Sunday, January 30, 2005

Dreams about credit, my 4.4 40 yd dash time, a waitress, & the value of events

Some dreams I had in the last couple of days, in the order I had them, from had longest ago to had most recently:

1 There was a web page with three links in it. The third or so link is the one that I remember. It was a link to a CGI page at the World Economic Forum in Davos Switzerland. By following the link I would be able to get myself a World Economic Forum Credit Card.

When I awoke I was thinking of how liberals, democrats, leftists, socialists, communists, and so forth, sometimes tend to ostracize anyone who even communicates with elements of the economic right, such as the wealthy stockholders and the high paid executives. To them I feel like saying: there should be a place in society for those who teach the relatively wealthy high income people about ethics and about attaining the spirit and knowing God and flying higher closer to God.

2 In a dream I was having a discussion with someone about how fast I could run the 40 yard dash.

In real conscious waking life I had extrapolated the speed I would eventually be able to run the 40 yd dash to 4.5 to 4.6 seconds. This was based on me being able to run in flat-soled sneakers on a concrete asphalt type road, the 40 in 5.25 seconds, from a standing start, without starting blocks, without being trained in the arts of sprinting and training-for-sprinting, and without being in shape.

So in the dream I told the man I was having a discussion with about how my sprinting speed extrapolated to 4.4 secs for the 40 yd dash, whereas actually it had in my mind in the dream extrapolated to 4.5 seconds; in the dream for dramatic effect I fudged things by 0.1 second. 4.4 seconds is the time that to the best of my knowledge and aside from exaggeration made by coaches etc., is the actual world record for the 40 yard dash. But a 4.4 seconds speed for the 40 yard dash was not fast enough for this guy I was having the discussion with. I could not see the guy I was talking to.

I do not remember ths man's face, except that I had the feeling he was a bright white american middle-aged caucasian who was big aggressive and energetic. He had a loud deep aggressive voice. He wanted speeds of 4.3 seconds or faster in the 40.

3 I was in the Putnam St area near Central Sq Cambridge. There was a restaurant on the corner there. It was a warm summer pleasant day. The waitress in the restaurant was a prettty white female with shoulder length wavy yellow hair who wore a white long sleeved blouse and skin tight shorts made out of blue jeans. These shorts were tight and were short, they were hot pants, they did not reach lengthwise halfway to her knee. She was somewhat stocky, shapely, wide-hiooed, muscular, not fat, average height. She was busty but her blouse was loose. Her face had that sort of washed out look when the skin color and the eyebrows and the lips are all almost the same color, but she was not unhealthy looking and she was pretty. She was just a north european type not wearing makeup.

This waitress reminded me of LW from my real waking life. LW is, if you like pretty women who are very busty and muscular yet shapely, a goddess. LW blurted out to me that "she does". Once when LW saw me as she walked by my she became extremely excited this was verry obvious from the expressions on her face. I havent seen LW recently she works at a supermarket. Last I saw her she was briskly walking somewhere with HL HL is, if you like tallish (but not taller than the average man) women who are pretty busty muscular yet shapely another goddess. In real life she's been blurting out things like "I do" and "I f___" to me when she sees me also. This kind of popularity has produced in me a kind of paralysis of confusion. Seems whatever I do in my social life, there will be someone to condemn me as economically foolish, or unethical, or, in violation of monogamy laws, or, unspiritual.

Lately out of all the women who have expressed interest in me, I, in my confusion produced paralysis, have been thinking and dreaming about the ones who are my height or shorter. Seems the ones who are my height or shorter than me are for me as a general rule naturally easy to get emotional and loving about, whereas for me emotion and love does not come naturally for women taller than me. It is a pleasant feeling, to have that loving feeling inside of oneself. My culture has taught me, that having loving feelings for people is good. I think of it as a wise move to be a loving person. I am five feet ten inches tall and I find women who are between about five feet seven and about five ten to be the most loveable. .

Before I encountered these women shorter than me, I encountered women taller than me, who eventually expressed to me or suposedly to some third party some interest in me, and I had dreams about them. But now in my waking mind these women who are taller than me fade into the background as new women who have an interest in me who are my height and shorter take center stage. Does this mean the taller women have to be eliminated from my social or family life, because of the new loveable ones who are my height or shorter than me? Surely there will be someone to condemn me for not simply eliminating them from my life, as opposed to relegating them to a background. Or someone will come along to complain that I have some obligation to the "giant" women I encountered earlier in life who dragged their feet with me, and therefore am obligated to get rid of the new women who are not taller than me. Seems people don't see the importance of me, being around people I have genuine emotions for. I figure that the important thing, is having genuine loving emotions for other people, as opposed to faking it. I think aside from the love of God such is the second most important virtue. I figure, better to be accomplished in the art of the second most important virtue, and to mess up relatively minor ways, than to excel in minor stuff and mess up in the area of such an important virtues as the second most important virtue, the love of someone else (better yet the love of several someone elses). But there is nobody there to say, yeah, you are right, you might be messing up in some ways but at least you are being loving, as opposed to not being loving, and doing the minor stuff right.

Whatever the outcome, why am I guilty for expressing to these earlier tall women some dreams I had about them? Eventually they did develop an interest in me. And all I did was say what dreams I had. I never said to them that I was, before knowing them, committed to marrying them, or marrying them and them alone. I do'nt see that I am obligated to marry these tall women, I see marrying them as optional. They have been it seems sort of dragging their feet about communicating and socializing with me.

Anyway in the dream I did not say anything to this waitress as I ate my meal. Later as I was driving around in a car with someone who was similar to myself, I was discussing this waitress at this restaurant. There was this idea that I had erred in not talking up this waitress when I had the meal and she was serving it, because now contacting her had become problematical. My idea was that I didnt want to rush it. I was saying that since I knew the manager of the restaurant, and he was on good terms with me, I would still be able to meet the waitress later if I felt like it. Off in the distance I could see the manager of the restaurant smiling at me; in the dream he was a friend; he was about ten yards away, yet his face seemed big, he was a white guy with a mustache. He was this internet news site operator who exists in real life and is named Joseph Farah. When I woke up I was thinking of how in real life I've noticed that Farah seems have some things in common with me, but seems to ignore important news, and seems to produce editorial opinions that I disagree with.

4 There were these events, that when divided by one, produced a positive value. I could see an icon representing an event, and beneath it a line representing division in math, and beneath that dividor line the number one; each event was represented as a fraction. All of these events had a positive value. Added together they had even more positive value. One of these icons representing an event, represented me and a topless white extremely busty (very wide long and protrusive breasts) woman in a house or apartment. I could not see the woman's face I saw the scene through a window. This event was represented by an icon,; as a fraction this event was represented as the icon, then the dividor line, and then the number one. There were several other events represented as fractions like this but the event with the busty women is the only event I can remember now.

Saturday, January 29, 2005

Dreams about walking a highwire and McCartney being expert in love

Had these dreams on a night without melatonin, a first night retreating from melatonin. But still the lingering melatonin effect still seemed to be there.

1 My boyhood friend Michael G, his wife, and myself, were crawling along on these wires strung between extremely high medium brown colored cylindrical poles. These wires must have been at least 100 yards off the ground. They were about 4 inches in diameter, cylindrical shaped, a gray-light-blue color, there must have been about seven of them running parallel to each other between the tall poles; every 50 to 10 yards or so the wires would intersect with a tall pole. These poles were cynlindrical and about two feet thick. Michael his wife and myself were walking on the surface of these wires, all day and into the evening, using our hands and feet. We got to an intersection with a pole. We were all very tired. The feeling amongst us was, that since we were tired, there was a danger of procrastinating attempting to climb down the tall vertical pole, holding up the wires, because, then, we would get so sleepy, that there was a good chance we would fall while climbing down the tall, at least 100 yards tall pole, that held up the wires.

So the ideas was that we should not hesitate, to go down the pole. The idea was, that we had about two and a half hours left before we would basically fall asleep up on those wires, because we had expended so much energy and been up on those wires for so long, that we had tired ourselves out. So Michael and his wife without hesitating went down the pole, while I hesitated, remaining on the wires. It was late evening. It was fallish or springish weather outside, a clear day, blue skies. Michael and his wife fell to their deaths while going down the pole.

I, up on the wires, alone and shocked, looked around. I saw behind me, about seven yards behind and me and about 3 yards to my left, a red pickup truck, that was sitting on the wires. Improbably, it was balanced on the wires, and it was balanced in such a way that it would not fall, it was somehow, securely placed up on those wires that were holding up, sort of rock solid. I couldnt believe it...I would have a secure place to rest, in that red pickup truck, which was securely balanced parallel to the ground high above those wires, and so I would not have to go down that pole, in a tired state like Michael and his wife did.

2 Singer Paul McCartney and a woman who was his wife and-or girlfriend were amongst a crowd of people. I saw McCartney in what looked like a photo with a dark brown background, I did not get a good look at his face, but I could see he was smiling. McCartney and his wife/girlfriend had clear complexions, neither of them had pimples, because of the love they had for each other. McCartney was expert, at the art of heterosexually loving a woman.

