"We're In TROUBLE"

https://philemonfoundation.org/about-philemon/who-is-philemon/

                                                                                                                                              

"We're in Trouble" - I said to my brother, after rousing him from a deep sleep. 

The dream set's up in a darkened bedroom. I'm aware of movement that wakes me from the typical light sleep I've endured my entire life. A fly preening its wings on a windowsill is more than enough to wake me. Whatever's going on isn't ordinary. In the gloom there is a man walking around my bed, trying to be silent. Why isn't my bed against the wall? This feels like my bedroom back home in our apartment in the Bronx, I lived there almost sixteen years till the age of twenty. The man looked like a vagrant spirit - everything about this sequence feels like a haunting. What little detail I was able to see of the man from the illumination coming from streetlamps outside my window, he was wearing a straw Outback hat and had several bags and satchels slung over his shoulders. An Army-green duster was covering his body, I couldn't see the outfit underneath. "What the hell are you doing here?" I shouted at the phantom that was making circles around my bed, he was looped there while escaping his nemesis. Startled, the man raised his index fingers to his lips after smacking me on the leg. The looping effect was like watching a 3D movie captured by a 360-camera drone following his every move. What I was watching wasn’t a man running in circles but desperately running in a straight-line, only the imagery was circling my bed. The phantom makes the leap out of the temporal vortex and into my bedroom, his attacker leaps through, hot on his tail.

    Shirtless, rippling with muscles and looking like a wild-man clone of Iggy Pop, the attacker is holding a long knife, chasing the adventurer into the small bathroom we all shared - just out and to the right of my bedroom door. Struggling to get up out of bed, I hear the muffled scream of the man and the sickening sound of the knife entering his soon to be cadaver at least seven times. In a flash it was over. Running to the side of my brother’s bed - I begin shaking him frantically “Oz - wake up”, OZZIE WAKE UP!” WE’RE IN TROUBLE!”

    My brother looks just like I remember him in the 80’s, I repeat to him we’re in big trouble (What that means - I will have to parse out later) “Someone just got stabbed in our bathroom!” Al is confused, he comes with me to look inside, the attacker had left the adventurer nude and dead in the tub, taking every last bit of identification with him. My brother tells me “Nothing we can do but clean up” I know what he means. Why is it important all of a sudden? Have we gone through this type of thing before?

My brother and I remove the body, taking it out in the dead of night - we find a suitable location to dispose of it. Now we are back home and my brother climbs into bed, leaving me to do more dirty work. Pulling out the bucket, gloves and construction sponge from under the bathroom sink- I begin the laborious task of removing blood from our bathroom. I feel like bleach and a magic eraser would do the trick… magic erasers weren’t invented in the 80’s though…

    My thoughts are crossing over decades for solutions to our problems - does time work properly here at all? A familiar set of white tiles that has been the wall covering in many of my dreams now looks pink with the smearing of the evidence - this can’t go quickly enough for me. Let’s just be done with it. Later I step back and admire my work… no evidence that anything ever happened. The tiles shine as if new. The stain of death still lingers.

Yesterday I accused “Tricky” of coming back for his 18% or what was due to him - using the ruse of “Auntie” and cashing in on the “Inheritance” owed to the siblings; little did I know he would show up looking like “Iggy Pop” in order to stir up a repressed dream memory, one that I felt was almost real. One that lingered in the recesses of my mind, one that made me feel horrible, disturbed, and had to be hidden at all cost. 

The lock was opened.

I had dreams or dream memories stored away… of disposing the bodies of victims. Tricky’s victims? This was ghoulish work that had become almost second nature to me. Never did I have the slightest aversion, no - this was MY task.

My first reaction was that I could never write about this type of dream memory. Why would “Tricky” open this particular door for me?

The only reason I could come up with was control, and tipping me ever closer to some kind of madness? Was there a simpler explanation, one where I was attempting to access other regions of stored memory? Were my own memories drying up - necessitating the opening of the darkest and nightmarish parts of my psyche?

I’m beginning to sound like Jung in his relationship with Philemon.

The memories were there, I searched inward and I could see myself laboring with the disposal of bodies. 

This is neither a future, nor past that I want.

Hacking Assistant / Eighteen Percent

Credit: Ihor Svetiukha 

This morning one of the dreams that woke me earlier this morning involved the use of technology again.

    We were in a nondescript office; I was seated next to a woman that I recognized from work - one of the administrative secretaries who would send print work to us regularly. She was at her computer, typing at a furious pace, in the century words-per-minute range.  Whatever she was working on required her concentration, except she was in some type of trance, or "in the zone." 

