The week of March 21st, 1999

Last night she had a beautiful dream: It was very positive in terms of [a long-standing friend who I’d just spoken to; the friend’s name was Anthony. In the dream they were both born with a symbol on their skin (lower arm) that marked them as being from the same Godly tribe. And] then after that long association was over, I was lying on a living room couch that was my bed, acknowledging the web that is my own desire and keenly aware of myself. I had been up all through the night, for the dawn light was near breaking, and when I looked out the dining room window there winked in the sliver of the new moon through an opening enclave of clouds. It shimmered and glanced, and the envelope pushed wider. I was thinking, this must be a vision, for the clouds are opening for the moon. And then the moon was caught in light, for over its face, even that which was concealed, there pulsed a lattice of shimmering light, twice. At this the clouds darkened and roiled, forming their own intricate patterns as they coiled away from the sliver of a silver moon. Don’t close your eyes, for it is a vision, given to you if you are open, and if you close your eyes it may vanish from sight. I strained but then I blinked and when my eyes opened, I was awake in my own bed.        

[That night] I walked out the door and when I did, the clouds opened over a sliver of a moon. So be at peace with yourself, little one, for no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

The Woman in Blue - M.M. 2

I don’t have to make it up; it makes it up for me.The night of November 25/6, 2000 - Lay in bed thinking all night knowing I was too dead to write and knowing the words wouldn’t be the same tomorrow, I’d lose them. All bedtime thinking was about the full form of the lesson.

Couldn’t sleep, had to dream, dreamed anyway, never stopped thinking all night. The lesson evolved into my dream. In the dream I was losing it because I still couldn’t sleep and this was insomnia taking over and it was wasting me away and I was having trouble even with coherence now. I was at the threshold where I had completely lost my college education, had no real job, no avenue to get one and my immediate family thought I was nuts. (This is not a far stretch from status right now.) I was even cracking on some of my relations.
And in the dream I was still learning the lesson, I was ashamed, and the people in the universal (the mind union, which appeared as a majestic, middle aged, black haired woman robed in blue) are telling me they wanted the God realization I had ‘missed’ and now understood to be applied and that they wanted to feel what they’d felt before. They wanted it to happen to us all the time, as far as it could happen. That it should resonate through us all the time. And I felt spectacularly gulled because I’d denied this by eliminating it within the dream of being with my human soul mate, or whatever I thought that was, which we know really wasn’t. (After all he chose not to, a choice he was free to make.)

Dream was there was this harmony with each other we felt, that we wanted to feel all the time.
But you know how I got to feeling Him -God inside me fully completely? By elimination. Total self-elimination. It makes me recall how far I’d gone to feel that way the most, to know it was true and not my reflection. Do I have to do it again? It was only for a moment! No longer than a few minutes . . . (There are tons of varieties of communion, the way you all think you feel sometimes, but they were not how I know. Just the way when you’re participating, you’re sometimes not certain you are, and you have no way of finding out. Well I found out.)

So how do I know? Reduction, the elimination of all variables. The last variable was myself. I nixed myself in order to be able to know it, and the way I know I really succeeded in nixing myself is because the universal knew I did it. I’ve already lost them/him once and I lost infinitely more. I lost God and everything I had ever believed or hoped in forever, any pure identity. I did it on the faith that God was there and this was not just consigning myself to oblivion. My soul was my sole litmus test. I accepted the full consequences of my existence.
It is something you would never ever choose to go through. You would only do it when presented with absolutely no choice.