So McCartney and his consort loved each other and had clear complexions, but everyone else in the crowd, McCartney and his wife were amongst, (the crowd must have numbered at least a few dozen) had pimples, because they were not expert at the art of loving the opposite sex the way McCartney and his consort were. Their love was not genuine or was not even faked, unlike the love McCartney and his consort had for each other which was genuine. Since the pimpled ones had no actual love outside of their sometimes pretended heterosexual loves, they in actuality had no real love but McCartney and his consort did.

When I awoke, I was thinking, the dream cast McCartney in an impressive light, even though while awake before the dream I had been aghast at a photo of him making a Texas Longhorns or satanic salute type of sign with his hand.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Re the rumors about famous people flashing satanic hand signs

I do'nt know how serious these famous people who have been rumored to have been flashing Satanic hand signs are about Satan, but nevertheless the rumors bother me. Some of the celebrities I have seen lately, have looked somehow phony to me, as they stand in cathedrals, with their face-lifted heads bowed and their eyes closed. The scripture says, that we should "avoid all appearance of evil". That is, we should avoid doing things that even if they are not evil, appear to others to be evil. The "rumor-mongers" say the hand signs being flashed are signs of support for the U of Texas "Longhorns" football team. I wonder, why ca'nt the U of Texas football fans come up with some kind of sign that does not so closely resemble the hand sign used by practicing satanists? The nation is filled with sports teams whose enthusiastic fans do not use any kind of hand sign. The Chicago Bulls (bulls have horns) basketball team fans are enthusiastic, but they do not find it necessary to use a hand sign depicting a creature with horns. Lots of sports teams are named after animals with horns; nevertheless, their fans do not flash satanic type hand signs.

Observing this phenomenon, I thought of this near-death experience or vision I read about on the internet. The man who had this vision experience, described how he saw sailors sitting at a bar, getting very drunk. As he watched, often when a sailor got very drunk, a change would be wrought in his mind and body, which allowed the sailor to become posessed by an evil spirit. Some of the sailors that he observed sitting at the bar, were not humans, but ghosts of sailors whose addiction to alcohol was such, that they spent their time in the bar, hoping to posess the bodies of living sailors so as to be able to enjoy alcohol through their bodies, because they as ghosts could not partake of the alcohol themselves.

I wonder whether societies that promote alcohol while persecuting substances such as cannabis and hashish, become especially susceptible to being infected by satanism. Christian scripture does not condemn moderate alcohol consumption, or cannabis--some have even said that the sacred anointing oils used by jews and early Christians contained cannabis--but Christian scripture does condemn drunkenness, proclaiming that drunks "shall not inherit the kingdom of God". Substances such as cannabis, when used in a disciplined moderate fashion, are more likely to produce non-Satanic religious experiences than alcohol is.

Looking at Texas, I wonder, how much difference is there really, between Satanism and forms of Christianity of the type popular in places such as Texas, which proclaim that salvation is predestined and that it does not matter what people say or do?

Seems to me that people who flash these Satanic-type hand signs, are being childish, teenagerish, immature, and so to speak, retarded. Seems they are perhaps an example of sons and daughters of wealth and privilege, whose lives are so "blessed" (they apparently think that all these things that they get from the world and the fallible creatures that inhabit it are from God) that they never attain to any knowledge of God, because in their material prosperity they are able to find happiness without God.

Maybe in this age of fantastically horrifically powerful nuclear weapons, Christian leaders think that they have to appear to be Satanist in order for their nuclear deterrent to be taken credibly. But is appearing to be Satanist really necessary? Do the cons of appearing to be Satanist, outweigh the pros? There have been many Christian leaders of nuclear powers, who never even once, flashed anything resembling a satanist hand-sign. How do these apparently satanist persons know that flashing such hand signs strengthens as opposed to weakens national security? If leaders of a nation that is more Christian than nations it competes with flash satanic hand-signs, who does that strengthen, their nation, or the competing nations?

Dreams about a room fought over, a roller derby, an Amerind tribe, & batting practice

NOTE: The previous blog-post contained a dream in which I was flying around helicopter style and worried about the dynamics of flight and crashing. I had this dream after the big US military Iraq helicopter crash, and after it was reported in the news media, but before I myself personally heard anything about that crash or about the Vietnam military helicopter crash that occurred the same day. I think of this helicopter style flight dream as not premonitory, but rather, perhaps psychically empathetic.

Last night I took a melatonin pill before I went to sleep. I had not taken a melatonin pill for about a couple of weeks, but last night I took one, because I was having trouble getting to sleep. Then I had some dreams, but, compared to the dreams I had been having without melatonin, these dreams were relatively unemotional and hard to remember. Seems that if I get in the habit of taking melatonin every night, I become sort of unaware of how dreams that occur without melatonin differ from dreams that occur with melatonin.

The dreams I had last night, under the influence of one melatonin pill, were hard to remember, there were many unremembered details, I do not remember well the exact order of the dream segments. I relate now what I can remember, which I present in an order that probably differs significantly from the order they occured in during the night.

There was this large, auditorium like circular room, about 30 yards in diameter, with a ceiling about 50 feet high. On the wooden, light brown floor of the room, there were these orange-brown couches shaped like circles, one circle inside another circle. There were about three of these circle-couches. I saw the room from the vantage point of what seemed like a grandstand seat in a wall, about 30 feet above the floor of the room. This room was almost constantly being fought over by different groups of about 30 people. First one group would own, inhabit, and control this room. Then another group would evict the group that was there. Then yet another group would evict the group that had invaded and occupied the room. On and on it went like that.

Somehow I managed to survive the changes regarding who controlled this room, despite the violent, deadly, conflicts that went on over ownership of the room. I managed to continue inhabiting the room, despite changes of ownership. I survived not by hiding, and not by betraying whatever group I was part of, but by just sort of sitting there and doing nothing. Invaders would sort of simply ignore me and leave me unharmed.

After one of the changes of ownership, the room became taken over by these very wealthy people, who decorated it in an orangish, gypsyish decor. In one of the rooms adjoining the big circular room in the middle, there lived after this change of ownership, a very old white lady, somewhat above average in height, with wavy, short-medium length black hair. I did not get a good look at or remember the details of what her face looked like. The room she lived in, had orange curtains on all the walls, it was gypsyish looking. I was like a butler to her and the other wealthy people who had become inhabitants of the building; I wandered from room to room, singing songs about King David of the Bible in a deep tone of voice.

At one point, the room was invaded by a group whose members wore black leather jackets with silver colored zippers on them. The word was that they were armed with "nukes". The members of this group did alot of ballet-style dancing. This group seemed especially alarming. I rushed outside of the building that contained the big circular central room and the adjoining room. Outside there was a beach and a large body of water. In the building there were snipers, ready to shoot at people who fled. Somehow I sense that one of the snipers was a tall, about six feet four inch tall, white guy with a narrow face, a a pointy chin, brown hair, a mustache, and a goatee. But to me, it seemed that making a rush for the beach, and risking being shot by snipers, was preferable to remaining in the building because it had become taken over by these leather-jacketed dancers with nukes. As I ran out towards the sea, I danced ballet style; I thought maybe this would charm them. I do not remember being shot, but maybe that was because I simply woke up at that point in the dream (one effect of melatonin is that throughout the night you often have to get out of bed to urinate).

At another point, I was on a porch outside the building containing the circular couches with a few people, gathered around a big pipe that resembled an Indian hookah. We smoked hashish out of the hookah. I took a hit off the pipe; the Hashish tasted really good. Seemed people sitting around smoking hashish, was better than people engaging in deadly fights over the building with the big circular room.

At one point, this building containing the big circular room, was taken over by some American group. They sat around on the orangeish couches in the big circular room, and displayed alot of small American flags, on wooden sticks, with gold colored arrow-like objects on the top ends of the sticks.

At one point, one of the groups that had taken over the big building with circular couches in it, was dealing with the captives it had taken amongst the previous owners. About 30 yards away, I saw this white guy, wearing sunglasses and a baseball type cap, who was clean shaven, and had a long large narrowish arrow-head shaped type of face, but with a square jaw, who was wearing a gray sweatshirt, and who was husky and wide shouldered with a big chest, who was about six feet two inches tall. He was standing on what looked like a highway overpass. He threw his captive, who was physically similar to him, over the overpass to his death on the concrete road below. The captive did not scream or make any noise as he died.

