it goes vwoom together

Okay, so I have a confession to make. I have not dreamed in a lucid style for over a month. No wait, please come back. I have other worthwhile qualities, I promise. It’s just that the last time I stopped lucid dreaming for such an extended period of time was when I stopped sleeping. But not to worry, I believe I’ve discovered the problem.

Dimethyltryptamine (DMT). DMT is a psychedelic tryptamine that is created in small amounts by the human body during normal metabolism. It is also similar in structure to the neurotransmitter serotonin. Did you just /gasp with me?

It is speculated that DMT plays a role in dreaming. It appears that during sleep, brain DMT levels are periodically elevated to induce visual dreaming. Now get this, the effects of DMT are amplified when combined with an MAOI. Can you see it yet? Ok one more.

The consumption of both an MAOI and SSRI is highly dangerous as the resulting interactions can be potentially fatal.

:D

Ok, now is where I say that my above realization is in no way scientifically founded. It’s just a poor attempt at placing blame for an undesired situation. Oh, and never take an SSRI and MAOI at the same time.

My front door is covered with flyers. My ward does an excellent job of keeping all the inhabitants well informed of every social activity within a two mile radius. About a week ago an oversized flyer caught my attention.

We love you and want you to live in a clean and healthy environment.
-Aspen Ridge Management

For some reason I had thought that moving off campus would mean an end of mandatory cleaning checks. While I was somewhat bothered to find the announcement, I had no idea of the evil invested in its delivery.

As it turns out, my apartment was the only one given a cleaning check. Management did not love me and want me to be healthy, they were out for revenge. One month earlier a roommate of mine had called the complex offices demanding the apartment be cleaned. It was in a filthy state and he had just moved in (paying a cleaning deposit). Professionals were brought in and the apartment was thoroughly cleaned. I moved in a couple of days later.

Do you see dear reader? They were out to get their money back, holding threats of cleaning fines high above their heads. I washed a bathtub.

We passed your little test Patti (Ms. Management). The party favors don’t make up for your novel attempt at punishment (They were just leftovers from move-in day anyway).

Being attractive is the most important thing there is. If you wanna catch the biggest fish in your pond, you have to be as attractive as possible. Make sure to keep your hair spotless and clean. Wash it at least every two weeks. Once every two weeks. And if you see Johnny football hero in the hall, tell him he played a great game; tell him you liked his article in the newspaper.

Soooo… I updated my template. After receiving some comments on it, I made alterations and am happy with its current state. Whatcha think?

I finished the second season of Arrested Development. This show makes me giggle like a little school girl. I think Tony Hale does a masterful job playing Buster. He appears so fragile and… doughy. I am now conditioned to laugh at his appearance. Funny funny funny.

Ok, let me run a quick check through my voice memos, see what I have for this entry.

Last night I heard a knock outside my door. I decided not to answer. I revisited my decision several seconds later and decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to acknowledge the visitor. I opened the front door and found that the person was not actually knocking on my door, but the door of an adjacent apartment. She was speaking with a guy in the doorway. The girl turned, saying, oh, hey Jules. As she returned her attention to her previous conversation, I quietly mumbled a hello and closed the door. I have no idea who she is. It makes me feel bad.

Ok, this memo deserves an exact quote:

AaaaAAHHHghHHHAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! (aka, scream of despair)

What am I supposed to do… huh?

First off, lets use our inside voices. Yelling never solved anything (>_>). What’s wrong? What do you mean, what am I supposed to do? ? Do whatever you want to do. Just pick it and do it. What do you mean, I don’t know what I want. ? Are you joking? You know exactly what you want. It’s the same thing everyone else wants. But how to do it? Just start choosing… I have a feeling things will work themselves out.

It’s a whole lot easier now… I just wish I wasn’t so tired.

I wear my stunna glasses at night.

Last night I had a fever. I lied in bed, shivering in a pool of sweat. I had the most bizarre thoughts and dreams. The oddest ideas made perfect sense. It hurt my head and I was afraid I was killing my brain. It’s order full. Full of order.

One dream was entitled Hunters and Trackers.

I was hunted. I was running from something that was much stronger and faster than me. The only advantage I had was that I was in an environment familiar to me. The location was my lucid home that I had created in my mind many years ago. I knew that while there was one creature (which looked like a man) that was hunting me, there was also another, friendly to me, who was tracking my hunter.

