The Return of the Dreams.

If here, I was in a state of mild panic due to the lost ability to dream, these past few days have been bloody triumphant. The amount of dreams multiplied by a fuckfold and the intensity of them... Jesus fuck, I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

Eargasm of the day: Listening to this and going on a killing spree in Sleeping Dogs is one of the finer things in life.

I guess the dream journal does work but I'm not going to lie and say that I write in that goddamned thing every single time I dream. Actually I only wrote down three. That's good enough.

It seems to me that the more effective way is to simply hold on to the dream when one wakes up. Don't get up from bed, linger and recount, rinse and repeat ad infinitum. What concerns me is that the dreams that I've been having these past few days are... Severely awesome. For example, in one of the dreams, I injected myself with a massive syringe filled with turbid fluid and the doctors and nurses around me were screaming (At my apparent awesomeness or in utter fear, I do not know). I remember being told beforehand that I had contracted a disease from one of the patients; I was a doctor apparently, and one of my colleagues told me that what was in that syringe could either kill me or save me. So I took the damned thing and stabbed myself in the abdomen and injected myself with it and the pain was glorious. When I stabbed myself, I remember seeing an almost textbook-like image of cells and the way they tore when the needle was in between them.

Source

The funny thing is that I've been finding myself sleep-acting(?) more often. Once I was trying to open a damned jar in my dream and I somehow woke up at that moment to find myself in the act of trying to open an imaginary jar. I dreamt about something the other day and I woke up murmuring the words "It's too hard. Too hard,". Let's just see if I wake up one day to find the head of my housemates arranged neatly around me.

*

Welp, looks like I'm back to the unholy furnace that is deviantArt.

It's... Funny. I used to loathe the goddamned site because at that time I needed constant appraisals of my work. Need people to look at my work and say: Amaigawd or any other variant of whatever language they're speaking nowadays. And when I don't get that, I get pissed off and blame the world but I never look in the mirror and realise that I am, in truth, a fucked up 'artist'.

Now I got back to dA and I no longer feel that sense of inferiority (That's because I always feel inferior, badum-tss). It doesn't matter anymore because I don't look for people to actually comment on my work anymore. Especially when it comes to writing, I believe that I'm at a level where passion dictates everything. So I'll post a couple of things and see how it goes. No more rage.

Of course, all this 'mature' bullshit is nice to type and ponder upon.

*

I finally saw a goddamned vaginal birth. It's nice to see I don't have a fetish. Overall, a disappointment. Yes it's awesome. Yes the cries of the suffering fuel my lust excitement happiness. But then the visual aspect of the matter is sorely lacking. My ears are ecstatic, listening to the wails of women looking like the girl in the exorcist but then my eyes are bored. I expected more blood, I expected a chocolate fountain (Defecation during vaginal birth is common and expected) but instead I was presented with a woman that looks strangely like Sweeney Todd and I believe that given the chance, she could scream the world to dust. Then this goes on for thirty or so minutes and then out comes the ugly parasite and that's it. Sure, there was a gush of blood as the placenta detaches but... There is much to be desired.

Ah well. The curse is at least over now.