In another segment, there was a big circular room almost identical to the one with the circular orange-brown couches, only in this room, the couches were replaced with circular light brown wooden benches a couple of feet wide and a couple of feet high. People in helmets on roller skates skated round and round this room; it was like a roller derby, but the competitors competed as individuals not as teams. If a contestant managed to complete one circle around the room, he would win some money. The other contestants tried to prevent him from completing the circle. About twelve people, I think they were all men, competed at the same time. Looking at them, looking at how big and strong they were, and how easy it would be to get injured running into one of the circular benches or something, I was surprised that I was one of the contestants. At one point I was sitting down next to one of these contestants. He was about six feet two inches tall, husky, white, clean shaven, handsome with a widish boyish face, and medium length (for a man) straight black hair. He wore a roller derby style uniform and helmet. He, sort of sensing what it must be like for someone of average height and build to be involved in such a sport, offered me a drink of tequila.

In another segment, there was an American Indian tribe of about 20-30 people. They were "hanging out" amongst these trees with dark brown, almost black, knobby branches that were about a foot to a foot and a half thick. One of these branches ran almost parallel to the ground. They subjected enemy tribes to terrible tortures; a captive would be tortured horribly for days before dying. Likewise the enemy tribes did the same thing to them when they captured them. This tribe had the habit of eating putrid flesh. Eating putrid flesh had some kind of ritual significance for them.

In another segment, I saw off in the distance, in a hallway that was partially roofed and partiall open to the sky, in a light gray concrete building, some kind of setup where you could go and practice batting in baseball. The pitcher was not a machine, but a person. You had to pay money to get to practice batting, with this pitcher throwing the balls. I headed in the direction of this place because I wanted to practice batting. I was thinking that now that I had finally gotten a chance to engage in a significant amount of batting practice for the first time in my life, I would develop into a pro caliber batter, the type who hits almost every pitch that is a strike that is thrown at him, hits few home runs but maintains a high batting average. When I got there I found out that I would need a credit card in order to be able to pay for the batting practice.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Dreams about a wrestler, busty women in bikinis, bras, and flying

1 There was a very tall white female wrestler, medium build, with straight short yellow hair, stretched out flat on her back in a wrestling ring. I saw her from far away, not above her but horizontally speaking about 20 yards away from her.

2 A couple of very tall, very busty women wearing bikinis were walking around. I saw them from a vantage point about 30 yards above them.

3 I was looking up brassieres in a card catalog in a college library. I figured this was a good way to maintain my relationship with busty women. I used to write Christian content letters to bra shops that sell big bras, and then I found that I had become popular with busty women. Women with small breasts should not feel offended. I think all types of women are attractive in their own way; I think that you cannot really compare busty women to small breasted women because that is like comparing apples to oranges. You might say, that amongst busty women woman X is physically speaking the most beautiful; or you might say, amongst normal sized women woman Y is the most beautiful; but I dont think you can really say, that woman X is more beautiful than woman Y because that is like comparing apples to oranges. Realistically speaking looks is part of life; but other factors, such as voice, personality, intelligence, gracefulness, are realistically or idealistically speaking important also.

4 IN THE DREAM, it was late evening, and I started off on the south-west border of the Midway in Hyde Park Chicago, and literally FLEW from there over into Hyde Park near the northeast border of the Midway. I somehow trained my body to literally fly; I got my body a few feet off the ground, and kept IT in the air for several hundred yards, moving along at around ten miles per hour. I moved by flapping my arms like a bird, and by kicking my legs as in a dolphin kick in swimming, and by moving my arms as they are moved in swimming. Incidentally, I think I have a chance at at least getting very close to world records for my age group in swimming (after having been out of practice for a long time, after only about 6 hours of training over the course of 3 weeks, I swam 250 yards in 5 minutes) but the hobby of swimming has for me lately been screwed up by various obstacles.

In the dream, I crossed the Midway and got to Hyde Park, flying several hundred yards. I wanted to go further than I did before stopping to train myself physically, but I got real tired. I was sweating. I was counting off in some kind of unit how far I had gone. This unit was not yards, it was, probably, the number of times I flapped my arms. After 215 or 216 such units I stopped at this apartment building in Hyde Park that looked like the apartment building that I lived in as a high schooler. It was brick, with front and back porches, it was three stories tall. I flew to the building and landed on the roof or one of the porches. Some guy at the building looked at me admiringly, the way fans look at pro baseball stars; I knew that he admired me the way fans admire baseball stars, for my athletic feat in being able to actually fly, without any mechanical assistance, for several hundred yards.

I landed at the building and began discussing with some people at the building, whether I could take off from the second or third floor porch, and fly off that way, without falling and hurting myself. I was talking about how When I start off from the ground, by the time I get into the air I have built up some momentum, the way a helicopter builds up a kind of storm beneath it to get it going, however, I pointed out that if I attempted to start off by just jumping from a second or third story porch, I might sink like a stone and hurt myself, because I would be entering into the air without building up a kind of vortex of air beneath me.

Someone I am acquainted with, Jenny A., who went to my high school, was in this building, although it was a complete coincidence that she was there, it was not the building her family lived in, it was not a building she was listed as living in. I did not arrive at the building to harass her because I did not know she lived at this building. I caught a glimpse of her tremendous thighs in tight blue jeans somewhere around the lower floor of the building--I saw her from about 10 yards above her.

RE Jenny, in real life I had called her parent's house on the phone in Chicago, and then her dad made up a story (vain-glorious ambition?) about how I had been obsessively calling his house in Chicago over and over again; he called my dad to complain. The reality is, and the phone records prove this, that I did not call the house repeatedly, excessively, or obsessively.

In the dream, I was wandering around this apartment building that I landed in after my flight. I was not breaking laws or intruding on privacy--I was wandering around the hallways that connected the apartments, and these public hallways had doors that opened on to the front and side porches.

On one of the porches, I encountered my mother. She was wearing some kind of whitish gown or robe that looked like a bathrobe. She was sitting, I think on the porch wall, a couple of yards away from me. She talked to me as if I was guilty of landing at the apartment building to harass Jenny. This was false; I did not even know that Jenny had anything at all to do with the apartment building that I had landed at; I had simply landed there because I had gotten too tired from flying. My mother talked to me in a condescending way, nodding her head in a condescending manner, with an ever so slight condescending smile on her face, about how I had been looking at pictures of naked women. Her whole attitude, was that I was some kind of immature pervert, who was harassing a woman (Jenny) who was above my social level. I felt humiliated and unjustly persecuted. I slapped her in the face (I never did any such thing to her in real life, but, once, a very long time ago, upon being provoked, I very mildly punched her on the shoulder in a symbolic kind of way, without hurting her at all, which led, thanks to her complaints, incredibly, to me being incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital for a week). In the dream, me slapping her produced a noise like a gunshot. People in the area became startled. I figured my mother would add to the problem by calling the police or something. I figured people who heard me slap my mother would never understand the psychological torment she was putting me through by talking to me in that humiliating, condescending, falsely accusatory manner. I was trying to decide if I should escape from the apartment building by flying away...I WOKE UP.

When I woke up I looked up the numbers 215 and 216 on the internet. Apparently the number 215 is not considered to be especially significant; but the number 216 is amongst those who are into such things considered to be a very important number. Some consider it to represent God, and some consider it to represent the devil. Reading web pages by numerologist types, what struck me is how certain of these types seem to go to absurd, insane lengths to give special significance to mathematical coincidences. Seems to me, that these people in their nuttiness fail to realize, that you can take any number associated with any event, and find all kinds of significance in it if you really want to. Then again, when numbers appear in dreams, it becomes more reasonable to consider them to have perhaps some kind of significance.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Dreams about anglo-indian women and using motorized roller skates

In the dream, I was on one of these subway trains. Sitting a near me, was this youngish woman, who I somehow knew, was an anglo-indian (a mix of India-Indian and white). But she did not look like what one would think an anglo-indian woman looks like. She looked like a white woman. Her hair was wavy brown , shortish, shoulder length. Her face was pretty but somewhat plump. She had very wide shoulders, almost a yard wide, and her hips were a little wider than her shoulders; her breasts , held high and tight by a bra, stuck out about nine inches in front of her shoulders. Sitting next to her was a young woman, who I also somehow knew was an ango-indian. This one looked more like an anglo-indian than the other one, but looking at her you would not have guessed that she was an anglo-indian. She had a pretty white face, straight black hair that came halfway down her back, and a typicalish looking body that was of average height for a woman. Also sitting with them was a white christian priest who wore glasses, dressed in the black shirt with a clerical collar and  black pants of the type that priests wear, who was of average build, about six feet one inch tall, with graying slightly wavy normal length hair.

These two anglo-indian women and the priest, had a genuinely warm, loving, friendly relationship amongst themselves. They were warm and friendly with strangers.

Looking at the brown haired anglo-indian woman, I was mystified as to how her hair could be brown. Usually when black haired people mix with people who have a light hair color, the offspring have black hair. I asked her, how it was that her hair was brown. She responded, that she had treated her hair with some kind of Indian herb or plant so as a result, it was brown. I do not now remember, what the name of the plant or herb she had treated her hair with was. It was saffron or something that sounds like the word saffron.

