The first time I met Michael Douglas

If I could have a lucid dream this is how it would go:
I would lay down upon my bed after experiencing the most euphoric of days.  Maybe I had the best sex of my life, or attained the ultimate high from wine and weed or perhaps I’d have fallen in love with the most beautiful woman only to realize she was my love all along.  The possibilities are truly endless, although so often in life are days considered euphoric.  Haha poetic digression finished: what I’m trying to say is that I’d have fallen asleep in a sound state of mind and be thus in an enlightened state whereas to easily drift into a lucid state.  Well in the spirit of the LaBerge readings, I would fly off into the sky but it’d be more like descending into an ocean towards a bright light of course, that attracted me with the zen like appetite Buddha must have had.  Somewhere in this dream I’d be attempting to write a short story but it it’d probably be about a man who goes to a lucid dreaming convention to steal narratives in order to sell his short stories to Square One Publishers, another story for another day.  After reaching the bright light I’d be transported into a nightclub and probably order a drink from a bartender who knew that I wanted a Sierra Nevada and would have it ready for me.  A few friends would then led me to the dance floor where they’d be playing the Tom Tom Club’s rendition of “Under the Boardwalk”.  At this point I would be overwhelmed with piety and feel compelled to thank the creator of this production.  I would kindly request that my unconscious produce the ultimate being akin to those in the LaBerge narratives.  I then would feel an intense rush of energy, although not kinetic, capable of moving my body in a 96 degree angle to see Michael Douglas in a purple suit, wearing sun glasses and at this moment I would fall through a floor as who am I to look upon Michael Douglas never fulfilling my desire to thank god.  After realizing my error I would probably invent a narrative in which I’m a Vaudeville star performing nightly on the circuit, wooing the audience with my scat singing.  After that I’d visit people I may have been in a past life and I’d find that I was once a Mexican girl living outside of Puerto Vallarta who died tragically of leukemia at the age of seven.  I would talk to her and she would probably say “Deseo que viviera un más tiempo” and I’d try to comfort her by telling her that she was I and I honored her by retaining her stunted femininity.  She wouldn’t understand such a notion but after  showing her the life she would have lived in real time she would finally see that her life had continued unto mine and be thankful that I let her “See” her life.  Wouldn’t we all like to know how we lived  had we not.

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Published in: on May 1, 2010 at 1:37 am Comments (0)


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