Slim Aarons Bogey
In the heart of the medina, just a ten-minute walk from Jamaรข El Fna Square, Dar Darma greeted me with the scent of tangerines and myrrh.
Standing in the court of mirrors, I observed the bone-dry alabaster fountain, surrounded by black and white square glazed tiles, moody mauve plaster walls, drought-loving palms and aeomiums, and free-standing lanterns.
I noticed a petite brunette woman in the courtyard. She wore a satin heliotrope sheath tea-length dress with a matching heliotrope straw saucer hat, topped with silk roses. Her black strappy T-bar stilettos complemented her coiffed hair and impeccable smoky eye, yet her movements seemed listless.
Approaching her out of morbid curiosity, she greeted me with a smile. Despite her overall perfection, her smile revealed gnarled, yellow teeth resembling Fritos. They twisted and turned, unsettlingly disproportionate to her face. As she closed her mouth and smiled again, her teeth seemed even larger. They were large pink coral polyps, extending down to her bosom, calcified with little purple tentacles sticking out. One even had a starfish attached.
Suddenly, I found myself on the veranda of a gigantic mega yacht docked in what seemed like a bizarre version of Positano along the Amalfi Coast. My spouse and I were getting dark on this scorching hot day. Everyone sported white trunks or bikinis, and the spotless deck was abuzz with coconut pineapple daiquiris and fried anchovies served on silver platters with aioli.
A disgusting fish man, the size of three 7/11s smashed together, emerged from the bay, confirming my unease. Bubbling beneath the surface was a slimy, snot-green-brown horror, its gooey back produced by enzymes, flush with gills, a swim bladder, webbed hands and feet, a hunched back, and a deformed face. Its gaping maw and back covered in eyes, it blocked our view of the glorious coastline of the Monti Lattari, pebbly beaches, and pastel dwellings. The people on the yacht screamed and scrambled away as this vile creature disrupted our idyllic scene. Despite its repulsive appearance, I sensed it was once human, subjected to a horrifying experiment. Amidst its gurgles and gargles, a vaguely English plea for help echoed, though fragmented and unintelligible.
We couldn't fathom how to aid such a creature. Horrified, we watched as it vomited acidic bile towards us in massive batches. Fortunately, we were near the interior of the yacht, allowing us to take cover. However, the others on the yacht weren't as lucky, attempting to flee but succumbing to the chemical burns. The copious acidic bile ejected by the creature even caused a vile acid rain when directed upwards.
There was timeline talk of dreams today, before this posted (I even spoke of the prospect of VIEWING an unconscious) - and yesterday, was talk of literature and sociopathy. (The recorded space persists - see the mythinkspot Twitter timeline) Sam Austen (co-contributor with Ms. Mensch on be space) himself on Twitter - also today poasted an insightful comment on this piece here - regarding Oannes - the Mesopotamian fish god, bringer of civilization. He put his finger on an astute nerve. Iโm not sure what he meant by โmulti dimensional.โ
This dream has two scenes, and the split between the scenes is the division of gender - on multiple levels. - Both scenes of the dream are set in luxurious places that contain a horrific creature that the opposite sex would hope is a non-horrific human - inside the a context each sex is typically commonly attracted to.
The first exotic scene (artfully obscured though a thin veil that the โlookupโ menu will clarify for anyone) with the horrible female seems to be Marrakesh - and something like a (letโs be polite for now) a TEA room. - somewhere men would in one way or another get their โฆ hopes up.
The second exotic scene with the horrible male is set on the Amalfi Coast โlike Positanoโ a key stop on the nauseating โeat pray loveโ Grand Tour. (Pro tip if you ever get the chance - live in Piano - recreate in Amalfi, shop in Sorrento and โbe a writerโ on Capri. But buy your bathroomโs porcelain in Positano - there - I said it.)
This male creature โwas once humanโ - the author herself a female - logically dwells with her writing more on the male monster and has a touch more empathy for it.
These dream creatures function (regardless of the meaning to the authorโs dream - though I might strike a chord) as dream-visualized sociopathy anthropicly manifest.
โWas once humanโ - Iโve seen the tragedy unfold of *becoming* a sociopath (not always โborn that wayโ) happen to women. Caused by drugs - caused by toxic motherโs โloving adviceโ caused by her own fear and power hunger - the trauma-panic numbness we all feel as shock becomes in the sociopath a waking daily reality wherein all โloveโ is transactional and Machiavellianism blooms - as one woman put it to me โI just go cold - thatโs all it is.โ And then one day - you notice sheโs been staying like that - always cold, not at all the person you once met.
The trauma state there becomes an ongoing - steady condition and PTSD has stiffened into Borderline, and the men/women who are on the other side of that need to LEAVE but sometimes donโt.
Unsolved trauma - and the coping mechanismsโ dosing of traumaphilia - leads to this un-personing. Vomiting bile - yes of course - we all feel it on social media - what this author elsewhere call a the โinfinite scroll of the Ahrimanic latticeโ - AKA the frontier purgatory of the evil god in Zoroastrianism.
The male creature had many eyes - I was thinking of the โbelovedโ Argus of Hera - the monster of the many eyes.
Not far south from Positano is grand old (and so sad) Posedonia. - now called Paestum. Goethe visited there sailing past Capri from Naples. Paestum has a Doric stone temple to Hera older than anything standing in Greece. The oldest Greek stone temple of the world is in Italy.
Hera confronted the โmonsterโ with the eyes but loved him. When he was sent to Tartarus - she is said to have given memory of his eyes to the peacock - her sacred bird (of which certainly by early Roman times - Indian peacocks would have fluttered across Posedonia.) - and if we are lucky and work hard - we donโt perhaps SAVE or change these trauma trapped people. But we can step aside - and bless the peacocks.
The coming epidemic (already begun) of sociopathy will take a LOT of effort to heal. Aggressive Jerks will try to puke everywhere and harpy women who weaponize empathy will HIDE their damage until they trust their prey to be such.
But two other things were present - the dealer and the sea. One will bleach - the other wash. Perhaps our rooting into a return to Land will to us all some good. โGo touch grassโ they say, indeed.