Then I was walking somewhere with this brown haired anglo-indian woman. It was night-time, we were walking on a street in a city. She was wearing tight black pants, and I noticed that she was fat in the lower part of her stomach, in the groin area. She was talking to me about how bad Hindu dads are.

Then I saw the priest who was with them, walking up these stairs heading for these glass doors, into a modernish looking building with a gray exterior. He was going in there to watch this TV show that these two anglo-indian women had created, on a television. The show was in the form of an internet type macromedia flash .swf format movie that appeared on television. It was about these cartoon characters that were cats like the cartoon characters you see on the TV shows. I got the feeling that the flash movie they had created that was playing on the TV, was, technically speaking, somewhat imperfect.

In another mini-dream that I had about the same time I had the dream about these anglo-indian women and the priest, I was outdoors on a snowy day on a highway. The cars had slown almost to a halt due to some kind of traffic jam. I was racing along, getting way ahead of the slow moving cars, because I was not riding a car but was rather, using these motorized roller skates. I had to be careful about cars traveling the same direction I was or in the opposite direction, the ground was snowy and somewhat dangerous for using motorized roller skates on, but nevertheless, I was getting way ahead of the cars.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Dream about a Harvard re-union

In the mail yesterday, I got some DVD or something recording a re-union of people who went to Harvard University college with me. Somehow I did not even know about this re-union. Then when I fell asleep I had a dream about some kind of Harvard reunion.
In the dream, I was on the Harvard University campus. It was some kind of re-union. I was surrounded by men I went to Harvard with. We were all wearing the same jacket, as if we were on a sports team; the jackets were white with crimson stripes. My white jacket, got dirty looking very easily and quickly; it had lots of light brown dust colored marks on it. Though I was not treated with arrogance by the other Harvard men, and did not feel inferior to them, and though I felt healthy, strong, honorable,respectable, intelligent, and handsome, and though I felt  respected and honored by my fellow Harvard men,  for some reason my job was to pick up things like empty coffee bag wrappers that were left here and there. This was because I had to prove to someone that I could do basic stuff before being assigned more advanced stuff. 
Either during the dream or after, I was thinking to myself the following thoughts: how crazy it is this idea propounded by people like this psychiatrist (who says I am "profoundly intelligent" and "angelic") I have talked with,  that I should have to prove that I can do the most basic things, before being allowed to do more advanced things, simply because I have been away from the workplace, working for others, for a while...I have had many jobs already in my life in which I have already demonstrated that I can do basic things...the work that I have done on my own has been very impressive in the eyes of other persons...Even college grads who have hardly ever had a job, are not expected to demonstrate that they are able to do the most basic thing before they go on to more advanced things.
These Harvard men I was with and myself, were involved in doing things like riding around in a big white van, our activities somehow resembled the activities of troops in Iraq, riding around here and there, there was something military about it.
At this re-union like event, there was some kind of choice between being on this or that side of the Harvard campus. I chose to be on the side of the campus near the football stadium. This side was near a train track or something that ran into adjoining areas, it was near all these cozy charming looking shops that were arranged side by side, together with apartment buildings, in a cozy and charming looking way, in these modern looking gray buildings that looked like something between an irregular combination of rectangles and a pyramid. These shops had cool looking electric signs that were not garish looking. The way the shops and the residences were arranged together was attractive; but looking at them I felt, that as attractive as the arrangement was, I still for some reason would not want to live amongst these shops and apartments; because, there was something missing. Human warmth, heart, atmosphere generated by such, were missing amongst these shops and apartments, cozily and charmingly arranged as they were.
There were some significant details in the dream that I could not later remember. 


Saturday, January 22, 2005

Dream about correlation between physical type and illness in females

This is the other dream I had last night, the night I had the dream about walking around Hyde Park Chicago.
In the dream,  I had a temp assignment from a temp agency or some such thing, working with this MD doctor. This MD I was working with, had white skin, somewhat curly black hair, and looked like and reminded me of the singer Tom Jones, except his nose was normal and typcial looking as opposed to hawkish looking like Tom Jones' nose. He wore a white coat of the type doctors wear in hospitals. I saw him there, sitting a couple of feet away from me in front of a black, night like background; but he himself was well lit. I do not remember the details, but we were working together on a bunch of data about, you know, hundreds or thousands of women.
(I may not know all the software and mathematical formulas for such things as epidemiological data, but employers should realize that once I overcome my initial ignorance, I can usually trump the specialists.  However the reality is, that US employers are incredibly foolish in their hiring practices and this shows in the state of the national economy).
Where we were working together at the hospital, there was a cake, a white cake with white frosting, which I took home to an apartment shaped like the one that I live in, but larger. I kept the cake  in a proper looking glass plate with a glass cover, just as such cakes are kept in restaurants. I only took small, thin slices out of it to eat myself, so that there was plenty of cake left over for people who would come by my place to visit. This MD doctor I was working with vouched for the fact that I was unselfish with the cake I took home from the hospital.
This MD doctor had alot of complimentary things to say about me.
next, I got off an elevator in a hospital, and there was a long hallway in front of me stretching directly away from me and the elevator, and directly in front of me, a couple of yards away from the elevator door that I came out of, was this white black haired female in her fifties, wearing a white hospital work type of coat that reached to her knees. This hospital hallway was dark, almost pitch black, but this woman was well lit--I could see her clearly. Her black hair came to the top of her shoulders, and was styled in a curvy type of way. Her face was not pretty, but not ugly; she sort of reminded me of LBJ's wife Lady Bird Johnson but with a normal looking nose; she was not as hawkish looking as Lady Bird Johnson. She was constantly wearing this condescending smile. Somehow we got into a conversation about all the nice things the MD I had been working with had been saying about me.  She insisted that this MD, said the same things about everyone that he said about me. I knew that such was not the case, I knew this MD really thought I was quite special, but it was practically impossible to convince her that the MD really thought I was special.
Then I was talking to a white guy who was sitting behind a desk, about ten yards behind where this woman had been standing while talking to me. Though he was sitting in what was almost darkness I could see him clearly. He wore a grayish striped long-sleeved shirt with no tie. He did not wear a lab coat. He had normal length brown hair, and a sparse brown mustache and beard. For some reason I got into a conversation with him. I don't remember the details, but he was very obnoxious in terms of the things he was saying. What I felt was, that he was obnoxious, period. But what I told him was that he SEEMED to be obnoxious. This impressed him, that, instead of saying that he was obnoxious, I said that he SEEMED obnoxious. And so he ceased being obnoxious.
Behind the obnoxious guy, a few yards behind him, I ran into yet another guy. This guy was similar to the MD that I had been working with. I did not see him  or remember him as clearly as I saw the other two, but like the other two he was well lit although in a dark environment. I talked to him about the work I had been doing with the MD.  He got up from where he was sitting, and went over to sit on a chair by this long modern looking narrow grayish desk that abutted a wall, about ten yards behind me and ten yards to my left. He sat at the desk, and worked at a computer. On this extremely high wall about a yard behind the computer, I saw what looked like white rectangles of light; these rectangles were about a foot and a half wide and a couple of feet high. Row upon row, one on top of the other, of these rectangles, were on this wall. An area of this wall about fifteen yards wide and twenty yards high, was filled with these rectangles. Amongst the rectangles there were icons that looked like the Microsoft logo, the Outlook Express Email logo, and so forth. These rectangles and icons represented documents on file at the hospital. What he was doing as he sat at the computer, was bringing up all the documents I had created in the course of my work with the MD. Some of these documents were email documents, some were other types of documents.
Either before or after he looked up these documents on the wall, he and I got into a conversation about the work I as doing with this MD and what I was concluding from it. I explained to him that my estimation was, that illness in women, correlates with the width and thickness of their bodies. By width I meant the width of the hips, and by thickness, I meant the thickness of the torso from front to back. As best as I can remember,  I was not saying that wide thick women were sicklier or healthier than other women; what I was saying, was that thickness and width correlated with illnesses; that is, certain conditions were more likely in wide thick women and certain conditions were less likely in wide thick women.
Then in my mind's eye I saw the Myrtle St. girl (see previous blog, "Dream about being healthy and happy in Hyde Park Chicago").  She was wearing a white hospital type coat. She, as in real life, was very wide hipped; her hips were about 32 inches wide from hip to hip. And her torso was thick; her torso was about a foot thick from front to back. My {deleted}, was very long and also thick, much longer and thicker than it has ever been in real life, about a foot long. It was parallel to the ground, and under her foot-thick torso, under her groin. And I, either in the dream or after I awoke, was thinking to myself that the mysterious source of my enormous [deleted] in the previous dream (reported in my immediately previous blog post about the Hyde Park Chicago dream),  was probably this Myrtle St. girl, although it seemed to me that judging from the contents of the dream about walking around Hyde Park Chicago such was not obvious.
It has been stressful for me being separated from the Myrtle St. girl; the stress has rendered me rather incompetent re the task of hunting her down; and people carrying on with economic abuse and social abuse perpetrated against me, has not made the stressful task of hunting her down any easier.
@2005 David Virgil Hobbs