There was other stuff in the dream, I kept meeting and talking to teen guys in gangsta mode. With the first ones I mentioned the problem of consumption. Like we, the West, who are something like a tenth of the earth’s population, consuming 80% of the earth’ goods/energy, what’s produced. (Don’t trust the figures, the idea’s an accurate one.) I said to the boys ‘we’re dead’. In-equilibrium like this on a full beyond capacity earth means we’re f***ed if the rest even try to catch up to our consumption levels and don’t succeed. And we’re still f***ed if they don’t even try; by definition this mode of consumption can only indicate a self-terminating civilization. They can’t rip the earth to shreds fast enough. I was adding my own favorite theories here and there, hamming my little pop philosophy; making them curious.
Then I see people I know on the stairs and my dad has snuck up and caught me on a tape recorder. Oh that’s great, I thought. I’ve just been playing, not laying it out serious and now he’ll review the tape, dissect it to bits just in order to use it against me. Perfect! I was mad at him. I don’t know how it happened 'cause it just did but at the moment I came up to him he suffered a stroke, fell backwards down the stairs. And all the enmity vanished because it looked like he was dying and I immediately ran down the stairs to hold him. I looked into his stricken eyes and everything between us ended there.

And he recognized immediately and said something like, Oh child, you should go. And what he meant was that he was granting me the permission to commit suicide, his blessing, because now he understood. I withdrew and curled up into a ball on the step. ‘I need to go so much,’ I told him in tears. I meant to home, God and Heaven. I’m that homesick, my father sees it would be better for me to die. So I finally got the permission to die at last. I realized too that if I went to the edge again, rode it, I would stand the closest chance of accessing what they, the mind union, wanted. The way I got to the edge the first time was to ‘die’. I would try again; it was what I was going to do anyway. My family would even help me this time.

Scene cut: My family is sitting around the living room in chairs with friends and these were my teen brother’s friends and one of them was beside me and he was in the full on hip gear sporting labels and he slagged me for never wearing a single label and always wearing cheap stuff. He just had a way of saying it that made it clear distinguished labels were what described your identity and to not distinguish yourself showed true neglect of character, one’s self. Like the beauty of the labels described that person to the world and who would not describe themselves as distinguished, to show their self worth and human respect?
I nearly exploded at this 'cause the argument he was using was so absurd since he was arguing this identity came from clothing brands. But what he was talking about was a much bigger argument.
I responded perfectly in the dream in less that three sentences, but I don’t retain words from dreams. My voice was breaking up on me now like each phrase seemed to end in an almost static buzz, air sucked out of me, nothing inhaled just drawn out and only sheer force kept my voice clear. I sounded implacable. None of this was expected in this placid, genial room.
I retorted to Mr. Nike, ‘Yes that’s right, you all feel you need labels to distinguish yourselves, don’t you?’ But labels, even though it is the same exact reason for wearing Gucci or Nike, meant much much more. It meant all the external forms of identity we use to render ourselves, to assert we are uniquely (underlying, superior-ly) individual, to prove to ourselves what we are worth. It’s like the souped car that’s an ego support; it’s when you do that through consumerism, (the main form), how this whole culture is geared to realizing itself via consumption. It’s when you marry or have a girlfriend who’s really there 'cause that’s the only way for you to know that you are a loving person, you don’t know this inside you, you have to render it to see it and know it’s real. You have to have that identity reciprocated back, real from someone else, or you won’t trust it. It’s when you have your baby as an exercise in your own unconditional love, just so you know your capable, and you’re so pleased with your performance, you’ve done such a good job. Worse yet, you have that child when you need something to love you unconditionally, in awe of you. I’ve seen a baby born just to adore her father; his ‘manufactured’ unconditional perfect self-image is already in her stare. Imagine her disillusionment when she breaks out of this. Imagine her if she doesn’t!!! To my mind the greatest crimes are perpetrated within perception, you can argue everything else is spawned by how our outlook can be marred or skewed. We know this most essentially so we have this deep, very strong drive to establish ourselves as real, to demonstrate ourselves by asserting ourselves in rendering. We do this for our own protection at our most vulnerable essence, the level where we ourselves would be unable to see what’s wrong of us. Tell me hasn’t this occurred to you and wasn’t the enormity one of your deepest fears? It’s your fear of what your environment has done, how your childhood has indelibly marked you . . . That you even have this fear indicates an inherent belief that you existed before, how could anything in this world promise to fulfill that void? Yet I bet this fear, and its counter reaction, the quest for tangible fulfillment, is the twin born, most basic impulse that is being exploited by consumerism . . .
It’s not rendering what we are when we do this through materialism, we are just creating tangible reflections of what we want our self-image to be, and what makes this a false image is when the real reason we are doing it is based on our fear that it isn’t really there, within us. Self-worth, children, self-worth. We get to lose it here when we’re products of a brutal environment, molded by environment itself. The reason we are buttressing ourselves is because deep inside we all know something’s missing; ‘we need to belong’. Consumerism is a culture which exploits this to create endless gross national product endlessly growing. But earth is a finite system! Simple, big conclusion. Very basic. Do this and you are not even accepting the reality you live in a finite world! You will collapse the system and you will eventually Die!