I was hiding in a ceiling vent and watched a man walk in the hallway underneath me. He stopped when he had passed my place of hiding and gave a short, harsh laugh. The vent dropped out from underneath me and I fell ten feet to the ground. It really hurt.

The man turned slowly and flashed a quick smile. The moment I saw his teeth his whole appearance was transformed for a moment. His teeth became pointed and sharp, his eyes narrowed to slits, and his nails became foot-long claws. Each of these items (teeth, eyes, and claws) was a deep blue color. There was also a static scream so loud that it made my head feel like it was about to explode. This transformation and sound lasted only an instant while he smiled, then he returned to his normal form.

I realized that my ears were bleeding and I started to cry. I was terrified of this man. I was on my stomach and strained my neck to see the man above me. He took another step towards me and at that moment I saw a female figure silently drop to the ground behind him. She was 20 feet back and I saw her smile at me through the legs of this man.

When she smiled she underwent a similar transformation as my hunter. Her color was a bright pink. The areas that turned this color were different but much more abundant. Her smile was accompanied by an impossibly pleasant and comforting sound.

The man jerked rigid and his face contorted in disgust. My tracker, the female, pulled a scalpel from behind her back and threw it hard against the floor towards me. The hunter screamed and phased to his blue form, bringing his claws high above his head, about to kill me. The tracker phased pink and then said my name. The moment my name was called, she collapsed to the floor and the scalpel erupted in that same pink color. I caught the blade and it pulled me off the ground and thrust itself through the sternum of my attacker just as he was bringing his claws down. I held tightly onto the knife and it traveled clear through the body of the hunter, separating him in two at the chest.

A line of his blue color appeared at the sight of his wound and was quickly chased to the extremities of his body by a line of blood-red. The same blood-red appeared at my fingertips and quickly replaced the pink in the scalpel. Both the body and blade then turned to ash. All that was left of the hunter were two blue pieces of cloth that resembled his claws.

The tracker pushed herself off the floor and stood with difficulty. As she stumbled in my direction I realized that she was the most attractive woman I had ever seen. I was left standing, having been pulled off the ground by the knife. No longer having anything to hold to, I swayed and fell backwards, landing on my butt.

The woman gave another smile, phasing weakly for a moment, and then spoke.

“Take one,” she said, gesturing to the blue gloves.

I reached forward and touched the one closest to me. Blood-red color appeared at my touch and slowly spread, replacing the original blue. The cloth also started to change shape. It was shrinking and splitting into two separate pieces. Tracker reached the other glove and picked it up. It rapidly transformed into her pink scalpel and she moved to return it to its holder, behind her back.

“Wait.” I said. “What if I had chosen the other glove?” I looked to my cloth which now resembled two blood-red fingernails.

She handed me the blade and picked up the nails. The moment we exchanged objects, they began to morph. I again held two red fingernails and she returned her knife to her back. “The object doesn’t matter. It’s form is tuned to your needs. Put them on.”

I placed one nail on each of my smallest fingers. I stood and carefully examined the nails which were now forming to fit. When they reached their perfect form, my fingers started shaking. I felt an electric shock run through my arm starting at the nail. The shock came again and again, growing more powerful and painful. With one final shock, I felt my body snap and then watched myself fall to the floor and black out. The last thing I saw was the smile of Tracker. She had phased again. This time she was completely covered with pink and sparkled with brightness so beautiful that it bordered on pain.

So… how do you do a raised eye smiley? The dream continued with my awakening as a tracker. I was given an assignment to build a “transporter” (the trademark object of a tracker). To do this I had to allow myself to be killed by a hunter and then roll out again and kill him. I found two hunters and they decapitated me. Since they both took part in my death I had to kill them at the same time. The remainder of the dream was devoted to my obtaining other objects to increase my power and my attempts to make both of the hunters die at the exact same moment. Ahem.

Anyway, while I had incredibly entertaining and vivid dreams, I feel like I got next to no sleep. Don’t touch me. S’not worth it. Don’t touch me. Look I’m alright, don’t touch me.

I knew it was coming. All week I waited in angst anticipation for the subtle reminder of that Thursday tradition. You must imagine my excitement when I discovered said reminder; that is, said reminder on crack! Woohooo! So if you please, read along with me in your best movie announcer voice:

Take four.

Sometimes three strikes [just] aren’t enough.

(aka, office mc office party 7:30pm wq#5)

I recently started making voice memos of random thoughts / words / actions I encounter while moving about campus. This morning I recorded a fascinating statement and have been trying to decipher the meaning. Maybe I could get some opinions.