Dream about being healthy and happy in Hyde Park Chicago

Prior to having the dream, I had managed to correct a problem I had had on and off for a long time, which was that I had been falling asleep during the day and staying awake during the night: I corrected the problem without taking melatonin or anything at all, in the 24 hours prior to this dream.  This is a problem that had often vexed me in life. How did I correct it? I simply put into effect a lesson based on something I had observed at summer camp at camp Martin Johnson in MIchigan where us Chicago kids went during grade school. I remembered that at night, whether we were sleepy or not, we had to  be in our bunkbeds by a certain time. Then in the morning we had to be up by a certain time. Thus we were able to deal with all the demanding physical activities of summer camp during the day, and able to fall asleep at the proper time. So I just resolved that sleepy or not, I would lie in bed when I was supposed to be asleep, and be out of bed when I was supposed to be awake; it worked like a charm and I got back on schedule. Plus during the day before falling asleep, I had been walking around alot, carrying groceries here and there, because my car's battery had been drained and AAA had been unable to jumpstart the car because it was so cold and the tank was only a quarter full and no "dry gas" had been put inside the car. Plus prior to having the dream, I had been praying alot like I used to in the old days, because I had come to realize that prayer had been having a real positive impact on my life during the times when I would pray alot, although this had slipped my mind because I had failed to associate the way things would go well for me when I prayed alot with the act of praying.  Then in the dream that I had last night, I was in Hyde Park Chicago where I grew up. The atmosphere there was like it was in the 1960s and 1970s, and also the way it has begun to become again in this second millenium (I like to think the atmosphere got nice again because I worked on Chicago with my tutoring emails). The atmosphere was friendly, warm, collegial, happy.
In the dream, I was somewhere around 50th Street, working with some people on some hobby they had, which was replacing the drab concrete rectangles the sidewalks were made out of, with artisitic rectangles, featuring colors and designs and things like that. I think it was evening but not yet night.
Then I was walking back from 50th St. towards 58th St., heading for the apartment where I grew up where my brother now lives. I was walking down the sidewalk on the east side of Blackstone St., between 56th, and 57th St. I looked down and noticed that my [deleted] had an enormous  [deleted] . It was 9 to 10 inches long and thick, longer than it has ever been in real life! In the dream, it was visible to my eye, not obscured by pants, and colored brown; and I was feeling energetic and happy, the way I have felt the last couple of times I have visited Hyde Park (I feel violated in that I very rarely get a chance to visit the neighborhood where I grew up, Hyde Park, Chicago).
I walked in circles between 55th St., and 57th St.; I walked from 55th St. to 57th St. on the east side of Blackstone St., and then I walked from 57th St. to 55th St. on the west side of Blackstone St., in a circle. I thought of this short brown skinned woman with long straight black hair, who wore a light brown jacket,  that I had seen around 55th St., who I thought was attractive.
I looked off in the distance towards Blackstone St., between 57th St. and 58th St., and saw what looked like a movie screen off in the distance on the west side of the street. Tom Brady the NE Pats QB was on the screen. His head was facing downwards, parallel to the ground. I mentally measured the distance between his chin and the top of his forehead; I knew that this distance was usually about 8 inches, I mentally measured it because I wanted to verify to myself the unbelievable size my  [deleted]  has assumed. Looking at it I concluded that yes indeed, my  [deleted]  was now longer than 8 inches.
Between 57th St. and 58th St. on Blackstone St., I ran into some mongoloid or oriental persons who were working on the sidewalk on the east side, getting artistics with the rectangles the sidwalk was made out of; they were bending over the sidewalk and did not see me and did not have enough barriers or warnings up re their work and I sort of messed it up a little. But they did not get angry.
Then I was at a meeting of about 20 people in this room, it was some kind of seminar. The people there sat on those simple basic metal folding chairs. There was a black circular ashtray outside the room with some cigarette stubs in it. It was exactly like an ashtray I have at home. The atmosphere inside the seminar was collegial and friendly, not pompous,  or credentialistically arrogant for the most part. Someone at this seminar gave a little speech.  I do not now remember what he said. But what he said somehow annoyed me. So I left my seat, walked up to the middle of the room, stood there, and loudly said, "As if showing up at a seminar, and putting your cigarette out in an ashtray, made you worthy of being kow towed to". And almost everyone in the room laughed: it was  genuine, non-jealous, friendly laughter. I remember the way one of the people there looked: he was a slim slightly above average height white guy wearing granny glasses who had a nice academic looking face.
Then I was eating dinner with some people at this house. There were about eight of us around a table eating Indian food. I said, "amazing how physical things can change so quickly", or something to that effect, referring (hidden reference) to how my  [deleted]  had gotten so big. After this, the  tall Indian woman sitting across from me, who I think was hosting the dinner, and who had a pretty dark brown narrow face and straight black hair, and who was wearing a tight sari over breasts that protruded outwards about 8 inches, spilled some water over her right breast, as a result of which the cloth of her sari clung tightly to her breast.
When I woke up I had a strong desire to know which woman had produced this big erection that I had. I could not figure it out. I thought of the short brown skinned woman with the black hair that I saw; she reminded me of this pretty busty woman I saw running the Marathon, Monisha S., of whom I have heard it rumored that she wants to marry me; then again this short woman's hair was straight like this girl I encountered when I lived at Myrtle St. Waltham MA, who is pretty, busty  and white but who in a dream appeared to me as being brown skinned.  I do not know anyone exactly like the Indian woman at the dinner party, but there is this tall Indian woman who I ran into at an Indian restaurant, who is at least six feet tall and extremely busty and pretty, re whom I have it rumored that she will get a divorce and marry me.
For a long time now I have been troubled by not being able to get together with the Myrtle St. girl. She was a friend of the neighbors, she was in 6th grade, she came on to me sexually on the front porch, but I ignored her because of her age. Then this jewish guy Jonathan Strimling, whose father was a doctor, and who was real proud of his Norwegian ancestry, and who would not even talk to me the whole time I lived there, got me kicked out of the apartment, before I had a chance to get to know the names of the neighbors and stuff. I was tempted once to look in the neighbor's mailbox to find out their name but I was afraid that if I got caught doing this there would be trouble. And I was afraid to knock on their door to get their name, because once I had been taking photos of their children, and one of them interrogated me as if taking photos of the kids was a crime.
By now reading this blog-post and other blog-posts in this blog, you are probably amazed at all the "sexy" women who have expressed an interest in marrying me. But guess what? Every time I apply for a job in the Boston area, if there is more than one applicant for the job, I do not get the job. So I get the lowest jobs. Is this social disorder, or is it social disorder?
@2005 David Virgil Hobbs

Friday, January 21, 2005

Catching up on dreams, Jan 21, 05

Catching up on dreams I've had recently:
A few weeks ago, I had a dream I never recorded: I saw Mr. Cawelti, Andrea Cawelti's father. He was about fifty yards away, walking down a street in Hyde Park Chicago walking in my direction. It was warm and sunny outside. He had a big red beard. He looked impressive. I occasionally remember dreams had a while back that were never recorded when I remember them I try to record them.
Dreams I've had more recently, starting with the one had the longest time ago working up to the most recent one:
1 There was a line of women, about twenty of them lined up in a row, like in the dream about the Germans and the jews. These were these sexy women who have in real life expressed some interest in marrying me. This short woman, below average in height, with shortish wavy black hair, was walking towards the line, towards a place about two thirds of the way back from the front. She looked like she was going to emplace herself in the line. She was this annoying female radio announcer I call Winnie the Pooh the Dead Baby. I used to have a habit of calling up TV and radio stations and leaving speeches on their answering machines. This habit of mine came to an end, but, ever since then the media has (apparently) developed some kind of fascination with me and I often (seems to me) hear people like the Dead Baby, who works at this local radio station, spitting out little one liners related to me and my life. The Dead Baby's one liners have been especially annoying. In the dream she was heading for a place in the line near this ultrabuxom short pretty woman she seems to have some special fascination with.
2 I saw this room with these bunkbeds in it. There were US soldiers sleeping in the bunkbeds. Then during the day they would go out and fight in Iraq. It seemed strange to me, the contrast between the peaceful, normal atmosphere in the room with the bunkbeds, and the abnormal violent atmosphere they would be plunged into in the day when they would go out on their missions.
3 (3-6 were night before last) I saw a bunch of thumbnail photos in a web page. Two of the thumbnails, were women with long straight black hair, who were topless, and photographed in front of a green background. I thought these two were interesting and exciting. One of them was a woman I will call DS, who in real life was a tall white pretty buxom college volleyball player who shouted out "yes"! in my direction as she ran by me. It might be more  interesting if I used her name instead of her initials, but my instinct is to use initials when the dreams get "sexy" or when the dream could be interpreted in a negative way re the woman concerned.
4 I saw this tall skyscraper, I think it was the Empire State Bldg. On top of the skyscraper there was a flag pole, and on or around the flag pole there was what looked like a giant crimson beret, and some other cloth-like items. I do not remember all the details, but I do remember that somehow, without moving from the place where I viewed the building, I was able to see the building from several different angles, not just the angle from which I could naturally see it given the place where I was standing. I was able to see it from an angle that was such that if I was actually in the location that produced that view, I would be suspended in mid-air, high above the ground, near the skyscraper.
5 I was standing outdoors amongst some hills, on a warm and sunny day. These clods of black earth were flying over my head and landing near me, behind me. This black earth was a rich earth, a valuable earth, of the type that produced good crops. I sort of got on some high ground and stretched myself upwards, to get a look at where the earth was coming from. I saw a valley sandwiched between the hills in the distance. There were these two giants, about one hundred yards tall, blue colored, who looked like statues of the Buddha, in the valley. they looked like statues of the Buddha that I have seen in real life. They were digging in the valley with shovels. They would dig up some earth from the ground of the valley, and send it flying with their shovels. The earth that they sent flying was landing near me, it was the black, rich valuable earth that was mine and that belonged to me.
6 DS the tall white pretty black haired buxom former college volleyball player (from a university in Washington DC), was sitting in the chair that is at the desk that does not have a computer on it in my apartment. She had no shirt on. She was really turned on by me. She was sweating really hard. The sweat was pouring down her upper body, in waves, wave after wave.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Atlantiquoi Celebration