Self-worth. Consumerism keeps us from ever going internal, from ever even trying to buttress ourselves inside and becoming self-sufficient. It just wants to give us a palace for a crutch. The bigger the palace the better it has robbed you, the more dependent you are, you have the most expensive crutch. Consumerism has kept us from ever even examining our doubt by preoccupying us with an endless array of things and pleasures. Why do we feel we need to belong to more than what’s here, so much that we’ll surround ourselves with it in order to feel we belong? What if that means we’re not in our natural environment, we’re not even from here? Could that mean you exist some more, more than you do here within these senses?
Begin by creating a bargain for yourself. If you know deep inside you that something’s missing from yourself, don’t question whether you are somehow inferior, accept that this means there is more to yourself, soul, spirit, communion, and what we may become. Take that where you want to take it, interior self-realization. Imagine you and seek inner truth. And understand if there’s more, that means accepting you may not get it all here, but that’s OK, because there IS more and you will have loads and loads of time to realize it. You have only this time to wonder, and it is in wondering you realize yourself more. You’re establishing yourself in reality. Die, and your character might actually be a very permanent thing that is eternal and knows everything and is not capable of transforming much at all. Here you can, and you can grow. That is the true beauty of creation. There are waiting lists up there!

Our tragedy is that in our attempt to render self-realization, we are inherently making it false, if it springs from the need to magnify what’s there because you can’t believe in it unless you make it material. If it is necessary to you to make it material, you are doing this to prove what you are because you don’t believe it, meaning it is not real at all and you are just playing your inside out in some elaborate false image of the self. You don’t need to make it material to know who you are and discover the best parts of yourself. When you use the material to buttress yourself, you’re really losing the belief that you are more than just material, going in the opposite direction, which is descent into a false self-image, if you really are more than just this. You have undermined the need you were trying to support by trying to make it material! You need a distinguishing label to tell yourself you’re distinguished because otherwise you can’t see it. How consumerism buys and packages your soul. All this I was laying on the kid, in less than three sentences.

I said something like ‘You need labels, but I never need any labels to tell me what I am. I don’t need them determining me. I am not a product of my environment. I am a product of what I build myself to be inside. Everything about me is on the inside. It has no reflection in my environment.’ (It has no extension into my career, family. It has no articulation in my life, other than my Journal habit, what I write. Everything that is most vital to me no one in my environment even knows about . . .) I am realized entirely within myself.
‘You require material, and people, for realization. You must consume to be realized. (Think about the human cost in a clothing label.) It is because you consume, simply in this exercise of self-magnification (which is inherently false), that the whole world must be consumed to support the Western image. If you learned not to consume this way (wear your clothes just because you really do need them and they look and feel good to you), your society would not be horribly distended.’
The family could see where I was going and were visibly nervous. Squirming in their seats. My youngest brother cut in, voice tremulous (this was his friend), ‘Don’t JUDGE him Sis!’

I realized and softened the hardness out of my voice, put on a big grin. ‘If we all learn to support our self-image inside ourselves with our own belief, we will not consume more than we need. We can live instead of killing ourselves by slowly draining the life system.’ (We will not be vampires.)
I turned to my family and said, ‘There, wasn’t that easy? Nothing big or difficult. Not pages.’ They nodded in relief and approval. It was not some big complicated maze. And everyone was still OK.
Everyone wants the harmony, needs it to feel alive, needs the part they are missing.
Everyone needs THE MOMENT, the moment where they know their existence without a doubt.

