Vortex Of Dreams

One big Blogger lesson in life that I had to learn the hard way is: you never leave your emails piling up when it’s the main source of your cleared music flow. It happened when I decided to try the other Real Life, outside, away from the computer desk, binging on friend’s prescribed drugs and getting drunk for no reason whatsoever every night, then the next thing I know is 3 weeks passed like 3 seconds. Bored to the bones of the new destructive routine I got back to my old habits (staying online overnights) to find over 40 pages of mail (50 emails per page) clogging my inbox!!! Knowing that at least 20% of those emails withhold amazing free music, I had to go through them one by one and a week later I had accomplished my mission with over 300 remixes waiting to be filtered for keeps.

Below are the best 60-ish out of the bunch, I played each and every single one of them from the beginning till the end to make sure they are Blogosphere worthy. So, Instead of staring at the ceiling during my filtering sessions, I started tap writing a random story on my iPod touch, a little bit everyday and voila… something to read while your downloads finishes, but please do so at your own risk because I’ve been told my illiteracy can cause a mass vomiting wave. Enjoy…

Ps. I included some exclusives among the bunch, see if you can spot them out.

Vortex Of Dreams

“Today I noticed it was still there, resisting the dozen attempted deletions, that damned playlist is alive. Four months ago, drunk and mind chicaning on multiple banned drugs offered by the hands of strangers at the lounge, my body set itself on auto-pilot and trekked a course of 6 miles home which I can’t recall a second of. That night, I learned a secret, one that shouldn’t be shared or told for its bruising recoil and mind eating baggage.

Although scientifically unproven, in theory, a mathematical permutation of specific notes, noises and decibels could disturb time and space, unlock portals to parallel existing realities. In my experience it was to a place between waking and sleeping, not dreams but involuntarily living self realized bedtime fantasies and pre-coma life revisions. I only assume that on that doomful night, upon arrival to my bedroom I sat behind my desk and unconsciously created a subliminal playlist titled 22-5-18-2-15-20-5-14, then whilst still unaware of my actions, retreated to bed, pressed play and traversed.

Swallowed by the bed mattress like a bagged body thrown into a swamp, I found myself sober in a tenebrous oasis. There were black palm trees growing askew towards the horizon, a sky so dark and clear with stars in the size of fully bloomed roses, the air gunpowder thick and dry, and the terrain so dim that it took my eyes a while to adjust to its un-masculine illumination. Looking around, I spotted a neon blue haze in the short distance flickering and gleaming strong and then vanishing a few seconds later; not sure of what I could come across, all confused and horrified I started desperately running towards the source.

A deep breath of relief, there were people. Human beings just like me sat awkwardly in a circle around a ditch of mercury that randomly lit up in flames; they were sitting silently with their backs facing the fire. They were people from my life, I loved and I loathed, they had no faces, blank, except for hairy teeth baring fungus growing shapeless lips that spew seizure foam and reeked of ill piss and burnt condoms. They looked like they’ve been dehydrated for years; the children collected sweat beads off their parents’ armpits and foreheads with their tongues, and the elderly moisturized their parched skin and lips with cum barely enough to keep the dangling meat from falling off. I wanted to talk to them but every time I tried to speak, boys noises of all my teen years secretly pleasuring thy self behind locked doors came out compiled in a single vowel and became more intense the louder I got. There seemed to be no medium of communication, I was stuck among beef mannequins with no sense of anything beyond their exoskeletons. But then all of a sudden…

She, the prettiest with breeze molested glowing golden hair stepped closer and leaned forward letting her thick hair fall down like a stream of honey; it showed my reflection in the sheen, I sported a unibrow, my eyes were completely black from end to end, had coal for teeth and jaws hard enough to chomp skulls with, then I reached inside the cavity of my mouth, pulling out piles of molding gauze to realize my tongue was gone. She spoke no words but handed me a folded luxuriant dashiki embellished with geometric salt beads, gold and jewels wrapping a glacial axe that was carved from the last ice-berg in the universe and then she pointed up hill walked backwards and sat. Right there and then she embraced me with a silent passion. I wanted to save her. I was completely helpless. It was beyond agonizing. She was a frozen statue in front of me. A decoration for tourists, a purely aesthetic tool for a fleeting visual pleasure. Knowing with my new tools I’ve just been handed, fate had a course pre-set for me. My darkest fears started crawling into my thoughts, why would I need an indestructible axe I wondered?

Could be blood sucking moose that stood tall and walked like Adams and Eves hiding their fangs behind veils, or maybe a junkie sorcerer whose fear of running out of his immortality feeding drug coerced him to eliminate trapped dreamers senses to keep them as breeding cattle whom body fluids he crystallizes into meth. Whatever danger I was meant to encounter, my need to find an exit from this realm trumped the amount of fear that could’ve easily subdued and trapped me. Up that hill I climbed, from above I saw a glorious pyramid made of mirrors that disappeared at night reflecting space, except for some areas of it damaged by dead asteroids that made it look like fallen shards of a crumbling starry sky.

I marched through the entrance, a gloomy cave infested with bats that wept rays of uterus fluids from their tits feeding the +ankle deep moldy pathway leading to the hollow endoskeleton of the wonder, there it was the portal in the middle guarded by four beautiful giant naked girls with bear heads and keyholes for eyes, each with a power to cast a plague of mind if awaken shall anyone try be heroic. The ceilings were covered with sharp quartz, I saw it in the reflection on the wet floor where they were looking-down up at me baring their hairy teeth and inverted hands that folded their fingers backwards forming fists with the palms on the outside, vomiting smoke that smelled of burnt rubber, anal lube and decaying cysts through the reflection on the floor.

From where I was standing I could tell by the looks of their cringing vaginas, I was about to be doomed, and then as they squatted baring their clits, shiny as pearls and infected as a cancer tumor in its last stage, they proceeded to induce milk that rapidly started filling up the place, rising the level and getting me closer to the dingy and sharp quartz covered ceiling, it was inevitable that my body will end up in pieces. Frantically I oscillated my iron-hard axe arbitrarily and selfishly gashing them from every angle and direction to save my life; it was a matter of minutes before I drowned in pure cream of bleach, before exploding into pixels out of sheer pressure and dissolving into nothing.

Next thing I know, I’m covered in blood from head to toe as if my body bled though every pore, socket and hole. I was being restrained against the bed, dozens of expressionless doctors surrounding me, prodding me.

They weren’t fixing me, they were sedating and hosing me with ice-freezing water whilst I was pleading but no one would make as much as an eye contact. My eyes will not blink and hands clutched into a fist so strong my broken nails were penetrating my palms. I looked around for bruises to explain the superfluous bleeding but I had none. It wasn’t my blood. It was the blood of the people I killed. I murdered my family. I plead insanity. I was diagnosed with multiple personality disorder. With extreme schizophrenia. With every condition in the book.

They claim that I wrote this from my solitary at the asylum. Looks like my handwriting but I don’t remember writing it.

Today is 4 months and one day since then, it’s 00:00 am. I’m jumping again.”