Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Wednesday, 22 July 2009

My Dreamscape


In the last two weeks I've dreamed about nuclear war three times. I have seen full blown nuclear exposions from the end of the earth's atmosphere and mushroom clouds appear from my window.

Dream #1
As I look at the column of energy consume everything in its path like an immobile tornado my own cat is driven to complete insanity as the mushroom blossoms, I try to take him away from the horror that awaits but he scratches my face to pieces in the panic and fear that only a fragile creature like a cat can feel. Unusually, the only thing missing from my imagination was the intense white light that follows a nuclear explosion, the one that all voluntary witnesses are advised to shield their eyes from lest they destroy their retinas.

In this dream I see huge collumns of smoke one after the other, as many as seven consumed the entirity of my vision, towering into the sky dwarfing the 'skyskrapers' they engulfed. Each was entirely and perfectly locked into its own position, making no outward movements but shaking violently where it stood, seemingly sucking life from the ground to the heavens. The unison they showed was incredible, each was a precise replica of the last in its previous seconds and all towered thousands of metres into the sky joined by a grey cloud that was even higher than it ever seemed possible for the earth to reach. I wept in fear at their presence.

Dream #2
In another dream I witnessed the destruction of the earth from its own atmosphere, I saw mushrooms consume continents falling from rings that resembled those of cartoon planets. I saw billions die in this dream, I may well have been the only living survivor, a lucky anomaly who happened to miss a date with death. Again, all white light was absent and I was not blinded, I looked into the eye of the explosion and felt the fear and pain of every innocent and unassuming individual. I woke up before I could see the results, the last thing I remember thinking was how no-one could ever deserve this amount of suffering and weeping into a bowl at the loss of humanity whilst praying that this was just a dream.

Dream #3
In my final dream I was the most disturbed. I was aware of some kind of destruction, but I did not see it first hand like I had in the other dreams, although I knew it was enormous. People were shredded limb from limb, apparently torn to pieces. Faces were almost always missing. At times internal body organs were exposed in the living and breathing, stomachs protruded like dull red footballs beneath yellowing rib cages. I remember seeing animals that were once pets eating the feet and shoes of their human friends, people walked on all fours but behaved in their usual manner as if their revolting presence was not offensive. I saw a dog shit into a corner only to produce a hive of cockroaches that crawled over its body, searching its surface for the similarity they found inside the decaying cask that they had immediately left. I saw men eating their own hair because it was the only form of disposable and affordable nourishment. Water was exceptionally non existent and as far as I could see, liquid was a laughable luxury, life crumbled to the touch.

This is what I see, the images have no basis in reality, the only thing they can be is a product of what I have seen on TV...

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Tuesday, 2 June 2009

My trip to therapy

I was instructed by my university to seek counselling recently after a lie on my part got out of hand and some home truths came to light. I don't know if the lie had some basis of truth in it or if it was a meagre cry for help or if, and most likely, it was just me squirming my way out of trouble. People will debate but I know the latter to be the truth.

There are a few legitimate reasons why I could and most probably should seek counselling, but these are private matters and for the most part you will come to learn of them in time. However I went with the suggestion and attended a "45 minute analysis" to determine what, if any help I was gravely in need of. At this point I was instructed to relax by an extremely softly spoken counsellor, who would have been asleep had she been any more chilled out, and told not to pay any attention to the notes she would be writing during our conversation. GREAT. It was impossible NOT to pay attention to the ENDLESS notes she was writing because she didn't stop writing them, she even appeared to note down the most insignificant crap I was spewing forth. She managed to note down the leg I broke as a SIGNIFICANT EVENT, she was probably going to hold on to that one for a later extraction of memories of the abuse I never suffered. I managed to leave out a lot of very private facts about my life which, I would imagine, probably resulted in her massive fuck up of a diagnosis regarding my mental health.

And this is the most important part of the story.

I have father issues. I guessed this was going to be her diagnosis when she spent about half out our 45 minute session, which is a whole twenty-two minutes and thirty seconds, asking me questions along the lines of, "was DAD not there when you were younger?", "was DAD coming and going a lot?", "did DAD miss out on sharing all of those special moments that boys and their father's share in those golden oldies?". Well shit, I guess so... DAD really did a number on me didn't he lady... Did he hell. A lot of people grow up WITHOUT dad's. I didn't. In fact, I think I only know two people who really grew up with their dad's full presence, it's a fallacy. And whilst I assured her that this really did not bother me she assured me that it really did.

Now, there is a macabre twist to this tale, because this happened about two months ago and after the genius doctor's diagnosis I was booked in for regular counselling to deal with my issues, which I cancelled the very next day because I fully believe that I know best. I sort of began to think on what she had said and how wrong she had been. I then spent a lot of time thinking about good old dad and reminiscing of the good old days and happy times that we spent together, even though they have been separated by gaps of many years. I cant really fault my childhood in that respect, it was fun as fuck. And then last week he died. Boom. Shocked the shit out of me. I hadn't seen him in years but I spoke to him all of the time. it's an odd thing grief because I don't really know how I feel, I know I'm upset but I don't know if I can show it, I know I can hide it well. But this is besides the point because the point I want to make is that in my grieving this dumb psychologist keeps popping into my head attempting to besmirch the memories of my dad and I hate her for that, but if it wasn't for her I wouldn't have spent the last 2 months remembering how happy we were together, which in a way has pre-empted all the reminiscing I should be doing now.

I don't really believe in anything at all, but it's weird how things almost appear to happen for a reason.


Heaven and hell colliding:


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