I was heading north past the science center and the Kimball tower was just coming up on my left. There was a guy about my age walking the opposite direction. He wore a brown, wool-lined jacket and overly faded jeans. He had a serious look on his face and said the following just as he passed me:

He has found his way into Dad’s closet on more than one occasion.

Is anyone else intrigued? All we know is that some creature, distinctly masculine, has managed to obtain access to father’s closet multiple times. And based on the speaker’s tone, I would assume unpermitted access.

Upon hearing this statement, Harry was the first thing to pop into my head. (ooooh! It’sa my puuuuupyyyy frieeend! Cooooome, ‘ere; coooome ‘ere, you! He’s an adorable creature but make no mistake, when it comes to non-family, he’s inclined to kill on sight.)

Harry is not allowed in bedrooms. I could just picture his guilty expression on being found an intruder into this forbidden space. Hmmm. I think there may be something more to this closet story…

Yesterday I came across some forgotten Cat Stevens. My parents were fans of his music and I remember listening to it before bed years ago. I used to share a room with my brother and we would sing along to these songs at night. As I played through the music, I was happy to find I still remembered most of the lyrics. I do believe this is my favorite song today:

Father and Son

I painted them black. I actually did a pretty good job. Now I’m no expert at nail painting but I was quite pleased with the results.

Life is not a competition. Some people are just a bit better at some things than others. That’s perfectly OK. I guess all I’m trying to say is that my punk-rocker nails were so much more attractive than the air-filled nails of another…

So the following day I wore a black shirt and black zip-up hoodie to class. I thought the outfit well complemented the nails and was excited to view the reactions of my classmates. Class had started a few minutes before I arrived and I had to take an open seat at the front of a class of about 30 people.

I swung my arms and kept my hands open to highlight the polish. It was funny! Really funny! It seemed like everyone’s eyes kept darting to my fingers. I kept my hands in a visible location and was rewarded with glances throughout the class period.

While I enjoyed the extra attention and curious looks, I realized that the polish was noticeable. Like really, super stand out, noticeable. As I left class I decided that I would not be able to get away with black at work, where I have a business dress code.

I placed a call to my ‘air-bubbly-black-polish-not-quite-as-cool-as-jules’ friend, looking for some polish remover. I began to panic a bit when I couldn’t make contact. I didn’t want to have to pick it all off before work. Eventually I was able to talk to this individual and they agreed to supply the needed chemicals. And while I was pleased to find a solution to my problem, I was a bit concerned about the potential impact on my friendship, due to the fact that I had awoken this person from a deep slumber.

When I arrived at their apartment, they refused to greet me at the door and spoke in a deep, harsh voice (a testament to their anger). I tried to apologize for my rude imposition but was only met with threats of exposure to decaying skin.

The removal of polish is a fascinating thing to watch. The liquid totally eats away at the color like nobody’s business.

Anyway, I am excited to try the black again. This weekend may provide another opportunity.

I was recently pleased to find that my good friend, Nich, had started a blog. I’d like to take a minute to introduce my friend and push some thru traffic over in his direction. I sent him an email detailing some problems with his blog layout and asked if he had anything he would like me to relate to my readers. He hasn’t responded yet, but I can hear his unspoken sentiment, “remember, blogging comes from the heart.”

I thought the best way to introduce Nich might be to share a recent email correspondence we shared. This touching transaction took place after I informed him of my box project.

Nich: yo, send me an invite.
Me: invite sent .. yo.
Me: let me know if it works or no
Nich: hmm… don’t work
Me: ack, ok, let me sent another

You see, Nich and I go way back.

We met many years ago and found an immediate connection in our shared love of wildlife conservation and ballet. Actually, it might be better to say that this connection developed over time, but actually began with basketball.

We used to play basketball on a regular basis. Once, after we were done playing, we headed outside and made a dash for the vehicle. It was my turn for shotgun but Nich stood in the way. I got furious and ripped his shirt. He deferred to me saying, “Jules, you better me with your strength and intellect.”

My high school years revolved around minimally competitive basketball and Utah Jazz games.

We once went to a Jazz game and sat in seats as far from the action as possible. We started looking for openings closer to the floor and slowly worked our way down. Nich made it to the front row. I was about 30 rows up when my ploy was discovered and I, evicted. Nich appeared in a magazine later, featured while sitting on that same front row. The guy who told me to leave had a nice jacket, spiky hair, and a confidant smirk.

