Friday, June 27, 2014

TEMPEST dream - 1950's facial torture - I get no kick from Novocaine

over the past several days, the visually intense dreams have started again, vivid dreams, memorable dreams.

It all started a few days ago when a being of very intense points of light came for a visit. The points of light were primary colours, like the colours in the original Tempest game.

Tempest looked just like that graphic there. But, in the next dream, an old games-industry boss tasked me to update Tempest as a totally realistic 3D-shooter. Kinda like playing Spiderman crawling up walls and such while the enemies approached along all domestic surfaces.
Then (this morning) came Tempest's spikes.

Remember those. You don't wanna catch yourself Levelling Up on a spike'd trail. Especially not when those spikes are employed by who you consider to be an intelligence colleague in a 1950's brothel. This big fat older man, this spy or agent, through whose eyes I was looking, was interrupted in prostitute coitus and then his tongue was deadened with what I thought was a serious opiate overdose but remember a name like Sodium Pentathol. Syringe went deeper than I expected, felt like I'd been Novocained by a dentist. My face went numb then he started interrogating me with these long spikes in the face. Pushing the things in through flesh, muscle and bone and I was thinking that this was an anti-gravity wire able to just plough through any material.

"What's your name?" my intel colleague asked, checking some readout.
"Frank." I lied, so he'd know we were still testing the system.
In the background was this music track or band playing, I get no kick from cocaine. Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all. I get a kick out of you.

But this wasn't a test, and the torture got amazingly vindictive with the metal spikes into my face. The expression on the torturer's face never changed. The a small alien life form dropped from the ceiling like a blob of mercury, and I knew it was insinuating itself into 'that side of me head'. More face torturing with the thin steel wires like it was only going to get worse. I forced myself awake. My clock showed 0455 hours GMT, in case you wanna cross-ref. My tongue on that side still feels a tad numb, metallic tasting.

It all came across like a Double Cross or a BURN or a WARNING.

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