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The fake passion and the empty church
I had a series of dreams last night that cut deep criticisms into the psychology of my life.
I had a series of dreams last night that cut deep criticisms into the psychology of my life. I’ve dictated them here for the sake of reflection.
The fake passion
This one was a bit of mixed reality. I was browsing some sort of website, I forget what for – I want to say it was one of those browser game websites with a bespoke chat attachment. At some point I had met a girl whom I liked and discovered she was really into me, and she then transmuted into the real world in front of me. She got into me and I really let myself get into her, trying to see what makes her feel the best, and so on. A while into it I noticed a timer appear in the upper left corner of my vision, and within the last minute it ticked (the 59th minute), she slowly started to fade away into nonexistence. I was left to stare at the old website screen, defrauded, disappointed and depressed. I hated this a lot.
The empty church
This second dream was much more geometrically sound. We had this vast clubhouse of sorts that I built or owned, and a bunch of friends and I took this long beaten path to get to it. I remember it was on a rocky hilltop of sorts, and we would navigate east down this main path, and from there you could either turn left early and climb up a steep hillside to get to the second floor, or keep going down to get to a more level path that only led to the ground floor. I had also constructed this attic-style staircase one could climb from the lower path to get to the second floor more comfortably.
I remember climbing up this staircase and having it almost break with me on it, although I caught it from falling in the nick of time. My friend from the steep hillside remarked that he saw it bend almost 45°. Apparently, we had to get upstairs to “smoke weed”, although this wasn’t something I participated in and I think it was a stand-in for whatever indulgences my friends ultimately came here for. This is also probably a real life reflection of some things going on in my real household which will be a story for another day.
Eventually I arrived upstairs and we had a discussion about the structure of the house, how it would be possible to get up to the second floor if we put a staircase leading to the top of the refrigerator, and other looney DIY proposals for this ramshackle shack of ours. But then the discussion drifted away, into some politically correct identitarianism, and it took the form of Twitter.
It was the classic discussion about the battle of the sexes, and I remember there was some indignant bluecheck feminazi asking the impossible question from her own sense of entitlement about men: “Why should we bother with these guys? They all suck.”
To this, my long-time mutual Sree Kotay responded, although he wasn’t actually responding to her, but as if her question was pointed at me. He wrote many fragmented DMs that explained what I was doing, calling these endeavours of mine the “building of an empty church”. He explained in vivid, imperative detail what I do in the moral terms I do it in, but with a perfect kind of literacy about it that left every door open for the possibility that I was just a child. He put it in the sort of endearing terms that would let me take it to heart, underscoring my intentions, purity of heart, and plain ignorance of the matter. But he kept reiterating that I don’t understand something I need to, and I woke up today wondering why, because the dream had ended before he expounded any answers.
I can only guess now that it is downstream of some angle of the fact that people do not fundamentally care like I do. People only incidentally care, or consequentially care, and this is why my intentions are so often lost on them. But I’m just guessing about that. His tone was much more scathing, behind the guard he maintained to not bruise my ego. I still wonder.
Thanks for reading.