Author Archives: Regnum Somniorum

In search of an art form . . .

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I’m still in search of a mode of writing that does not turn to ash the moment it hits the page.  What narrative point of view, what purpose can be relevant in the light of all this light, all this multidimensional energy around me?  I don’t read novels anymore.  Novels are generally stories of linear time and linear time is an illusion.  Stories are generally uninteresting to me except as evidence of the psychic development of the author.  “Wanted” for instance, a recent film that had almost no redeeming value except as evidence that someone in Hollywood is still working with the Burroughsian “assassin” imagery — though they may not even know it, as it’s been filtered through years of comic books and action movies.

The books I like are stories of NDEs and psychics.  So I’ll have to write my own.  But what would it be about?  Could it ever be complete?

how i’ve changed

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with regard to my previous post, another facet is at the time i didn’t even have enough connection with the human race to be able to express that utter hopelessness.  my life was meaningless and no one would ever care.  there was no point even in saying so, i would simply have to find another mode of being, one in which i was totally submerged.  who i actually was was unimportant, only manipulation mattered — the ability to attract attention through wealth, fame, talent, or master of “The Sexual Game” — i.e. how to convince the opposite sex to pay attention to me without offering real devotion to them (not that i didn’t want real devotion but i knew girls were only into guys who could sleep with a lot of different women without falling in love with them. they wanted experienced guys who could control them.)

anyway now i can look back at all that meaningless hell i went through and say “yes, it really was meaningless hell and i don’t have to feel inadequate because i resented it.”  after all the spirit world is here now and it was equally there then.  everything was somehow arranged by god and even though it sucked it’s over now and none of those horrible people from that horrible town of Peoria Illinois need ever concern me again.

Out of the mud.

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April 17, 2020 – this is another “imaginary” post.  I wasn’t in any fights and I didn’t hate Ronald Reagan, although I am ambiguous about the 80s.

I would really love to have a website full of really deep and acute observations about existence.

In fact i have all the files for one on my hard drive but i’m too damn lazy to actually upload it.

however the nice thing about ptsd is i can just write down all my flashbacks and have a novel of my life.  it’s sort of an automatic autobiography.  i don’t even have to try to be interesting because the fact that i’m flashing it all back is interesting enough.  these are some notes though:

i remember the day i realized the world was a meaningless hell.  it was at a rock show in peoria, just a lame little show in a park with maybe less than 80 people.  and reaganomics was the scourge of the land — everyone hated it.  it was the utter drifting of america into an evil horrifying daydream.  all the decline and decrepitude we experience as a nation now was chosen for us then by ronald reagan and his mindless bimbo conservative cohorts.

and i could never be a rock star because i was a little overweight and losing my hair and never had sex while i was in high school so i would never make it onto MTV and furthermore i couldn’t even practice playing guitar because i had ptsd and this drug-dealer [t.] hated me and kept getting people to start fights with me.  i always kicked their asses but no one wanted me around because i was perceived as dangerous.  also i would forget most of the fights.

forgetting when you have ptsd is not like some horrible freudian repression thing.  once you’re reminded of the events you say “oh, yeah, that happened”.  but if no one reminds you it never comes back and after a while you are sure it never happened at all, it’s not a part of your being.  and also entire years of your history take on an unreal quality.

so i remember being at this rock show in the late 80s and realizing that there was nothing for me in the world.  the one girl i wanted to talk to, jody, could barely leave her house because of her parents, and all my other friends were stupid or lying or just shallow and the one thing i wanted to be, a rock star, was unavailable to me, and i didn’t even believe in souls or the afterlife so it was just as though my entire existence was unreal, unimportant even to myself, and it was so messed up that there would be no way to redeem it and make it into something you could talk about on MTV.  but i knew that was a shallow thing to want anyway though that didn’t change the fact that MTV was a musician’s path to power and you had to get on there to really be important.

and to be important in politics you had to be an evil republican and to be important in business you had to be a lying poisoning exxon/michael milliken scumbag and all the spiritual leaders were pathetic hypocrites like jim bakker and jimmy swaggert and oral 900-foot-jesus roberts.

the culture i was born, raised, and trapped in was entirely empty and it was impossible to have any positive desire to be an influential and productive member of it.  therefore i was entirely negated as a person until i developed psychic powers and now i have to wonder what i should say about the entire thing.

Twenty Years Gone . . .

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4/17/2020 – another “imaginary” post, the result of PTSD.  there were no fights during this time.  my mind was weaving together images of violence.  it’s interesting to see the evolution because in this post I’m wondering about [s] as though he were a friend, and only later did I realize he was a complete scumbag who hated me and used me.

turning 39 tomorrow.  i am a success in life because i have escaped the material plane.  i have attained psychic powers which assure me that there is a life beyond this shitty world.  that alone is such a relief that i can’t bring myself to care about anything else.

i’m remembering the late 80s now, when i was an atheist who somehow thought rock music was spiritual.  what evil stupid people i was surrounded by!  my friends father, a lay minister, who had murdered his first wife in a bid for insurance money and went on to murder his third as well.  that guy they called Stoney who shot two people just for the hell of it.  my first music theory teacher who tried to destroy my career — though there is some justice for he was found guilty of academic misconduct and his career was ended.  should i relish the knowledge that he was so bitter because his heart was dying and he had no money to fix it?  i helped kill him by providing evidence by which his enemies took his job away.  and there was that evil skank [t], the wanna-be drug dealer i had a war with.  boy, what a bunch of interesting people i knew!

so much violence, so many fights i can barely remember that blend into fantasy because i have post-traumatic-stress disorder and my memory is so bad.  and yet this same “phantasmagoric” quality of my mind is what opened me to shamanism.  and now i am in triumph over my past.  because the sheer ugliness of my teenage years was the sense of being trapped and isolated that had no meaning or value, where people were cruel and soulless liars and manipulators and all the things i loved i could only see from a distance and never touch.

now however i know there’s an afterlife, and all those ugly people of my past must stand and justify themselves before the vision i now hold, the vision i fought for and won with a river of blood sweat and tears.

all hail the Church of Art Triumphant!

