Loofa dreaming. I mean lucid dreaming.

Last night.  Last night I made brain progress.  It may have been mind progress, actually.  I was dreaming.  I woke up within my dream (or as us white people call it, “becoming loofa”).  Maybe they should call it “becoming lucid”, it just sounds better.  If that phrase takes off, remember that you heard it here first and that I plan on taxing that word.

For the past few weeks, while dreaming, my dream self (Snads cloud 9) has noticed my trigger signal but not been able to become lucid, as I (back to first person) notice it only briefly and then hastily jump into a kool-aid pool of forgetfulness and something else I cannot make up right now.  However, last night I managed to become fully loofa in my dream, but not due to my trigger point.  I had walked through an invisible wall made of magnetized…….magnets and it made my body feel funny, so I kept walking through it, culminating in an imitation of a P. Diddy shuffle dance thing while being “magnetized”.  Anyway, the scenery changed shortly thereafter and I found myself walking across a courtyard the size of a football field.  Since I was aware that I was dreaming, I figured I would test out “summoning”.  I yelled out for my best friend for about 30 dream minutes and out from the ground, climbed Brandon.

We idled in tarryland (the land in which you tarry) for a few hours, just joking around mostly.  From within the dream, I could sense I was getting ready to wake up and proceeded to tell Brandon, repeatedly, “B, you have to remember this when you wake up, remember that I called you here into my dream.  This is a dream I am having and we are hanging out in it.”  He smiled and said he probably wouldn’t remember but he was aware that it was a dream and that I had called him.  Out of excitement, I punched him in his face.  That is a lie.  I didn’t punch his face.  But I did turn myself into a string of Chinese firecrackers to be placed at the end of an epic piece of literature to ensure that the reader’s experience went out with a bang.  And mild burns to the skin.

Listening to music is like partial time travel to me.  If you have a problem with that, stop reading my blog.  Forever.  I wonder if that applies to anybody else?

There is a personnel problem in my grooming salon, not to mention the obsessive compulsive “percentages” fetish that corporate has, not caring about anything aside from reaching their numbers–whether it is practical or not.  It makes me wish they all lost their jobs and had to rely on handouts for sustenance.  Corporate drones are illogical, arrogant creatures.  I am sure working in a private grooming shop is better than working for a corporation.  For those of you who also hate corporate enterprises, I rededicate this post to myself. Much like how home births are becoming more widespread and respected.  That was a terribly irrelevant analogy but you get where I am going with it.  Or maybe you don’t.  In either case, I don’t care because you are not going to help me start my own business.  I would feel far more comfortable waiting until I am in the west again before I succeed in such a venture.  At least I have a job though, grievances aside, I do have an income, praise be to Stephen Colbert.

He slayed 50 terrorists just by looking at them.

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