooth just visible in the side of her smile, which is an image that, considering its blurrying surroundings, is suprisingly detailed, begins to lead us out of the toy shop convinced we'd started down a dead end road of clues when one of the investigators perks up and bulldozes his way to the wall and listens with a purpose. There is giggling on the other side.
That's where it ends. My real phone rang and I rolled out of my nest of a bed and am now awake.
Thought I'd share... since the imaginary cult's base was somehow Suicide Girls.
I can't remember all of the details, so I'll abridge it... and deprive you, sorry.
You're sorry too, I'm sure.
Okay. So, there is this underground sort of cult of sexual expression. Not literally underground, mostly; it really is conducted in a secret mansion that you can only access through a secret passage way in a toy store wall. Not nearly as magical as it may sound, really kind of cynical and creepy actually.
I'm there though, just there... with no real introduction to the environment I'm already participating. And it is a place full of attractive people that have no souls and are complacent and unpassionate, it atleast seems that way.
There is a crotchety older man that is sort of the king pen of the mess, leading the waves of frustration and awkwardness by strategic, chess-like, moves of inviting and dismissing memebers. Towards the end of the dream he has a few members sent away to be killed because they'd both failed to advance any further and experienced to much to return to outside the compound.
There is a instance where our performances are to be monitered and judged, and when it is my turn I am distracted by some sudden bout of phantom weltschmerz and cannot go through with it.
Right when I'm about to get the thumbs down from the gilded throne of the emperor of repressed sexual impulses, I leave my body; just outside the wall that is the secret enterance is a battalion of foot soldiers poised for assault and following two investigators sniffing leads. I think that I'm one of the investigators.
This is just about where I'm stirring from sleep and so everyone seems like one thing with several voices droning the same undistinguishable hum of a mantra.
The sweet old lady with a brown dead tooth just visible in the side of her smile, which is an image that, considering its blurrying surroundings, is suprisingly detailed, begins to lead us out of the toy shop convinced we'd started down a dead end road of clues when one of the investigators perks up and bulldozes his way to the wall and listens with a purpose. There is giggling on the other side.
That's where it ends. My real phone rang and I rolled out of my nest of a bed and am now awake.
Thought I'd share... since the imaginary cult's base was somehow Suicide Girls.
sir_isaac_mutant:
Ha. I don't remember/understand this at all two and a half years later.