“twenty years gone” is a variation of the song title “ten years gone”, which i listened to with [S.] in the parking lot one night, slightly drunk i think, god how music was an angelic, erotic solace in those days.  all those friends of my youth gone forever (though i could probably find them in a minute on the web).  [j] and bob i know have passed on.  [s] probably i have changed too much.  erik and jeff i never want to see again.  was there anyone else?  [c] never replied to my last e-mail.  was there anyone else?  what else was there?  not much.  i don’t miss them.  no nostalgia, just a weird, earth-shattering sensation of vertigo as i realize that magic was real even then, that who i am now is far more important, that i eventually did find the magic i sought, the escape from the vileness that is peoria, illinois . . .

The Little Things

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Just saw “Wanted”, a really great film.  the culture-jamming which originated with William Burroughs and emerged fully into the pop mainstream with “The Matrix” is now a fully developed subgenre of action movie. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, although some might find it so.  Culture-jamming doesn’t accomplish much anyway without psychic development.  The whole phenomenon is really just an offshoot of the Return of Magic.  All really sincere culture-jammers wind up as occultists sooner or later.  

“Wanted” even has a great soundtrack single, “the Little Things” by danny elfman.  

There’s a line in it that goes

“Armageddon may arrive any day, i can’t get away from the little things”

This about sums up our situation as a civilization this summer of 2008.  Everyone who’s hip knows the world is ending and the interdimensional gates are opening, whether 2012 means anything or not.  but here we still sit with crippling credit debt (personal and national), idiot political candidates, companies so corrupt it’s funny, an economic system completely degraded and no future in sight, while goofy idiot religious conservatives agonize over meaningless nonsense and drag us all down a sewer of irrationality.  We’re all little things now, all our hopes and dreams, just waiting for the Big Fire at the end of everything.

At least we can know, through movies like this, that there were other people out there who understood, even if we couldn’t stop the big train wreck at the end of time.  

the “revolution” we all need is psychic, not cultural, but movies and other little things like this get us closer and closer all the time.

What a beautiful morning on facebook

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I just wasted several hours tweaking my facebook profile, sending people angels and fairies and wasting valuable time.  Now I’m tired (I work third shift and sleep during the day) and I still need to get a haircut, drop off my sandals to be repaired, and make a huge bank deposit.  O woe is me!  In addition I remembered an episode when I was seven years old, waiting in line to see “The Shaggy D.A.” at the local movie theater, when famed spirit-consciousness Seth, who used to channel through Jane Roberts, came to me and told me that I would be responsible for humanity’s transition to a new level of consciousness.  Since I was only seven years old at the time, I was afraid my parents would be angry and disappointed if I were to be the avatar of a new consciousness.  So I turned down the opportunity basically.  It’s a shame but that’s how it goes.  And on top of that, a few minutes into the movie my father decided I was too young to understand it and took me home.  It was a sequel to an earlier film “The Shaggy Dog”, and I just didn’t get it.  I never did see the rest of that damn movie.  What a day that was!

all at once now . . .

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i am thinking of all these people i haven’t seen in years, people i can only remember through fantasy . . . and how we all exist simultaneous on this earth . . . see right now i’m sure this woman’s spirit is healing me.  on some deeper inner level of reality i am receiving energy from her . . . i can clearly identify it . . . this sort of psychic interchange goes on all the time but most people can’t feel it.

at some point i’ll be able to understand it so well i won’t have to talk about it, but until then i’ll have to go on struggling like this.  but what am i struggling for?  it’s all here . . . 

websearches

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its’ very saddening to realize that people can just do these incredible websearches for 10 dollars and find out all your addresses for the last 20 years . . . pathetic actually.  i’m afraid to look, really . . . everyone in the world can find out i’m a total bum.  but anyway the important thing is that i’m actually psychic now and so that shifts my whole attitude.  everything’s cool.  i should write something meaningful but i can’t.  there’s too much energy flying around.  if everything in the universe is synchronized . . . well, we have to go somewhere with it . . . 

here we go, into the true psychic . . .

To webstalk or not to webstalk?

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I could keep looking for that girl, or i could leave the message i sent.  I found a picture of her . . . she cut her hair a while ago.  It doesn’t matter.  I should stop pretending to be a slacker.  I’m coming out of a weeklong trance.  I learned a lot, remembered a lot that I’d forgotten — all the really shitty times that had gone by.  How a few of the people I wanted to hang around turned out to have no personality at all.

I’m being reminded of the continuity of my life, that all this weird shit actually happened and started out with me as a geeky atheist poverty-stricken weirdo out in the corn fields of Indiana.  

Anyway I sent this woman a message on a dopey networking site which she probably never checks.  Would it be tacky to break down and spend 10 dollars and just get an e-mail address?  She has indicated on the web that she wants to get in touch with people.

I want to hear her voice again, to see what she’s like.