Dream Girl Returns as a Lover (Guardian Angel?)

January 17, 2012

I felt her tongue in my mouth and I was the happiest man on earth. To kiss her was a dream come true. My Guardian Angel kissed me.

It started on some sort of shopping spree and she was taking me to different places buying me things and holding my hand and I was confused because she wasn’t in her guardian angle form. Not that she ever is. I call her my guardian angel because she has lead me away from negative situations and helped me out in previous dreams. She is based on a real girl I know in her mid-late 20s that I rarely talk to and see online once in a while. I named her Carmella the first time I wrote about her in a blog titled Dream Girl is my Guardian Angel but her name is Bailey. She won’t read this and if so . . . well I’ll deal with or not then.

So Bailey is taking me to familiar and unfamiliar places and we are happy. I felt the way I used to feel when I was on vacations with previous girlfriends during the courting or just past the courting stage. In the back of my head I was confused. First of all, she has a boyfriend and it seems they’ve been together since high school.  She would rarely give me the time of day in real life. Not to say she was or is a snob. She just never had a reason to talk to me. I’ve admired her from afar. I also didn’t know where were in the dream. It felt like Philadelphia and New York with a touch of San Francisco. Maybe my writing about hanging out with a few girls in San Francisco in my next novel is rubbing off into my dreams.

We ended up kissing on the sidewalk wherever we were. Heavy making out. I felt her tongue hit my tonsils and loved it. I haven’t had a kiss like that in almost 2 years. We hugged and then hurried to our hotel room. In the dream I went with it as if I knew there was a room. I settled in the room and saw her take her clothes off and she came to me again and kissed me wearing her white bra and panties. I was still in shock and thrilled to realize it was a dream. It was more real than being awake. She was dressed again. And I followed her outside to the sidewalk. Her boyfriend was there and she looked at me in a way I knew she was going to give him another goodbye talk. Then she took him into my room at a new house and we were no longer at the hotel.

I let them have their time. I was overall confident that Bailey was mine but still was anxious for him to leave. It reminded me of when I dated a married woman that was separated and the 3 of us hung out. I walked into the living room and it was a combination of a few houses I’ve lived and my aunt and uncle’s house in Michigan. My grandmother was alive and there with aunts and uncles and cousins. My blood relatives and my adopted relatives were all there. I was so distracted by having my fantasy girl, my dream girl after going so long without love I had trouble enjoying my family. Everyone was talking to me. Someone said that I was going to miss my flight home. I thought I was home and Bailey and her boyfriend were in her my bedroom. I felt love in the room but I wanted the love in the bedroom, forgetting Bailey has appeared as my guardian angel in the past.

I thought of her kiss, closed my eyes and smiled. I woke up and it was only 11 pm. I felt happy for some reason even though I never resolved anything in the lucid dream. It will come to me. It always does.

Also read my poem called Guardian Angel Protection

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Change and Serial Murder

July 21, 2010

Change. Like it or not I change. I grow even when I don’t want to. Sometimes I slip down and fall and have to climb back up but it’s still a change and it always leads to more growth. They say hindsight is 20/20 but I disagree. Personally, my hindsight is delusional. I look back and see things better than they really were. Thank God I’m a writer. Thank God I can look back and read what I was thinking and how I was behaving in the past. Thank God I have friends and family that remind me of what I was.

One of my close friends is always telling stories about things I did to him in the past. Not to put me down but because he finds the humor in it now. I don’t even remember half of the stories until he is halfway through. He was a less tolerant person full of anxiety and I apparently was an insensitive prankster. I won’t tell you the specifics because: a) they aren’t important and b) you might talk to him one day.

The reason this topic came to mind today is that I am going through my infamous Serial Killer Coloring Books and looking at these sometimes vivid drawings I did and the drawings the murderers have done and the crimes they have committed. I am compiling all of the issues into one book and have been going through them page by page looking and reading. I was shocked by some of the things that I’ve said and the drawings I’ve done. Imagine that. Me? Shocked. It happens. It made me question whether I want to re-publish it or forget about it. I worked so hard on those comics that I hate to see it go to waste. I poured my heart and soul into it.

