I was back in highschool, one of those senior/graduation events.
Don’t particularly remember what the event was but it was time to go and I was not where I was supposed to be. For whatever reason it was okay to be in a large number of areas rather than a single point, like a bus terminal rather than a bus stop, so I got to an area I liked. Away from most of the other people, though not the furthest one out from the median. At least, not in this direction. There were a bunch of people a long ways away in a certain direction, and it seemed like just a one sided tail of people trickling this way. Had just come down from a flight of stairs from a higher level of ground, sat on one of those concrete blocks next to the pillars rather than a standalone bench. Like the parking or bus spaces under a large airport.
A couple of guys rolled up. The guy in the front passenger seat of the sedan rolls down the window, pulls out a gun and pointed it at me. I am about two or three car widths away from him. It was an undetermined semi-auto pistol. No traffic on the road. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember this is a guy who’s been wanted for murder before. Nothing huge. Each time he’s only killed one or two people. But each time he’s gotten away really easily, so he’s been known mostly for his evasiveness rather than evilness or whatever. I know there’s a driver because this was standard american car on standard american road, but I didn’t identify his existence except by this proxy.
Said some things to me, something along the lines of the usual threat and I’m-better-than-you-I-got-da-gun stuff. I said the usual stuff I say too, ignoring content and attacking structure and presentation. My class and the teachers knew what was going on, they had called the cops. Not that they texted me this or told me this or whatever; again I figured that’s what happened by proxy. The cops were there, but rolling up slowly, and everyone that was part of my highschool group at the scene in general was hidden, so my guess probably wasn’t too far off. Or maybe security called the cops? Not too relevant.
The man with the gun was not mad and unfazed by my method. He kept pushing content, I kept pulling structure. At a point where the rear cop car got close enough to some point (I’m not good at determining distances when it’s relative to an object far away from me), he said in a philosophical and whimsical way,
“Do you want to die?”. I countered,
“Does your gun have a trigger?”
I usually don’t see facial expressions, or hell, even a face, but at that moment I sensed he made a scowl, or a face of disappointment. It shocked me. I wasn’t paralyzed but at that moment I realized I would not be able to move. He moved his gun arm slightly, lazily… and fired. The driver sped the car away, the police chase wasn’t really a chase. More like a “I’m going to move in your general direction”.
I thought that was the end. The dream usually ends when I die. There have been a couple where I go on past death, but it’s not a common occurrence.
This one continued, because I didn’t die.
For whatever reason I remembered that I had a way of chasing the shooter that outpaced the cop car speeds: running around like an ape. On all fours (though not with the knuckle problem). It didn’t actually feel like I was on all fours, but my all-fours speed was still faster than basically everything else in the universe at that point. Caught up to the chase, was not on a freeway or whatever. This was a hard-to-catch mastermind, not a coward nobody who gets away just because his car has a better engine. He was waving through here and there – not switching cars, but this world had no GPS or helicopter to track top-down. Maps, but we had to guess which way and spread out like a net – problem being the net required to ensure capture was too big. Even though I moved faster than everyone else, including the killer, I was ultimately unable to get to him.
A while later, got home. Visually not similar to my real home, but I identified the place as home. Someone had gotten back about the same time I did. In real life she is my cousin and I’ve lusted after her before on a mental exercise. Pretty, but not eye-catching pretty. In dreams, I simply know who everyone is – the only people who have faces on all the time are women who I have lusted after enough. I do not see this cousin often and she has no real significance in my life, but not only was she here and with me in my dream (I identified her as part of my highschool group trip; she is older than me significantly so this would not have actually happened in real life), she was rendered full face and full body. What we first conversed were just the common niceties. I can’t remember all of how she got to the point. But she built up to it. Dreams screw up my sense of time so I don’t know how long this “really” was, but it felt like at least 1.5x the duration of the chase.
She was talking about how I didn’t do anything. How I unnecessarily egged a man with a gun, a known killer, on. How, because I wasn’t able to keep my mouth shut and let the cops just close in and finally capture this wanted trickster and threat to civilization (he was immortal or something? felt like that’s how it was spoken of), I got Dodo killed.
Dodo, or Fofo, or Lolo, or something _o_o, I forget. I didn’t know what she was talking about. The guy was pointing his gun at me the entire time. He just fine-tuned and failed like a dupe at the last second.
Apparently not. He just re-aimed, at the guy next to me. A guy I didn’t even notice was there, a guy of no social importance (I remember at this time that my cousin has some kind of leadership position, like class rep or something) and mediocre academic skill. I immediately felt horrible. I averted my eyes to the ground, but other than that I kept my outward composure. She continued talking, I forget what exactly about. Probably about how _o_o didn’t want to die, didn’t do anything to deserve it, was a person of this and that personality and had this and that accomplishments. I was the one who caused all of that to disappear and burn to oblivion. If I hadn’t egged the gunman, a known killer, on, _o_o would still be alive and well. I had robbed _o_o’s parents of their son (I didn’t remember him at all, but my dream world identified to me it was a male name). And now the cops were coming to get me. There was nowhere to run.
I stood there for some time. She was on the stairs heading up but didn’t move either. I was sorting out in my head – or heart rather, what had just been thrown at me. I looked at her. She was looking at me with eyes and a face that read “judgement”. I did not identify her as the one who had put this idea together against me. She was simply telling me because I often didn’t know how to interact with people, and was my family (whether or not she was a sister here was not clarified; relations on the closeness of the nuclear family was defined though) and wanted me to know. It was a social response. Everyone who I had known in the dream, from the students to the teachers to the now-coming-into-existence principle and administrators and school district president and mayor and etc. etc, had or were now passing judgement on me. They saw the facts, and they deemed instantly I was the one responsible.