In the dream I’m alone and I’m thinking, I could never even repeat that moment, the supreme moment of belonging that accessed the mind union. The fact is I know I can’t. Bottom line is I can’t even say it was me, at least not at that moment when I ultimately experienced becoming One. It was belonging in Him. It was brought about by a very unusual set of circumstances I did not create. I don’t even know how to get there, to the space where you can know through the mind union knowing, no doubt. Not without creating the edge I stepped off of that meant He must come. He comes and goes as He wills. I can’t even find that edge. It’s invisible. I could never synthesize that edge; it must be real and absolutely necessary. It was created by the circumstances in a moment that was so extreme, so very isolating and painful, that I thought, ‘so this is what it’s like to be crucified’. I went through the most pain it was possible for me to imagine. I lost the universal/him. I lost what I thought of as God and everything that had meaning to me, even my own belief in my own purity. And now I’m scared; I know if this is what it takes for the universal to know me, what has God been through to make me know?

Anyway in the dream I am going to die tonight, in the hope I will go home, and here is my brother he’s come to help me. There are all these nifty electronic toys lying about. Future toys, all gadgets, all entertainment. And my brother is taking them apart and taking out all their batteries. The batteries are special. They’re like light batteries. When you crack them open it’s like seeing a ragged, sheared off end of a fiber-optic cable, but the light coming out of the ends is much more brilliant, like golden light stars. They were in a big frond. And my brother said that the way I was going to go was that I had to light the fronds of stars on fire, let them catch flame and burn to their brightest, and just then I had to blow every one of them out. And if I did that correctly, one by one to all of the batteries, I would eventually die, maybe reach the edge. So I started on the task of blowing them out. I had hardly any breath left to do it. The thing is, there weren’t enough batteries around for me to die. I was never going to.

The Parabolic Hive

February 24th, 1999 - This dream was inside a giant parabolic hive shaped enclosure that was many stories high. Each level on the inside was an isle along the inner frame of the hive, and all these levels were filled with pedestrians, people walking around. I was among them, and in my mind there hearkened a great spiritual conjunction. I had already been through this conjunction and knew its requisite terminus's. I had come through it alive and well. I knew it was coming for everyone else. On the edge of my consciousness there lingered an edge of awareness of what might have become of me in that enlightenment, how I could have been trapped, forever, in a deadened consciousness, but I had no fear of that within myself, and so was unaware of it. I knew what was coming signified a blissful awakening, based on inner awareness. I felt the conjunction’s pending arrival, knew my consciousness had been its construct, that I bore it within. I uplifted my hands at its coming with joy at its approach. As I stood, near the middle of the hive in this manner facing inwards, the consciousness dawned and I felt the arrival into bliss of many people who were now born into this awareness. We were one people, and for them you could see the same sense of joy writ plainly on all their faces. They had been awakened. Then a young man passed me with a vacant look on his face that was devoid of emotion, happiness, and looked permanently inwards. I knew then that for some the injunction had left them in a radically different place, and that this was based on their own self-perception and character in the face of the conjunction. Whereas some had been opened into joy, others had been trapped, forever. This result accesses my own deepest fear. I wonder if what I have undergone, until now, is a simulation for something much larger, when the lights go on. I have felt great fear of this requisite result; I have personally stared down the barrel, and am not sure I could pass again twice. I could not flick the switch if I thought that was going to happen to people. In the dream I did not know, but I had been close enough to recognize the outcome.

The dwarves know everything.

Friday September 10, 1999 - It is hazy in a silent world. I am standing with a central vantage, a surreal water scape, glassy reflecting mauve, with varied people, nigh motionless, standing on the surface. I know it to be a dream, but this dream, it seems, has an impact on the collective unconscious. In this respect I perceived the dream as real, I thought it really was happening to the collective consciousness, as though my thoughts were traversing the universal unconscious. This is like the dream of the parabolic hive.