...And so, the brother braves of the europoid, north American Atlantiquoi tribe, gathered to celebrate with their brother brave Okayapollo, the extraordinary bounty their sacred north american land, had brought forth for Okayapollo, the bounty the land had brought forth being, the many sons Okayapollo had fathered, and the land that bought forth this bounty, being the maidens of the Atlantiquoi tribe, descended from ancestors of the same race as ladies who had graced these north american lands for thousands of years.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

corporate world seems crazily credulous re personality tests

I was stunned to hear of how most of the corporate world uses personality tests of the MBTI Briggs-Meyer type.

People are capable of responding to personality test questions dishonestly, spitting out the answers they think others want to hear.

The use of such personality tests by corporations, makes sense, perhaps, if if the corporations are pretending to use them so as to for public relations purposes hide the real processes behind decisions from the public. Otherwise the use of such tests, does not make sense.

Problem is, that although I might be more intuitive than sensing, I might still be more sensing than some other guy, who is more sensing than he is intuitive.

Problem is, that although I might be more thinking than I am feeling, I might still be more feeling than some other guy, who is more feeling than he is thinking.

Problem is, that although I might be more judging than perceiving, I might still be more perceiving than some other guy, who is more perceiving than he is judging.

This credulous personality test if it does indeed exist in the corporate world, is probably a sign of a loss of common sense produced by the emphasis on credentials (the exec is the moron with the MBA not the genius with the BA).

This personality test mania is like the enthusiasm for astrology, which is still going strong after all these years, simply because the descriptions of past current and future life for those of various astrological signs, could describe the past present and future for most people regardless of their astrological sign.

You can even find a list of heroes and heroines who share your personality type, the same way you can massage your ego by doting on stars who have the same astrological sign as you do.

Guess what? I am an INTJ, the same Briggs-Meyer personality type as Ayn Rand, Ludwig Von Mises, Alan Greenspan, and Hannibal Lecter! That is, an introverted, intuitive, thinking, judging type. By way of psychic experience, similar to ESP, I know for a fact that Christ was the Son of God. But no--I'm the atheist Ayn Rand, the jew Alan Greenspan, the atheist Von Mises, the serial murderer Hannibal Lecter!
I'm an INTJ like Eisenhower, Isaac Newton, and Augustus Caesar! Jan 14 05


@2005 David Virgil Hobbs

Saturday, January 08, 2005

Tweaker Apps that can change context menus in XP

Below is a table listing the most popular software programs that have something to do with tweaking context menus (right-click menus), as listed at and elsewhere. For some of these apps downloads last week at were unavailable. The number of downloads they would have been listed for at if they were listed there, is estimated from various figures.
This table in its updated form can be found at:  , showing all the table lines and boxes impossible to put into a newsgroups post.
If you copy and paste the table you find at tweakers.html into Outlook Express you can add your own inputs into the table. Then you can send your appended table to me at  .


last week as of

Tweak Manager 2.1

TweakUI 1.33 2842

x-setup pro 6.6


 tweak o matic 1.4


 Fresh UI 7.26 819 Tweaking Utility 1.6

TweakMASTER 2.02

 TweakNow PowerPack 2005 Standard 1.5            

Tweaking Toolbox XP 1.60

advanced xp tweak 2.4

MagicTweak 2.8

right click commander 2.0

Tweak-Me GOLD 1.0.12

 Tweaki...for Power Users 4.3.5

 ShellToys XP 4.3.1

Javascript ContextMenu 1.0

 Meta Commander Pro 1.1.8

 Perfect Menu 2.0

 Perfect Menu 2.0

Karamasoft MenuSuite 1.0


@2005 David Virgil Hobbs

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Germans and jews not behaving -- dream segment message

Off in the distance I saw a green field in the daylight. I saw men in a green field. They were so far away that I could not see details such as the appearance of their faces. They were wearing suit-jackets and ties. The one that I remember had black hair, was clean shaven about six feet three inches in height, white skin. They must have been 50 to 100 yards away. There were two lines of these men, each line about 25 yards long, the lines ran parallel to each other, they were about 20 yards from each other. There were maybe 20 men in each line. One of the lines was German men, and the other line was jewish men. I had the feeling that neither of these two groups, neither the line of jewish men nor the line of German men, were well behaved. Both groups seemed to be excessively cold, mechanical, agressive, selfish; they seemed hyper-nationalist, hyper-agressive with those outside of their own group, haughty, racist. They were not bad-tempered, they were almost stately or dignified, they did not act weird, they were trained military men in civilian clothes, they were laconic and did not rage or shout or flail their arms; yet their defects, such as their cold haughtiness, were real defects nevertheless, despite their characteristics that could almost be described as virtues.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Senator Blather Discusses Church of Lost Tribe Conscience Doctrines

November 3, 2004

Statement of Senator Billy Jo Blather

For Immediate Release

Boston, MA - Senator Billy Jo Blather made the following statement in Boston Wednesday morning:

"It has come t'mah attenshun thet mah feller cornservatives, have become psychologically distraught, on account o' they find thet as a result of bein' a cornservative, they do thin's thet is aginst their cornscience.

Thirty years ago a liberal, one of th' whores of Babylon, disrupped cornservativism, by brin'in' up this hyar matter called conscience. At thet time our cornservative faif wifout wawks predestinarian theology, which was charmin' an' cute, like th' yo'ng of wild animals, like li'l chillun, igno'ed th' idea of cornscience. In this hyar regard Ah quote: Truly, Ah say t'yo', Eff'n yo' does not become like li'l childrun, yo' will not git it into hevvin, fum Matthew Chapper eighteen vahse three; an', quote behold, th' Lion of th' Tribe of Judah hath prevailed to open this hyar book unquote fum Revelashun chapper five vahse five.

An' this hyar catholic whore of babylon, came by leckurin' us about cornscience. We were all relaxin' an' bein' brave; Ah remember mah hero Deacon Abner Blather gave a stirrin' speech in which he explained thet conscience is aginst science, on account o' con in Latin means aginst, an' tharfo'e we sh'd all be aginst conscience, on account o' conscience stands in th' path of th' fo'ward march of science. Deacon Abner gave his speech an' ev'rybody cheered an' thet was th' end of conscience fo' then, as enny fool kin plainly see.

But th' romish popish beast kepp pesterin' us, even though it was basically a semanntic difference between us an' whut is supposed t'be right dockrine regardin' conscience.

As a result earlier this hyar year our Church of th' Lost Tribe finally got aroun' t'makin' a slight change in its dockrine. We haf been fo'ced t'address th' idea of cornscience, even though Jesus nevah said ennythin' about cornscience, an' even though th' Old Testament nevah said ennythin' about conscience.

Thar we were, relaxin' an' bein' brave like li'l chillun an' th' yo'ng of animals, nevah reckonin' about cornscience, six packin' six packs an' cruisin' th' strip clubs, havin' a gran' old time, an' along comes this hyar catlick t' leckure us about cornscience.

So we corntinued fo' thirty years wif our slightly impuffick dockrine thet ignored conscience. Ah admit we were stubborn an' stiff-necked, but thet kind of eat drink six pack san' be merry stubborness is a chareeckeristic of the blood of th' lost tribe which even now so git-up-and-gitously carouses through our mooscular no'dic veins.

This hyar nitpickin' catholic, rudely intruded hisse'f upon our church, th' members of which were allways a-gonna heavvin ennyway despite th' slight impuffickshun in th' dockrine regardin' cornscience, on account o' of predestinashun an' faith without wawks.

