Have you Ever Walked Through a Room, but it was More like the Room Passed Around you, like there was a Leash Around your Neck that Pulled you Through?
Sorry for the long title
Have you ever felt like you weren't really living your life? That your body just goes through the motions of daily life out of sheer muscle memory...That you're really miles and miles away, off in a world were you belong...Where you can just be you?
A Man's Dreams are an Index to his Greatness
I've always been one of those people who are greatly affected by their dreams. My dreams are clear, vivid, and I always remember them. I am a man who is skeptical of "supernatural" powers...But dreams are one reason why I don't completely rule out the existence of such powers. Have you ever had a dream that conveyed a message? That portrayed what the future held? I have...On numerous occasions. Call them coincidences, call them educated guesses, but I have seen such visions in my dreams.
The funny thing about dreams is that they've been around ever since man first went to sleep, yet no one has any idea what they are. Maybe it is because we are asleep that dreams can seem so powerful. Your senses shut off while sleeping...Maybe all the energy that is used to sort through the constant bombardment of information is able to tap into some hidden ability through dreams...Giving us a glimpse of evolution where man uses more than just a mere ten percent of the brain.
I've had to reoccurrences in my dreams as of late...One of which scares me. It is a theme, which started sometime in my sophomore year of high school. Devastation strikes around me, and I come to the aid of others. The first version was a school shooting. I fight the shooters, and am able to take them down. I'm wounded, shot and stabbed, but I get a call from the last remaining shooter. He has the girl I have a crush on (Which happened to also be a friend) hostage. I run to where they are, a knife in hand. I let the knife fly, but it is too late, and I bear witness to the death of the girl I love.
The second dream is a different twist of the same situation. This time I am talking to this girl, about to ask her out. Behind her I see the shooter let loose the first bullet. The dream slows down. I see the bullet headed right towards her and I try to move her...Try to save her, but I'm not Superman...I'm not faster than a speeding bullet. She dies in my arms as I tell her I love her. I go on a rampage killing those who have caused me pain...
The third version of this dream is different. This time, our country has been invaded. It happens all of a sudden, so I am still at school. I see the soldiers move in around the campus, and I know they aren't ours. One comes up the steps, a pen in the throat takes care of him. Armed with his weapons, I take position and do my best to defend what I can. A grenade makes it up to the hallway next to me and it's over for me. I wake up in the hospital, three limbs short...
The most recent version seems to be the worst. A man enters my class and stands in front of the door. He pulls out a gun and announces that we are all his hostages. My teachers pleads with him, and after a while, the madman gives us a new option. One of us goes with him, or everyone dies. For some reason, I volunteer, almost instantly. He takes me somewhere, off the freeway into the desert. I wake up and I'm shirtless, feet bound, hands bound, hanging off of a meat hook. The madman is sitting there smiling at me, with a folder filled with papers which I soon discover contains information about my life. He informs me that I have been hanging there for two days, no food, no water. I feel weak, I feel tired, but I don't let him see that...I stare him straight in the eye with a gaze that would set fire to a glacier. He asks me why I did it, why did I volunteer myself.
"I don't know...I just couldn't let you hurt someone else, knowing that I could have prevented it."
"So, you think you're some kind of hero then? Tell me Mr. Hero, who's your favorite superhero?"
"Why does it matter..."
"Because Weston, every hero needs a symbol, and I'm going to give you yours. Judging by your actions, and your blogs, I figure you're a Superman type of guy. So, let's turn you into Superman shall we?"
He takes me down from the hook. I try to struggle, but am too weak to fight him off. He straps me down to a table. Takes a knife from a tray and begins carving into my chest...Superman's "S"...I grit my teeth and will myself not to show any sign of weakness. He takes a vile from some near table and pours it's contents carefully pours it onto the cuts. Acid, to forever scar "my" symbol. My defenses crumble and I scream out in agony. He laughs, enjoying my pain.
For a two weeks he experiments on me...Tortures me...Acid burns, electrical burns, injections of who-knows-what. He says that he's seen the true me. That he is going to give me power to match my actions. That he is going to make me Superman.
"I'm sorry to tell you Clark, but you look more like Lex Luthor than you do Superman."
It is only then that I notice that I'm bald from his experiments. Clark Kent? Lex Luthor? Superman??? Who are these people...Are they...Are they me? Who am I?