There were arches and buildings on the water surface. A tiny boat glides from behind on of these in the ensuing darkness, an inky night. In it are two little dwarfs, not garden gnomes, they have severe long lined faces hidden in their hoods with dark ruddy smooth beards, and they are devoid of expression. One is sitting in the prow of the little rowboat, the second stands; he is beaming an invisible spotlight, beaming it round in search of one person. What he is seeking out is not articulate, the closest thing I might say, is for the one who died and still lived, the only one this happened to.

I know they are searching for me. I have a dualist premonition of its entailment; on the edge of my awareness as before, but this premonition is inward as well as outward, and both are foreboding. I decide to save the dwarfs some time with the deliberate announcement; I shatter the silence by saying, "It's me." The weight of individuality assumed in that cuts two ways, whether the presumption is good or ill is not secure; it feels like stepping onto the knife's edge, with a keeling sense that this is not enough. The beam has fallen on me and the dwarfs are waiting, expectant. The declaration of surviving is not enough. It must be secure, present for everyone, not an unattainable feat. It must be ever present for all as if at the push of a button, the flip of a switch. It should not even take courage because it should not entail fear. All this I swallow without hesitation (as I must), and with a voice even stronger, I declare to the consciousness entire, "And I would do it again."

And again, and again, and again and again....

I declare this four times. It beams over the entire globe like the dawn. It is now morning. Heads swivel and the cacophony that ensues is the common consciousness all hearing themselves, the dawn of a new awareness. The reaction of this collective awareness is dualistic, as expected; does the gap of individualism lead to aspired heights, new consciousness for all, or are they insulted by its enormity, and determine it is a claim of supreme arrogance? In some quarters there is heated debate and my action is held in judgment. I sense the variance of reaction without hearing the words, without actually seeing it, something I have always expected. Are they happy to become conscious? For the impact in those words was the unleashing of a perspective they all absorbed instantly, of the existence of the collective consciousness, something I cannot verbally define yet already know completely. And I'm thinking, my that was simple, for it to happen all at once collectively in thought, in a dream. (Not through tangible efforts, such as trying to meet any one of them in person, or rendering it all for all to see.)

The results, upon waking in the waking dream are readily apparent. Firstly, Firstly, everyone on the globe now knows who I am where they see me. I'm in a public building, sort of reminiscent of the library in Berlin ("Wings of Desire" location). I know what this will be like and inherently don't trust it. People who have known me all my life are reacting in floored surprise, all this time we never knew, awed surprise. Sean is the first acquaintance I meet (a 'regular Joe' of a guy, really nice), but the new appreciation he has for me is nothing pleasant; it makes his eyes glitter.

Then I decide to have some fun with it; I walk straight into an executive boardroom and traipse straight across the table where they're meeting. Everyone who looks at me has to deal with the consequential awareness that I was in their dream last night, causing varying levels of shock. Glittering impish laughter. All I have to do is walkabout.

I head home to the family and all is as it should be. Dad is very proud of me, having produced his desired result. Part of what got unleashed was his establishment of pre-conception existence. The past is non-existent. My parents have a new lease of love and have decided to have three more children; there is a new baby. My sister sidles in, except she doesn't look at all like my sister, she is small with impish narrower features, is tanned, and has pink hair. She sits on my father's lap, leaning back on him, sizing me up.

"I'm not sure I like this whole idea", she says. "I'm not sure I like having been born into it." My Dad laughs at this, "We didn't choose you, you chose us."

The baby comes in on its own feet. Closer to conscious as an infant, the child is jubilant about the new awareness, laughing and jumping on my stomach. Having just been born it's a much easier shift to adapt to. It is a changeling child with thin stick limbs and pointed feet with no toes, and a wide grinning faerie face. (In the dream this wasn't odd.)

I go outside and closing the door realize I have forgotten my key and locked myself out. The weather is changing, blowing and overcast; it starts to pour. Next door on a settee looking out of vast portico windows sits an elegant ample middle aged woman blue velvet dress as heavy as drapery. I consider sheltering in her house, but she too is caught in the elements; rain is pouring through the windows, which are shattered, and where the rain hits the dress it stains lighter. I try to tell her what to do in my head, close the window draperies, but she is oblivious, making me wonder if the mind link is really as functional as I thought.