I don’t remember screaming.
Or attacking her.
Or running out the door.
I want to remember that I started screaming, but as I try to remember now, it did not happen and could not have happened.
I was looking at her now, and had turned my head up to face her and look her in the eyes. My heart and my dream self’s heart were beat, beat off like one. My dream self’s mind… was now unknown. I was viewing myself from the second person, and… maybe it was my own mind that was screaming. Something somewhere was screaming. The temperature was the same but the energy levels of something was rising. The world was falling apart. Outside the window, things were obliterating into their geometric components. Then the force of nature reached the window, disassembled it into its rectangular glass, rectangular frame, the million strands of filament from the screen… then they unified in color, a sort of crystallic white… and disappeared. The tiles from the floor lifted a couple of inches, lifted from the outside in, one concentric circle at a time. They broke into their component stones, and same as the window and everything else, whitened and disappeared.
There was only her, and me, in nothingness. She had not moved an inch, had not noticed any change in the universe. And neither had I. We were still looking at each other, same as that moment when I locked eyes again. Then both she and I tessellated, every feature was now defined by triangles. And in an instant, all the triangles decolorized.
And I opened my eyes.
It’s been a long time since I answered a dream’s question in such a strong way.
I was talking with a friend last night about frames in relation to interacting with women. Though I have read PUA stuff on and off, one of the biggest things that has refrained me from actually taking time out of my life to actively test and improve myself is that it feels like I don’t have enough frames. I spend almost all my time developing a single frame – it is the “discipline” and “passion clarity” one you see written on this blog. I can move everything into this frame consistently, and into other frames like trolling or empathy with varying levels of success. From what I have read, it felt like getting through shit tests was not simply a matter of frame control, but being able to frame control to several different frames. Moving her back into the same frame every time would be boring – an autistic could do that. My question was whether it would be better to just fall for shit tests, because it would encounter more frames in total? He gave me a few stories of some of his attempts to pick up girls, and they illustrated to me that a bigger problem was at work.
He spoke not in terms of frames and shifting frames, but in terms of recognizing and adapting to the other and dominating theirs so they enter yours.
And that is exactly my disability. I have been focusing so much on frame and changing frame (which is moving from one frame to another) that I have completely ignored that they are all for use in relation to another frame, to other frames. I have studied statics – but the world is not always static.
I do not regret it, to be sure. I have actively ignored every single “it depends on the situation” “principle” that has come from the mainstream, because it not only learns nothing, but destroys everything I know. I’ve spoken on and off and tangentially about how ignoring the idea of fundamentals doesn’t help, at least in terms of pure truth value – but it is true that it is not enough. It is the main point though, and because I didn’t know the main point, I needed to work on it. And I’ve worked on it, for the past seven years. While every other teenager was out fucking around, going to alcohol gatherings, and lighting grass on fire, I was trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with… something. Big ideas first, figure out all the deviations and applications later.
I’ve now largely solved the problem, but it is fact that I am and have been open and weak to attack by the most trivial of deviations.
I am fairly certain this dream is telling me that I need to now move on from the mean to figuring out the most standard of deviations, and then the variances.
The difference between possibility and hope is courage to dream. The difference between hope and success is discipline of skill. The difference between success and mastery echoing throughout time is respect and benevolence.
It is time to move to part three.
As for the dream itself… Some of it is pretty obvious and some of it isn’t; I’ll leave it up to your curiosity.
- Everyone hiding and then coming out and blaming me is very clearly my hate and distaste for the anti-negative crowd. Not only do the arguments my cousin use echo exactly some of the structures scrubs use (morality, responsibility, inaction as the answer), there is the explicit structure of nobody doing anything but hide when the gunman could get away and everybody doing everything when I could be easily captured.
- The cops being slow and not just capturing the guy is indicative of my view of the people in society today who are assigned to protect and deliver truth: the journalists. Slow and chicken to actually approach anything real, but quick to jump on anything easy but mislead.
- If a man with a gun asked me that question in that position, and for whatever reason my brain was having diarrhea and decided to not have me smack the gun out of his hand… how I answered in my dream would be exactly how I would answer in real life.
- I am still uncertain as to why my cousin appeared. She was mentioned recently by my mom, but offhandedly and without much importance. Perhaps I simply needed a female who I respected as a woman, was attracted to for womanly qualities, and was close enough to me on the familial level, and she was the only one who fit the qualities.
- The elevations probably mean something. The fact that I came down from where I was having fun earlier, the fact that there were no hills and no helicopters or satellites during the chase, the fact that my cousin was on her way up a flight of stairs when telling me to prepare to face the music.
- The fact that the driver of the gunner wasn’t really “there” shows that the cars were probably only in existence to show relative speed to the average person (who walks).
- I do not own a car.
- I love my carbon bike and how by my power alone, I can get up to 20+ mph. I don’t even really care if I am a bad cyclist and can’t ever win a race. It’s amazing.
- The fact that I was going faster than cars on all fours is probably reflective of the language people have been using to describe The Way of Men. “Tribalist”, or something? I didn’t have a model for imagining myself on all fours though, so I imagined myself on a bike, which I do know. More specifically, a time trial position. Of course, the “going faster” is representative of being better when it counts.
- My reaction to my cousin is accurate of how I respond to false accusations in real life. I consider how I am wrong first, and then once I am done figuring it out in my head, I go on the counterattack.
- The world disappearing is most definitely based on Assassin’s Creed.
- It’d be really funny if that dead guy’s name was “Yolo”.