"You could always kill yourself you know. Bite your tongue off while I'm not here and bleed to death."
No. I am Weston. I am Weston.
"No, my name is Weston. I won't die...I won't let you hurt anyone else"
"How very heroic you. Let's see just how strong you are Superman.
I open my eyes to see him smiling at me, and then I hear it. Gunfire. And everything goes black again.
I wake up later. Hours, days, weeks, I don't know how long I was out. I feel different somehow...Like there is something deep down inside of me that is coming to life for the first time. I manage to use a nearby wall to help lift my hands over the tip of the hook, and I fall hard to the ground. Why hadn't I tried that before? But...I had...And was too weak to lift myself...Shouldn't I be weaker now? What is going on? I unbind myself and hear approaching footsteps. I move to the door, the knife that carved an "S" into my chest in one hand, a vile in the other. He opens the door and time seems to slow. I through the content of the vile in his face, lucky for me, it was acid on not water. The knife lands in his throat. As he falls to the ground I make my break for freedom.
Ok, wow...I wrote way more there than I had planned to. Anyway, the message in these dreams is what scares me. I've said it once, and I'll say it again. I am a man of great potential. I am a man who is destined to do great things. But what if these dreams come true as others have? At what cost will my greatness come with?
Who's your Padre?
The Padres are pathetic. They don't have a leader on the team. That one person you can count on to get that clutch hit, make that clutch play. I really want to some changes happen with this team...Especially if they ever hope to be a contender. And Bochy is an idiot.
My dad and I went to the playoff game here in SD on Saturday. Even though there wasn't much hope, it was still fun. Even sparked a few memories of the World Series game we went to
Current Mood: Fearful and tired of crap
Currently Listening to: "Give it All" - Rise Against
Currently Watching: Well, not quite "currently watching," but I can't get enough of Smallville and Miami Ink
Currently Playing: Counter-Strike: Source ([p]X | Phoenix pr [p]X | KalEl Krypton's Last Son), World of Warcraft (PXAnime on Kel'Thuzad), Battlefield 2 (PXPhoenix), Warcraft III (PX_Conqueror or t3tsu0 on USWest)
Sites: Art MySpace Xanga SuicideGirls
Sorry for the long title
Have you ever felt like you weren't really living your life? That your body just goes through the motions of daily life out of sheer muscle memory...That you're really miles and miles away, off in a world were you belong...Where you can just be you?
A Man's Dreams are an Index to his Greatness
I've always been one of those people who are greatly affected by their dreams. My dreams are clear, vivid, and I always remember them. I am a man who is skeptical of "supernatural" powers...But dreams are one reason why I don't completely rule out the existence of such powers. Have you ever had a dream that conveyed a message? That portrayed what the future held? I have...On numerous occasions. Call them coincidences, call them educated guesses, but I have seen such visions in my dreams.
The funny thing about dreams is that they've been around ever since man first went to sleep, yet no one has any idea what they are. Maybe it is because we are asleep that dreams can seem so powerful. Your senses shut off while sleeping...Maybe all the energy that is used to sort through the constant bombardment of information is able to tap into some hidden ability through dreams...Giving us a glimpse of evolution where man uses more than just a mere ten percent of the brain.
I've had to reoccurrences in my dreams as of late...One of which scares me. It is a theme, which started sometime in my sophomore year of high school. Devastation strikes around me, and I come to the aid of others. The first version was a school shooting. I fight the shooters, and am able to take them down. I'm wounded, shot and stabbed, but I get a call from the last remaining shooter. He has the girl I have a crush on (Which happened to also be a friend) hostage. I run to where they are, a knife in hand. I let the knife fly, but it is too late, and I bear witness to the death of the girl I love.
The second dream is a different twist of the same situation. This time I am talking to this girl, about to ask her out. Behind her I see the shooter let loose the first bullet. The dream slows down. I see the bullet headed right towards her and I try to move her...Try to save her, but I'm not Superman...I'm not faster than a speeding bullet. She dies in my arms as I tell her I love her. I go on a rampage killing those who have caused me pain...
The third version of this dream is different. This time, our country has been invaded. It happens all of a sudden, so I am still at school. I see the soldiers move in around the campus, and I know they aren't ours. One comes up the steps, a pen in the throat takes care of him. Armed with his weapons, I take position and do my best to defend what I can. A grenade makes it up to the hallway next to me and it's over for me. I wake up in the hospital, three limbs short...
