I am feverish, unable to sleep properly. I lay down last night, get up. I’m freezing. I bundle up in a jacket and burrow down under the blanket. My bones are all grinding together. I twist in the sheets on a perfectly good bed. The clock says 2:20am. I go from the bed to the couch downstairs, the lounge chair, the floor, the bed again. I will drift off for a half hour and have the same dream all night, but in installments. Whenever I awake, head splitting – I check my face for nose bleeds, it’s that bad – I am aware I’m having a ridiculous dream. I am a ridiculous person having a ridiculous dream.
I went to bed after studying titanium oxide crystal refraction. Different crystals produce different colors, measurable by nanometer wavelengths. I don’t know why. I have applied them to the classic “nautilus” curl of phi found in the Golden Ratio and am plotting a color scheme for a painting overrun with kites. I spent three hours yesterday deciding how best to accentuate my 2ft x 3ft oil painting with the beautiful, highly refractive colors of rare brookite, which is more brilliant than diamonds. Usually, I’d be curled up with a book, having some cocoa. But not tonight. The fever is invasive and troubling, like someone dropped a pound of raw, unstable potassium in a swimming pool and the explosive result is blasting away my sanity. I’ll try to get through this, but I’m having trouble.
In the first installment, I see scalene triangles and pyramids everywhere. It’s one of those things where you fixate on something and then, miraculously, you see the object everywhere. I see their shapes lurking in the environment everywhere. Also, water is condensing on everything in unusually large amounts. Wading becomes necessary. I am thinking in my dream that enough quartzite minerals holding brookite crystals have entered the atmosphere to turn the planet into a giant resonant cavity superconductor, whatever that means.
The next installment starts with me having a eureka moment. I dream that I realize I am experiencing one of the larger waves of the Age of Aquarius. The age arrives in a truncated series of waves. That explains the water everywhere, and the triangles (no it doesn’t, I remind myself). I am experiencing a physical change, as are every object in the solar system. Electronics no longer work. Religious zealotry spreads. Terror floods the imagination. We are preoccupied with various apocalyptic scenarios. Human begin to revert to tribalism. I join an anarchist syndicate that grows urban gardens. We throw clay seed balls into empty grassy lots full of hardy seeds. We dress like Jehovah’s Witness solicitors so as to not arouse interest. There would be a need to plant enough food for everyone, otherwise hoarding would lead to a bloody power struggle. It was difficult, lonely work and I missed my family.
I wake up and think to myself, this dream is absurd. The Age of Aquarius is stupid, and so are triangles. My head is a split, rotten melon full of spilling crazy juice. I go downstairs and drift off into a storm of rudimentary equations proving the arrival of the Aquarian Age according to the precession of the equinoxes. With unshakable confidence, I feel I have found evidence of the end of humanity and the beginning of a new evolutionary form based upon the oil painting project color scheme I dreamed up. The numbers of the Fibonacci sequence, of Phi, of angles of refraction of a rare titanium oxide crystal, it all adds up. I’m witnessing this like a spectator in my dream. I’m arguing it doesn’t make any sense, but my dream self is unaware of rational observation.
I wander the house in lots of pain for a half hour again. Looks like my plans of running 15 miles is completely scoobied this day, I muse. I’m a wreck, weak and confused.
I drift off and make my way to a meteorological station where I help in the construction of a tempest prognosticator. The hard part is getting the slimy eels into the little jars. I feel like I’m being microwaved, ashes on the shore on a bright summer day. Reports from sientists circulate that the most massive coronal mass ejection has sent a lethal wave of energized particles towards earth. Recently remodeled electronic equipment, if not shielded underground, melts. Humanity continues to slide into chaos of the Age of Aquarius because of a meteor storm of rare crystals have turned the earth into a superconductive generator unable to contain its huge amount of energy, and all things emitting an electromagnetic field is being affected badly. My teeth loosen, gums and eyes bleed. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t decided to create a nice golden ratio of six colors with which to make a painting of a bunch of kites flying high above an arched bridge that crosses a beautiful deep canyon. And triangles. It all adds up.
I am actually getting scared, thinking I’m losing my mind. None of this makes any sense. I go back to bed, try to discredit the reality of conditions in the dream, try to discredit the fraud of the dream, but there is such an unshakable quality to it that i tire of the struggle. In the dream I continue to practice ancient arts of guerrilla farming. I realize I am the only person on earth capable of being punctual. No one ever makes it to occasions on time. It’s sad, knowing that time will be lost forever in the struggle to regain our humanity. But what good is it to be efficient when I’m getting bathed in X-rays and gamma rays from lethal CMEs from the sun, wading through water endlessly in a hellscape, one for which I was responsible. The dream revolves around me wanting to paint kites with a balance of nice colors, and now we’re all going to descend and devolve because Pandora’s brookite box had opened and let spew forth into the void the Waves of Aquarius, all up in this bitch.
I just need to relax. I feel like my head is going to explode.
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