Now this hyar year our Church of th' Lost Tribe agreed t'co'reck th' slight impuffickshun in dockrine. Our noo dockrine is thet th' violashun of cornscience kin indanger th' financial an' physical security of th' violator. Yet we corntinue t'affirm, thet a believah will inter th' pearly gates of hevvin, not matter whut he says an' does.

As a result of this hyar our noo dockrine, our members of our cornservative Church of th' Lost Tribe, haf become mighty psychologically distraught.

Their minds haf become deeply troubled by burdensome thunks sech as, will I have t'cut down fum four six packs t'three six packs of beer a day, on account o' sech is th' punishment God strikes me wif fo' violatin' mah cornscience?

One Church deacon Ah deeply admire came t'me an' said, "Senato' Blather, Ah have become mighty nervous on account o' Ah dreamed thet as a result of mah loss of ability which Ah have suffered as a natural cornsequence of mah violashun of mah cornscience, mah chance of livin' until Ah's a hundred years old, has gone down by two point seven percent".

Ah feel their pain, as enny fool kin plainly see.

An' Ah's hankerin' t'take this hyar oppo'tunity t'explain t'them how t'deal wif th' deep Christ-like so'rows their souls have been wracked wif on account o' we co'recked our slight impuffickshun in th' dockrine.

Th' ideal goal is t'behave in a manner thet follers one's conscience, even though sech will not effeck yer predestined faith wifout wawks intry into hevvin. So eff'n thar is some kind of info'mashun, thet is sech thet eff'n yo' knowed whut this info was, th' way yer behavin' which yo' injoy would violate yer cornscience, th' bess thin' is t'avoid thet info like th' plague, on account o' eff'n yo' larn about it, th' way of life yo' injoy will become aginst yer cornscience.

Eff'n yo' haf larned sumpin as a result of which yer brave relaxed carefree Church of th' Lost Tribe cornservative way of life becomes aginst yer cornscience, th' best thin' is t'eemeejutly fo'git thet thin' thet yo' haf larned. Thar is various ways t'fo'git whut yo' haf larned. Varmints memo'ize thin's by reviewin' whut they have larned, so, hey, jest nevah review th' thin's yo' have larned.

One of th' great thin's about th' great game of football, is, git crazy inough on th' tackle football field an' yo' kin getcher haid knocked so hard yo' will fo'git whut yo' haf larned. Eff'n thet doesnt wawk, th' elders of our Church of th' Lost Tribe is allus thar t'provide yo' wif plenty of fine old fashioned southern likker t'he'p fo'git disturbin' memo'ies. Eff'n thet does'nt wawk, th' esteemed Docko' Leo Kahn has prepared a noo med thet will he'p yo' fo'git, an' t'other noo med thet will make sho'nuff thet in th' future yo' do not remember thin's.

T'other way t'git rid of thoughts thet make yo' feel guilty, an' thet make feel yo' haf violated yer cornscience, is t'put an end t'th' mental processin' of fackts, thet leads yo' into feelin' guilty. Fackts by themselves does not make yo' feel guilty. It is th' processin' of th' fackts, like two plus two equals four, thet makes yo' feel guilty.

Eff'n yo' have already made th' mistake of processin' facks in sech a way as t'renner yo'seff a violato' aginst yer cornscience, jest re-process them in sech a way thet yo' will come t'a diffrunt cornclushun. Fo' example when yo' reckon through a problem jest rush through it, stop puttin' too much time into it, make a few approximashuns o' mistakes an' then yo' might no longer see yo'seff as a cornscience violato'.

Eff'n yer cornscience is botherin' yo' yo' kin make peace witch yer cornscience by interjeckin' some emoshun into yer decishun makin' process. Fo' example, eff'n yer decishun makin' process has cornvinced yo' thet yer violatin' yer cornscience through yer corntinued membership in our cornservative Church of th' Lost Tribe, interjeck some pride into yer decishun makin' process. Mebbe then yo'll see thin's in a diffrunt mo'e Amerikin conservative way an' yer ind decishun will be diffrunt an' yo' will no longer feel like a cornscience violato'.

Eff'n addin' pride t'th' equashun does not wawk, try hatred of liberals. Eff'n thet doesnt wawk, try jealousy of th' guys who haf money when cornservative policies is not established.

Eff'n thet doesnt wawk, injeck some se'fishness into yer decishun makin' thunk or thought processes. Eff'n se'fishness doesnt wawk, throw in some heartlesness, o' some rage, o' some greed o' some arrogance, o' some foolishness, o' some envy, experiment aroun' until yer thought processes does not prodooce a decishun through which yo' cornvick yo'seff of bein' a cornscience violato'."