The most recent version seems to be the worst. A man enters my class and stands in front of the door. He pulls out a gun and announces that we are all his hostages. My teachers pleads with him, and after a while, the madman gives us a new option. One of us goes with him, or everyone dies. For some reason, I volunteer, almost instantly. He takes me somewhere, off the freeway into the desert. I wake up and I'm shirtless, feet bound, hands bound, hanging off of a meat hook. The madman is sitting there smiling at me, with a folder filled with papers which I soon discover contains information about my life. He informs me that I have been hanging there for two days, no food, no water. I feel weak, I feel tired, but I don't let him see that...I stare him straight in the eye with a gaze that would set fire to a glacier. He asks me why I did it, why did I volunteer myself.
"I don't know...I just couldn't let you hurt someone else, knowing that I could have prevented it."
"So, you think you're some kind of hero then? Tell me Mr. Hero, who's your favorite superhero?"
"Why does it matter..."
"Because Weston, every hero needs a symbol, and I'm going to give you yours. Judging by your actions, and your blogs, I figure you're a Superman type of guy. So, let's turn you into Superman shall we?"
He takes me down from the hook. I try to struggle, but am too weak to fight him off. He straps me down to a table. Takes a knife from a tray and begins carving into my chest...Superman's "S"...I grit my teeth and will myself not to show any sign of weakness. He takes a vile from some near table and pours it's contents carefully pours it onto the cuts. Acid, to forever scar "my" symbol. My defenses crumble and I scream out in agony. He laughs, enjoying my pain.
For a two weeks he experiments on me...Tortures me...Acid burns, electrical burns, injections of who-knows-what. He says that he's seen the true me. That he is going to give me power to match my actions. That he is going to make me Superman.
"I'm sorry to tell you Clark, but you look more like Lex Luthor than you do Superman."
It is only then that I notice that I'm bald from his experiments. Clark Kent? Lex Luthor? Superman??? Who are these people...Are they...Are they me? Who am I?
"You could always kill yourself you know. Bite your tongue off while I'm not here and bleed to death."
No. I am Weston. I am Weston.
"No, my name is Weston. I won't die...I won't let you hurt anyone else"
"How very heroic you. Let's see just how strong you are Superman.
I open my eyes to see him smiling at me, and then I hear it. Gunfire. And everything goes black again.
I wake up later. Hours, days, weeks, I don't know how long I was out. I feel different somehow...Like there is something deep down inside of me that is coming to life for the first time. I manage to use a nearby wall to help lift my hands over the tip of the hook, and I fall hard to the ground. Why hadn't I tried that before? But...I had...And was too weak to lift myself...Shouldn't I be weaker now? What is going on? I unbind myself and hear approaching footsteps. I move to the door, the knife that carved an "S" into my chest in one hand, a vile in the other. He opens the door and time seems to slow. I through the content of the vile in his face, lucky for me, it was acid on not water. The knife lands in his throat. As he falls to the ground I make my break for freedom.
Ok, wow...I wrote way more there than I had planned to. Anyway, the message in these dreams is what scares me. I've said it once, and I'll say it again. I am a man of great potential. I am a man who is destined to do great things. But what if these dreams come true as others have? At what cost will my greatness come with?
Who's your Padre?
The Padres are pathetic. They don't have a leader on the team. That one person you can count on to get that clutch hit, make that clutch play. I really want to some changes happen with this team...Especially if they ever hope to be a contender. And Bochy is an idiot.
My dad and I went to the playoff game here in SD on Saturday. Even though there wasn't much hope, it was still fun. Even sparked a few memories of the World Series game we went to
Current Mood: Fearful and tired of crap
Currently Listening to: "Give it All" - Rise Against
Currently Watching: Well, not quite "currently watching," but I can't get enough of Smallville and Miami Ink
Currently Playing: Counter-Strike: Source ([p]X | Phoenix pr [p]X | KalEl Krypton's Last Son), World of Warcraft (PXAnime on Kel'Thuzad), Battlefield 2 (PXPhoenix), Warcraft III (PX_Conqueror or t3tsu0 on USWest)
Sites: Art MySpace Xanga SuicideGirls
toby:
thanks for the sweet comment on my set!
adrenalynn:
thanks much!