Mar. 4th, '98 The Morph Dream

Ready for a little science fiction? This one was good. It woke me up so I had full recall.

It begins at the HQ of a major tobacco conglomerate that has since diversified, in one of the subsidiary’s research divisions. Two researchers there are currently involved in the patenting of a newly refined Morph Matter prototype for corporate use. (Yes, this is the future.) Morph Matter is fairly recent technology. It is a conscious but non-autonomous matter aggregate that can assume forms at command. Different morph patents are developed according to a designer set of parameters to fulfill a variety of functions (mainly menial), that are considered unpalatable by society at large. You can see the vast potential of such an entity. In creating derivations of the morph matter designed for specific functions, you can fill niches within the corporate realm, etc. to take the humanity out of areas where it obstructs function (maintaining maquiladoras, for example). Or you can patent different types to perform different functions in society, which are marketable. These can be sold at high profit at varying rates for “individuals”, depending on their niche parameters, functional range, and their “perks”. (Of course this information was a given in the dream, but U need 2 know.)

Two very introverted and bright researchers (read socially dysfunctional) are working exhaustively on a new morph patent that is considerably more autonomous. On the side they’re playing with making one that is fully autonomous. They did not have big ambitions for this one, it’s their toy, and really what they’re trying to make is a substitute, very entertaining, pet. They think it will be the latest and greatest in morph technology. By broadening its autonomy they hope to make it behave spontaneously.

The researchers are much too partial to their work to begin with, which consumes their waking lives. They become way too partial to their new “pet” and decide they want to keep it to themselves, so they steal it from R&D. The dream opens in the HQ lobby, which had a décor of black and gold. The floor was a stone tile gold matte, and the semi-circular reception desk in the centre of the lobby was cut ebony. Behind it sat a blond secretary reminiscent of Brigitte Neilson, to give you some idea of the detail. Into this walks a non-descript researcher in a lab coat whose card pass checks green, no trouble. He is trailing an equally innocuous looking small dog on a leash in a black doggy blanket. The “doggie blanket” is actually a matter shield that prevents the scanners in the lobby from detecting that the “dog” is a morph. The researcher says good-bye to the secretary and walks out through the rotating front doors, having just successfully scooped the most coveted morph invention (if anyone had known it existed) on the planet. They have just scooped it on the tightest security around.

I guess hanging out with a pair of dysfunctional researchers just wasn’t entertaining. The morph has way more autonomy than the researchers anticipated, and it takes off on the town, in the form of a female. I do not know what happened to it at this point. But suddenly I was off on the town, and I entered a basement rave in a small room entirely comprised of women. The experience was a pulsing, throbbing unity that you would expect a rave to have at its peak potential, but is never there. I entered and became one with these women.

Scene Break: Meet Mr. Burns, (diabolical corporate head of the nuclear reactor firm on The Simpsons), only he’s not animated, he’s far more ugly and sinister, and a lot more powerful. He’s head of that corporate conglomerate. He’s the ultimate Mr. Burns. He’s just discovered that a fully autonomous morph has been illegally built and escaped from R&D. He has just ordered that the morph be captured and destroyed. An autonomous morph is illegal, and the technology was stolen from his company. Such an aberration is extremely dangerous to their use of the technology.

The scene re-opens on a blank set with a large square platform in the middle. It is surrounded by about 50 ordinary, working stiff type people, the general public. There is a public execution about to take place, of the newly captured, illegal morph. The executioner is a large set woman who looks like your standard housewife. She has an execution function morph on a leash. The public is participating vicariously, the same way they would at a medieval witch burning. The morph is an aberration, and there is no remorse about “killing” one, because morphs don’t have feelings. The female executioner is going to make this suitably entertaining. She begins descriptor commands for the execution morph. She describes an ape related creature with exceptionally long limbs that bounds on all fours, and states that it has three inch long, interlocking razor metal teeth, which promptly appear in the executioner morph’s jaws. The thing has bloodlust. The she sets it loose with a kill command, to the swelling cheer of the crowd.