@2005 David Virgil Hobbs

Sunday, January 02, 2005

The New & Improved Harvard, Raul, Gates, Pot, & Nude Marathoners - Dreams

There were some unremembered details in the dream I am not sure regarding the exact order of the dream segments.
I was walking along this hall in Harvard University. I felt lightweight and energetic, sort of like the new atmosphere at this new Harvard. The hallway was not too brightly lit, but it was daylight outside. It was a long first floor hall running parallel to a road, of the type that you find in the neogothic buildings at the University of Chicago and U of Chicago high school. Indoors this hallway was at least somewhat neogothic; the first floor stairwell was similar to the stairwells in the neogothic university of Chicago buildings: big double doors, one on each side, then wide steps, then more double doors, then more steps, then the sidewalk, and then the road running parallel to the the long hallway, and the Chicago people, who used to be boring depressing and heterosocially speaking unfriendly  but who now due to the waving of a magic wand have become hearty light footed heterosocial and fun to be around outside.  These stairwell doors were not shaped like rectangles, they were at the top shaped like the arch in the doorway they were part of.
Near one of these stairwells, on the first floor, two guys walked past me, and they both said, "not Andrea Cawelti", or something to that effect. 
This because in reality I, faced with crushing expenses living in the expensive Boston area, had for twenty years not been able to get a job paying more than eight or so dollars an hour, had not been able to get a job at at Harvard, and the jobs I had been able to get were tough exhausting manual labor jobs, such as at Labor Ready, where you have to show up early in the morning and wait, while not getting paid, to get your assignment, and then have to spend sometimes a long time getting back from your assignment not being paid for your return journey, and then have to wait to get paid back at their home office. Yet Andrea Cawelti, who was my neighbor and who went to my high school, and who was always famous for one thing: being overweight, recently swooped in from Chicago to land a cushy job as librarian at Harvard's music library. By way of contrast I have been famous for many things, judging from the words of others not myself: brilliance, good character, athleticism, beauty, voice, sexual attractiveness in the eyes of the beautiful socially high ladies.
I never spoke a scornful word about Andrea all the time I was around her. She was the type who suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune with equanimity, without jealous wrath.
So they said "not Andrea Cawelti" as they walked past me. The two who said this were both tall strong white men with normal length straight  brownish hair. they looked similar. I remembered the appearance of one of them especially well. He was about six feet four inches tall, he wore a suit and tie type jacket that was grayish and it seemed of the slightly fuzzy or tweedy type, the kind of shirt that goes with it but not a tie, he reminded me of Peter Rivera, who was the drummer for Rare Earth, this 60s-70s era band I used to and still do admire. He was athletic looking, not fat.
Similarly, when I was in Chicago in August, I met in real life a guy who was similar to these two dream guys in the hallway, except that he wore his hair in a little George Washington type pony tail. He lived with his girlfriend. He was a bigshot in computers at the University of Chicago. He was a neighbor of my brother's. He inclined his head towards me and muttered, "Not're a genius".
Then in the dream, I was at Lamont Library, the undergraduate library for Harvard. It had a new atmosphere to it, hopeful, energetic, bright, upbeat, lightweight yet energetic, constructive, into productively working with skilled and talented persons to produce things of value.
By way of contrast, in reality, once when I applied for a job at Harvard, the white female three foot tall dwarf who interviewed me informed me that they had no work for me because I was "overqualified".  Another time when I applied at Harvard a black male interviewer who was in his twenties filled the computer database with negative comments, and then his supervisor, a black female, after speaking with me for about ten seconds in a normal prosaic phone call, filled the computer database with a repeat of all the negative coments he the black male in his twenties had made. Neither time did I land a job.
There was in the dream a guy working behind the desk at Lamont library. He had brown skin, I could not tell if this was inborn or acquired through a tan. He had straight black hair of normal length, his head reminded me a little of a light bulb but was not deformed, he was clean shaven, but I did not get a good close look at his face. He wore a suit-jacket that was I think gray, and made from a slightly fuzzy material. He was about six feet tall. He was intelligent and competent in air and look, not feminine looking, not gay looking.
I gave him a few handwritten pages, they were pages from this here blog. He took the pages, put them into a machine that sucked the pages in, and the machine 'spat out'  the pages in book form, in the form of a book that was about 11 inches high and 3 inches wide.  My blog, this blog I am writing in now,  was respectfully reproduced in this book in printed letters such as you read here as opposed to handwritten script.  The book contained some comments written by persons other than myself, which were respectful. The text of this book, that written by me, was on the left page when you opened the book and looked at it, whereas the comments written by the commentator were on the right page. the right pages had less text and more blank space than the left pages. I think the book also had respectful comments by other persons at the beginning of it. The book was a paperback the cover of it was a shiny  glossy dark crimson color, darker than the crimson that is the official color of Harvard University.
Interesting sidenote: in another dream the same night as this one about the New Harvard, , the night after new year's day, I dreamt that this here blog I am writing in now, has as of now the equivalent of 67 book-pages of writing in it. By book page,  I mean the number of words found on a typical page in a typical book.  As a matter of fact this particular blog-post, I estimate to be 7.65 book length pages, which would be a 2792  pages per year pace if 7.65 pages were to be produced every day.  It took me today 2.5 hours to write this blog-post. I estimate this particular blog could serve as the basis for 31 minutes of film or video; if I were to produce 28 minutes of such every day that would be a pace of  11,315 minutes  or 189 hours per year. Then the trick is producing extremely high quality by whittling out the 'lower' quality stuff.
Then in the dream,  I was in an office at Harvard that was dimly lit, standing in front of a desk.  Behind the desk sat a white lady, who was not a dwarf, she had brown-yellow hair that was slightly wavy, parted in the middle, top of the shoulder length, her face was slightly ovalish and chiseled, she was not exactly pretty, but not unattractive, I could not see her face very well in the dim light of the office.  She reminded me of the two guys who had muttered about Andrea Cawelti as they walked past me. She looked like a female version of those two guys.  
This woman gave me a blue slip of paper that was about three inches high and seven inches wide, there were a couple of lines drawn in pencil on this paper and some words. The writing had to do with the work I was hired by ('the new') Harvard to do that day. There was no job application, no interview, I just stood in front of the desk and she gave me the blue slip with the assignment on it. Looking at what was written on the paper I was trying to figure out if the work would be manual low taking orders work or work creative intellectual work wherein people different from me worked with me, to together with me produce productive output. I could not tell which kind of work the work involved but I had the impression that these work assignments would at least soon result in me working intelectually and creatively in skilled manner,  with others to produce productive stuff.
Then I found myself at an apartment where some friends lived. It was darkish outside, as in early morning or late evening. The apartment buildings had brick walls and were squarish looking not taller than three stories. There were tall leafy trees on the roads by the buildings; the colorfulness of the scene was subdued by the dim daylight. We went to go and meet someone named "Raul". We met him to get some marijuana from him. Raul and I had a fairly long conversation. He was smiling and enjoying himself. I do not remember what we said.
I did not n the dream suspect that it was Raul Hinejosa who I went to high school with at U of Chicago high school, because it has sort of been drilled into my mind that Raul Hinejosa, is a distant pompous California person, because of what I have heard about him having a big house and being a succesful professor and him not answering my email and the new militant hispanic ethnocentrism. But after we left his place, it was revealed to me that it was Raul Hinejosa, and I was surprised.
At one point, I think as we were walking along this trail in the woods by train tracks or something, returning from our meeting with Raul, in the dream Bill Gates was walking with us. He was wearing his glasses, a suitjacket of a brownish color with some purple in it, the business type shirt,  as I recall no tie, and the long sleeved business type pants. I said something to him, expecting that we would talk for five seconds or so since he was such a busy man. But the conversation went on for a few minutes. It surprised me that he would carry the conversation on for so long, being such a busy man. I do not now remember what words were spoken.
At another point, I found myself in that same area where we had walked back from Raul's house with Gates, at the side of a high-way, in an area less developed than suburbs or cities, near the kind of dark brown brush we had walked through on the way to and  back from Raul's. There was a marathon like the Boston marathon going on; the runners were nude women (I am not sure if men  were excluded).  I saw a group of about six of these runners they seemed fairly representative of the entire pack. They were athletically built, shapely, built like models, their hair was medium brown and straight, they were pretty, they ran close together, they had normal to somewhat large size breasts, their skin was medium brown from tanning, they were covered with something oily looking like suntan lotion, their [DELETED] hair was normal sized, and they smiled at me and waved to me and said hi to me as they ran by me on the road, in an enthusiastic way almost as enthusiastic as the women squealing out their adoration of rock stars at rock concerts. Their hair and their skin were almost the same color. They were radiant and healthy looking.
This is what happened once when I applied for a job at Harvard: this short pudgy light skinned black male in his twenties interviewed me.  White people in the offices where he worked informed me that he put large amounts of negative comments about me into a computer database. I could not understand how he could come up with so many negative comments in the course of a short, prosaic interview in which I acted normal. I called an office hoping to speak with his black female supervisor. I spoke with a black female who was the assistant supervisor, I talked with her for ten seconds, she told me the supervisor was not in. After this on the basis of her ten second phone call with me, in which I acted normal, she inputted a large amount of negative comments about me into the computer database. These negative comments, were a repeat of everything the black male who interviewed me had said.
Black males of the sort  that interviewed me are scorned because ten percent of them are supposedly in jail, but in fairness to such black men, these scorners wring their hands about how there are so many in jail for harmless offenses such as marijuana when they talk about people in general in jail, but forget about how so many are incarcerated for harmless offenses when they talk about black men in jail.
Andrea Cawelti was my next door neighbor when I was going to school at U of Chicago high school.  I was more socially popular, more admired for my intelligence, more admired (usually secretly) for my looks than Andrea Cawelti. I at high school was impressive enough to get into Harvard and Yale (but not into Stanford). After I graduated from Harvard college, I wanted to stay in the Boston area, I felt unready for grad school,  I did not have enough money to transplant myself someplace else, my father repeatedly kicked me out of his house because he and his new wife my stepmother was irritable whereas I was normal. I was so rejected by the employers, that I ended up not going to grad school, because I became afraid that after grad school I would be stuck with debt and no job, and because I had become disenchanted with the grad school brains, the grad school personalities, the grad school culture, the grad school ethics, and the grad school behavior.
Housing costs and other such costs were astronomical in the Boston area, and I could not get a job of any kind at Harvard. I could only get really low jobs like delivering phone books in terrible snow-storms, while getting paid less than minimum wage taking into account delays before and after the start of the time for which we would get paid. I
 lost my life's savings at the time, about $5,000 eventually, from paying rents at places like the Y.  It was virtually impossible for me to get even "low" jobs like clerk in a store. I ended up underfed (in more than one sport I am or have been at or near the pro or championship level at least for my age group), unable to afford a car, living in closet size rooms, sometimes living in homeless shelters, sometimes spending the night in a sleeping bag on a construction site in Cambridge, sometimes living with Harvard students in their alternative housing. 
This has gone on for twenty years ever since I graduated from Harvard, this being unable to get a job at Harvard or elsewhere in the Boston area, this syndrome wherein if there is more than one applicant for a job in the Boston area and I am one of those applicants, then I do not get the job.
I have not been able to eat anywhere near the level someone chasing a world record (age group breast and crawl swimming) should be eating at, this despite my popularity with beautiful white women in the area, this despite general acclaim for my looks and intelligence.
Yet recently Andrea Cawelti of Chicago, sort of  suddenly swooped into the Boston area and all of a sudden, immediately, had a cushy job at Harvard. All the time that I was anywhere near Andrea Cawelti, she was famous for one thing: being quite overweight plus she always wore glasses, her overweight state showed on her face, and she was'nt pretty. But now lo and behold, she has a cushy job of the type I always needed, as the librarian at the music school at prestigious HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
Harvard paved the way for its turning itself into a financial desert for me, through steps such as: barring me from a dorm without a hearing because of some rumor re something I allegedly said; barring me from campus because of a short story containing sex mailed to a woman who reported such to police (her friend read the story and opined that I send it to her because it was not as dirty as what she was reading in english class at Harvard); falsely accusing me of spray painting a wall, a charge to which I had to plea-bargain guilty, being unable to afford a lawyer, my father being unwilling to pay for a lawyer.
Seems to be the case that: 
 The problem in the Boston area is that socially unpopular women (SUW's) are for political reasons treated like royalty. These SUW's proceed to sexually harass males and attempt to extort ego massages and sex from males. SUW's should be looking up psychologists they can hire to provide ego massages and gigolos they can hire for sex if such is what they are after. SUW's focus like a laser on extorting sex money and ego massages for themselves from society all the time. They inappropriately turn their positions of power at organizations that hire persons, into offices dedicated to extorting sex and ego massages for SUWs from men. They punish men who they do not receive sex and ego massages from, while they reward men they do receive sex and ego massages from. They are not offended by gay men who like many hetero men fail to provide them with sex and ego massages, although they are offended by straight men who fail to provide them with such things. Thus there is an ego-massage component involved, because the difference between the gay man and the hetero man is that the SUW ego is not offended by rejection from gay men but is offended by rejection from straight men.