There is something off about this woman in real life that I can only equate her facial expression as being heavily sedated on anti-depressants. Her face is pasty and devoid of any joy - like Data the android on "Star Trek TNG". 

    Icons and lines of code flashed on her screen as quickly as she typed, as if she was mentally hooked up to some AI, building a new kind of operating system. 

Once my friend Alexis (RIP) introduced me to a friend of his cousin when we were at a party - the man had won a typing contest, his top speed was 110 WPM's. After demonstrating his ability on an electric for us, I was astounded, never did I see a more masterful execution of digital ability before in my life up to that point or have since.

    Now it was my turn to type - my fingers began flying over the keys at a rate that would be five times my normal rate, which hovers currently in the high teens if I stretched my mind for the correct words to put down. My mind and attention seemed to connect to this woman, we were collaborating on this "Program" being written. The screen was set up on both of our "computers" in portrait mode. I couldn't make out the icons on the screen that corresponded to the lines of code... 

When I woke up, I was strangely convinced the icons I saw on screen, were symbols similar to Mayan pictographs.

Before I woke up almost an hour and-a-half ago, there was a dream where my involvement wasn't needed - I was watching the events unfold. 

    A woman had passed away, her three surviving heirs were being given the news that a portion of their inheritance was left to the friend of their mother. The eldest daughter was trying to find a legal way to have this decision reversed, so that the siblings would get an equal share of the full amount. There was no reason that the other woman should get 18% of anything, she herself was already rich - worth 18 million in assets. If there were any explanation as to why the money was left to her - repayment of debt or some other agreement, none could be found. Maybe it was a private matter between the two friends. The siblings excused themselves to another room in the mansion to discuss what they could do before this other person cashed in on "Our" money. Needless to say, that foul play crossed their minds if only briefly during the conversation. 

    They were so caught up in their discussion and planning, that they didn't hear the woman come into the large parlor, taking a seat behind them on the Louis XIV sofa at the rear wall. "You should take care when talking about me, your mother and I were great friends as well as partners..." She gave away her presence in the room in the voice all too familiar to the plotting siblings, they turned to face the woman they knew as "Auntie"; her beefy arms crossed and a smug expression that was telling that she knew or suspected a plot against her was unfolding. Her compact and broad framed body draped neatly with authority on the seat, a Jewlers eyepiece attached to her glasses, signifying for the moment what her profession was - or she was already rifling through their mother's jewelry for her eighteen percent. Age has not weathered the skin on her face, perhaps the exaggerated weight she bore on her plump expression, stretched out any wrinkles, giving her a cherubic, youthful glow. Silver-blond hair that was neatly coiffed, framing her face - she looked like a woman in her forties although she was in fact, almost seventy. The neat, cream-colored suit, expertly tailored to her proportions - she was comfortable in her skin, as well as when she wielded her authority. Expensive nylons and heels finished off her look. Why hadn't her heels, which pounded the floor oftentimes with a "clack-clack", hadn't given her away. Had she just materialized behind them?

The dream had pulled me in, to record too many details. The narrative voice inside capturing everything, like a cosmic stenographer. I had to bring each detail back with me even though nothing in this dream was about me. Or was it?

Slowly I woke up, convinced that this latest story was at least worth the effort to write everything down. YES, Auntie may have been my dream partner/nemesis Tricky - coming to collect what was his.

2:22AM

 

Recently, I have been having disjointed dreams that I haven't bothered writing down. This morning however, I had a few - so what the heck…Each dream prompted me to wake up… 2:22, 4:06, and 5:51AM.

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In the first dream - I was hanging out with the internet (YouTube) millionaire, Mr. Beast. A voice prodded me to "Ask him for money…" I answered the voice "No" - I had some angry words for the voice in response to it asking, "But why not?" 2:22

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The second dream I woke up from, a group of us were inside a rental (Airbnb) in several situations. There was a point when I went exploring and found another apartment inside the building. This one must have belonged to the owner. It was guarded discreetly by a small camera and screen situated at the top of the staircase. Seeing my image pass by the screen alerted me that the owner must now have a record of me near the apartment and maybe it was time for me to go back downstairs. 4:06

~

 The third dream this morning was of me and my oldest friend "Choco" or Alex hanging out together in what I believed to be a school that Alex attended. One of his professors was angry at him, chasing him throughout the school, in and out of several classrooms until we came to the communications lab (Set up like a radio station booth) with Alex on one side of the glass, and the Professor on the other side holding up Alex's dog. (Alex never owned one)

The professor threatened to keep the dog if Alex didn't give up right away, saying the name of the Yorkie, but I couldn't remember when I woke up. 5:51

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