I’ve spent years defending myself as to why I took an interest in serial killers enough to draw, write and form a band that sings about them. I understood why completely. Even in my delusional state of mind I have some awareness of what’s really going on in my head and heart. I always looked at what I did as an over the top exploitation of the exploitation of murder and true crime. I never thought that they were cool like I’ve been accused of. The truth of the matter is that I was secretly identifying with the serial killer. I didn’t identify with the desire to murder but with the common obsession and addiction. I have many addictions but most are harmful to myself. I have no desire or even fantasy of raping, murdering or cannibalism. I found it fascinating that there are real life “monsters” out there that not only fantasize but act out on it. Why? What makes them different?

I’ve believed that anyone could be a serial killer under certain circumstances. We are all just one gene or one spanking in our childhood away from it. I have mental illness in my natural family genes so of course I have a mental illness. A treatable one. A controllable one but I still have it. After being raised by a paranoid schizophrenic mother for 8 years I found  myself seeking other “crazy people in my life especially girlfriends.

As I grow older I find myself dealing with my issues and growing away from it. I’ve also lost interest in serial killers. I don’t write about them or draw them or even think about them except when I perform because most of my songs are about them. I look at it differently now. Now I’m going through some of my drawings and I can’t believe that I’m the same person.

The big question on my mind is do I abandon my previous creations? Ignore them like they never happened. My gut tells me to embrace my past and everything I’ve created good and bad. I don’t really think that anything I’ve done has brought any bad energy or karma into the world. I still don’t think that writing, drawing or singing about murder is going to influence anyone negatively or make them do bad things unless they are already inclined to do so. I used to say “serial killers don’t have time to read about or listen to songs about serial killers. They’re too busy serial killing.” It’s true. True crime buffs don’t commit murders. It’s usually the seemingly “nice” guy that lives next door to you, sits next to you at work, rides the train with you to work, cooks your food at a restaurant or maybe even your lover or family member.

There has always been an internal struggle with me as to letting go or holding back in my creative endeavors. I’ve mentioned this over and over. I always come to the same decision. I always do the same thing. I decide that I will be an open book and talk and write about anything and then I hold things back anyway. Sometimes I censor and sometimes I don’t. Hopefully, my work is appreciated either way. Hopefully, I keep appreciating my work either way. After all, I am my biggest critic and my biggest fan.


How to Avoid Life Through Self Absorbtion

July 20, 2010

I used to wish that I was one of those artists that was so self- absorbed that he didn’t give a shit about anything else. Dedicated his every waking minute to his art regardless of the outcome or what anyone thinks. No social life. Not many friends. The one that stayed in and did his craft day after day.

I’ve gone through periods of my life where I’ve been able to do that. I was able to focus on my art and that was it but there was always an inherent need to be loved and liked especially by women. There was a time that my entire identity was based on how much I was loved in a relationship. As I got older and more confident in myself I started to go through periods of working and caring only about my art, writing or music. It’s when I feel my best. Alone and creating.

I think that’s why I have been so anti-social lately. All I want to do is write, edit, create and promote. I hardly want to leave the house or look for a job or date or have sex or anything except write, write and write. Create, create and create. What’s really odd is that the loneliness is there. My need to be loved is there. I want to fall in love and date but instead of allowing myself to feel it I repress it and keep moving on my projects. My projects are my self-absorbed escape from my true feelings. I’ve turned my fear of rejection and loneliness into productive creativity.

Almost everyday I force myself out to a meeting so I maintain some sort of connection with the world besides the online community that only aids my anti-social behavior. It also keeps me grounded, spiritual and away from a drink or drugs. I try and keep as close as I can to my God as I can even when I am alone creating. Especially when I am alone creating.

Despite my fears of rejection, abandonment, loneliness and looking for employment I am quite happy with my life because I am using them to fuel my creativity. Hmmm. I guess I’m not entirely avoiding these feelings. I know that they are there. I’ve just taken the wasted energy worrying and put it into something positive. Life is good even when it’s bad.


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