I first opened up to Nich during an instant message conversation in which I spoke in ridiculously generic and incoherent musings. He understood my false attempt at intellectual discussion and was OK with it. I was happy to find that although I had utterly exposed myself, lies and all, Nich would still be my friend.

Once, me and Nich lived together. He decided to stop sleeping at night and drew cartoons on the quote board instead. I awoke one cool winter morning before heading to class and found Nich, eyes wide, lying on the kitchen couch. I questioned his frightened expression and he replied that he had seen some spirits just hours before. I took pause to reflect on this statement. As I left the apartment, Nich called after me quietly, “Sometimes they talk to me…”

Spirits were not the only medium through which Nich could communicate. At one point he became fascinated with the aquatic calls of whales. He spent hours and hours downloading the communications of the massive mammals. It still brings tears to my eyes when I contemplate his poetic prayer: “Oh great humpback, sing to me and heal my psychological wounds.”

But our time together was not only spent on the sentimental. The hardest I can remember ever laughing happened while sitting next to Nich. He was having difficulties with something and toeing the edge of sanity. Nich’s brother entered the apartment, coming from class. Nich, already worked to a frenzy, yelled, “Somebody slap me!” Zach calmly closed the distance to his brother and full out smacked him. Not a word was said as Zach departed, and Nich sat awkwardly straight on the couch with a confused look on his face. I couldn’t stop laughing. Eventually, my rib separated from the cartilage that connected it to the sternum. I couldn’t breathe for a month and had a splotchy yellow bruise for the better part of a year.

The part I missed most about Nich’s leaving was the end of our trips to the Morris center. The Morris center just has an atmosphere conducive to the sharing of secrets. I told Nich about the girl I intended to marry over chicken fried steak and waffles in a Morris center booth. Her name was Amy and I loved her enough to propose, but not to speak. Nich gave me good advice but I never followed it.

A few months ago, Nich told me a secret. It really scared me and I was afraid we wouldn’t be friends anymore. It turns out we are still friends but we just don’t talk about that anymore.

A week ago, while watching the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air marathon, I told Nich all my secrets and then he told me how much he weighed. I was horrified to find, that for the first time, for as long as I’ve known him, he had more pounds than me. It was kinda sad to realize that he was capable of physically beating me up. I have more respect for him now.

This is kinda odd. I had a long list of things I wanted to say today. Things like my hair is clumpy, I think my shampoo has watermelon rinds in it, I ate 13 donuts in just over 24 hours, I destroyed my core trying to amend my binging, and my place of work has hundreds of signs warning of no hot water today, yet I was still able to burn my hands under the scalding liquid.

Instead, I seem to have written a memorial of sorts. No worries, no one has died yet (tho that is an interesting thought). Anyway, I just wanted to holla back to a friend.

Why am I crying? Oh, hah… I’m free.

Oh, and yes, in response to office mc office party take three? all I can say is, “Amen Jenny… amen.”

My headphones be kaput.

They just don’t work anymore. I don’t know what else to say. I plug them into my computer / mp3 device and no sound comes out the earbud ender. Now, if I start twisting the wire and jack I can massage some audible tones out, but it requires delicate care and immense concentration.

So… right now I am going to try and get some music going to accompany my typing. Hahaha, no Andy, you are the star. Congratulations! And remember we all love you very very very very much, Andy. Happy Birthday!

Ok, so I got the music flowing to my left ear but it took me a good five minutes to find that perfect orientation of the wires. If I move left or right, touch the player, or breathe too deep my music cuts out completely. Somewhat aggravating.

I just ripped up a newspaper with my teeth. I was ferocious. Like a werewolf. I bet you wish you were a werewolf. I wish I was a vampire. Then I would run around very very fast (talking to you, Andy) with people on my back and make them motion sick. I would wear cool, white-rimmed sunglasses, and hunt people who were evil. Life would be oh so exciting… worth far more than a soul. Here Bella, have a vampire body. It’s yours, free of charge. Let me just make you bleed a little and then I’ll poison you a little, and for three days you will scream in agony, but then you will be all happy and strong and souless.

But see, I have this theory. Bella is like the anti-vamp(ire). Not like werewolf anti-vamp, but like, heroine to save the day anti-vamp. Like, “oh, you wana know why it was easy to suck out the poison? It’s because my body was rejecting it. Practically spitting it back out at you.” You see, she is the vampire cure.

It’s all clear now, she will not end a vampire. He will end a human. Bella will change him. Mark. My. Words.