Index 
Apprearance and Reality
The Pissing Dream: Memory of a sequential dream. Intense memory of dreams was a welcome side effect of Cymbalta I was taking for depression; it also made me light headed all the time, so I changed. I've taken SSRIs (Prozac, Celexa, Lexapro), and SSNRIs (Effexor, Cybaltal). I miss the intense dream memories with Cymbalta. I love to remember dreams and I've had no nightmares. With Prozac and other anti-depressants I can't remember dreams. I learned from experience not to stop taking anti-depressant, after a couple I years severe depression return. I am now taking 20mg (the least dose) of fluxotine, generic Prozac. Dream during a nap @ 4:00 to 8:00pm. Listened to Blues CD to go to sleep. Dream fades in, images of “stars” on CD cover. Some friends (Larry King from HS and others unknown) and myself on an inner cover picture of the CD, laying on my side, up on one elbow, much younger, @20-25. Someone (female) commented on “our group” (unknown type) having several members on CD covers, including Scott (oops, he is no longer on cover, but still full size photo inside). Next some forgotten action – then the female “talker” said to me privately, “Can you be free Saturday morning?” Me – “Yes”, she – “Good, you have an appointment for a tryout for the lead in a movie as an ancient Greek action hero (like Brad Pitt in “Troy”, sort of, not sure). Some chat @ 3rd female heard and knew. She said Larry King had a tryout in the afternoon – he was favorite – stiff competition, by this time we (the undefined group) were riding a train into Chicago. I was sitting with the “talker” on the left side of the train – other “overhearer” was in the seat in front of us. Saw skyscrapers of city (not recognized as Chicago). I made a joke – “Hey, can we stop? The city looks neat.” The joke was that neat was an uncool word; people laughed. I thought, “Good, they laughed, I impressed them as me being cool, but I DO think the skyscraper are neat.” If they only knew I was a nerd – maybe they do. Then I asked the “talker”, “Can I get a script of the movie I am to audition for?” She asked “overhearer” who said, “Yes, how long?” I said, “Today, the audition is tomorrow.” She reluctantly said OK. The train continued to the station, then after unremembered conversation, someone said, “Let’s go to a movie.” Discussion of pro’s and con’s; then after unremembered events, the group was entering a movie theater. |
I had to piss, but entered alone and took a seat between an “older” lady @45-50 years old and the young boy was she babysitting. I asked her if I could take the seat; she said, “Sure.” I took off my coat to put in on the seat to hold it and said I had to go to the bathroom. I left and the young boy ran ahead of me. I realized he had to go too and was accompanying me. He ran into the bathroom first – we went in – several urinals, brown. He found a low round one and began to piss. It went all over. I scolded him to aim better; he tried, then all over again. He started purposefully aiming everywhere, on edges of toilet, on the wall, on the floor. I scolded more, as I began to piss myself. Urine rushed out in a huge stream. The boy finished pissing and began running all over, even out of the bathroom, while my piss continued to gush out. Someone (unknown) brought the boy back into the bathroom and chastised any “owner” for letting boys roam alone. I claimed him and said I was in the middle of urinating and could not leave with him. The boy kept running around badly, out of bathroom, back in. Then I finished urinating, as the boy started to run back and forth along the long tank urinal. I had to piss again, did at the long tank urinal, the boy ran to one end and the hand dryer. I said, “To urinal”; he did; “To other end”; he did; “To other end”; he did. So I found a way to control him while I pissed – more gushing. (Note: need to piss and dreaming about it, as a long, gushing stream is a recurrent dream theme for me, but paradoxically, after this dream I did piss, but very little). Then the boy went back and forth, back and forth to my “commands” or “suggestions” and the boy (was it ME as a little boy?) did it as a game. By now it was apparent that the boy was retarded and hyperactive. I finished pissing and took the boy’s hand and we left the bathroom, my piss scattered from the power of my stream and the boy’s directed piss was all over the walls and floors. As we reentered the theater, I saw our seats ahead about 5 or 10 rows to the right along the adjacent aisle. The boy dashed ahead, turning into a black and white frisky cat, leaping onto the stage, and jumping at the curtains with his claws. I sat and exchanged some conversation with the 45-50 “older” woman babysitter. Then excused myself; I had to piss again. I went to the bathroom, chose a single standard white urinal and started gushing piss again; but one small stream flowed backward, soaking my pants. I tried to stop it; couldn’t; could see the underside of my penis (may have represented ejaculate), continued pissing, gushing; backward stream increased. As I tried rubbing of the end of my penis to stop it, it only got worse. Then the foreskin was covering the head of my penis deflecting the entire gush to soak my pants and shirt, both arms and legs, as someone (maybe Larry King) asked me what happened. I said, “I pissed all over” as more piss gushed and covered me. I had to piss again, found a “urinal” cut out of rock with 2 or 3 “holes” to aim at. I started gushing again, went pretty good till my gushes were so strong they bounced back soaking my hands and forearms. I aimed at an alternate hole, was OK until the pressure of the gush increased and the spray again covered my hands and arms. Finished pissing again and started to leave the bathroom. Someone said, “How are you doing?” I said, “Strange, I have to piss A LOT. I piss, finish, and have to piss again immediately.” By this time I am trying to rinse my arms and hands and talk awhile indicating something is strange. I am not sure who I am talking to, Steve York maybe. |
When I then leave the bathroom, the theater has changed, a concession stand is there now and theater has become a sunken arena, like a basketball court at New Castle, but not that one. I hear a monster inside the bathroom eating the people in there, lashing out its tongue and swallowing people whole. It emerges from the bathroom and begins eating people at the concession stand along the main wall, opposite the bathroom (like Auburn Hills in Detroit, Thomas and Mack Center in Las Vegas, et al.). Tongue lashed, WHIP, grabs a person, pulls it to his mouth, swallows it whole – again, WHIP, swallow. The monster’s body is a huge snake, sort of but fatter, like Jabba the Hut, but longer. Then it seems that I am the monster, looking over the edge of the arena to another bigger monster at a desk on the floor of the arena – dictating to people what they can do. This other monster is a red, bushy haired ogre, hugely fat, human-bear like face, huge torso, using telekinesis to move people around, like Yoda. I tell him to leave people alone. He looks up, sees me, and asks, “Why?” “Because I said so,”, I say, “and they are mine”. I lash out my tongue and electrical jolts leap out from its tip. The other monster tries to levitate me. I zap his hand. We glare at each other. Then I say, “Let’s not fight but cooperate and we can avoid unnecessary waste of our power and energy. He agrees and I pick him up and begin flying, carrying him under my right arm. We fly over some European city, with a cathedral, with a tall spire, with an ornate, late Baroque cross at the top. I say to him, “I assume you can fly too!” He says, “Yes” and we begin flying independently. We talk and begin to bond. I said when I was very young I recognized my powers and know I was of a different kind than most other children. He said, “Likewise.” He said he knew he was magical but hid it so as not to be ridiculed and made an outcast. I said, “Same here.” I said it was a relief to be able to talk about this with someone who understood. He agreed. I was no longer the snake, but myself). By now, flying together, we had circled back to the church spire. We flew around it a few times, then headed back to the arena. I said I wanted to fly alone a while more and circled the spire, climbing higher. The cross turned into a two-forked cactus. As I started to climb up by flying, I felt my old nemesis: restraints on my ability to fly still higher. I overcome them for a little, but still could not get as high as I wanted. This is always very frustrating to me. (Only once do I remember a dream when I totally beat the limits and flew as high as I wanted, to the edge of space above the clouds.) Soon after I awoke to piss, but not very much (I really didn’t have to this time). |