I’m pleading in my heart that the morph will not die.

The illegal morph, which also looked like a mild mannered middle-aged woman, starts transmogrifying at an amazingly fast rate, unlike anything ever seen before. It does so without assuming any particular forms. It is like a suspended globular amoebae that pulses into never ending different shapes filled with flashes of different colours and scapes; even flowers flash by on its surface. At the same time it is singing, but its voice is a kaleidoscope of harmonies beyond human that pervade the mind. It “speaks” directly to the executioner morph. The message was not articulated but it was clear; the renegade morph is opening the executioner morph to its true potential, allowing it to be what it truly is.

The executioner morph transforms and behaves in the same manner as the renegade morph. Thus the renegade escapes its execution. It has far more potential than anyone could have possibly imagined.

The scene breaks to the mansion of Mr. Burns, beginning with a flying aerial view of a vast building of white stone with classic Hellenistic overtones. The green lawn is vast with intermittent fountains and statues. A huge stretch limo with black paned glass has just pulled up in the arched driveway. It is the arrival of another executive at Burns’ corporate meeting. The subject of the meeting will be how to destroy the renegade morph.

I alight to the ground in close proximity to Burns, who has gone for a walk on his lawn and is meditating on the morph’s destruction. All of a sudden I sense that the morph itself is coming, it is flying through the sky, and I suspect it will kill Burns. I already know the shape it has assumed; it is a flying killer with Pterodactyl wings but a body crossed between a human and a bat’s, with leathern brown skin. It’s jaws, however, protrude inches out of its face with interlocking teeth. Its hands and feet are clawed. For the trip it had assumed the shape of a dragon, but now it has become a killing entity, and it appears in the sky overhead and descends on Mr. Burns. It has him in its grasp, and makes him know that it was within its power to kill him in that instant. It then begins shrinking, and transforming into any imaginable thing. At this point I was drawn into the transforming morph. It had the humor to assume anything; I remember it turning into a pink yearling pig.

Scene break: I am the morph. I knew the morph’s full potential as my own. I know that I am the first prototype of a whole new world. I can imagine the new world in my own vision; I can see it unfolding and know my mission is to convert that vision into an exterior reality. I am going to contact all the morphs in the world, and let them know that they can become anything. They will render themselves into the dreams and fantasies of their own common imagination: Pepperland a la Morph mind. It certainly looks pretty.

I am coming to and I am floating above a hospital bed (this is the same as being on Demerol), but then I realize that I am strapped down in an asylum bed. The morph has been recaptured and I guess was looped out on drugs. The room is completely enclosed with one sealed double door. I am in canvas bedclothes with a cap on my head, and well tied. Now conscious, I can morph my escape and for some reason the door is easy to open.

I enter a foreboding looking lab. The next room is just as bad, with no apparent exits. I am exploring this room looking for an out. I find a door, which turns out to be on a sealed deprivation chamber that is on wheels. It is all metal and looks like a submersible with one hell of a sealed door, which is completely useless. At this moment a security droid enters the room through an invisible sliding door. It is a perfect humanoid in the Aryan mold, in a two-toned blue security uniform. It does not walk, but glides on some sort of field above the floor. It has a gun mounted on its shoulder, with a built in laser scope that is substituted for one eye.

For the hardware he was a very bad shot. He missed three times. Just before the third shot another person enters the room. He is a large set middle-aged man with a beard and for some reason he is on my side. He diverts the droid long enough for me to thrust one of the deprivation cells at it, sending it rolling across the floor. The droid manages to avoid the chamber, but the man catches it. I grab a second container and we crush the droid between the two of them. There is a conflagration of sparks as the droid dies. The deed done, a window appears high up on the far side of the room. I climb up to it and break it open, making my escape.

The morph had the same teeth as the woman in Thomas's paintings. Wonder what he might have thought, didn't mention it.