Tamed

Deep in the slithery grip of a cold, slowly working the disease out of my system in large, dark green clumps of mucus torn violently from my lungs, I am strangely calm. I dreamed of half-eaten hamsters – one half the cute, furry, white face and fore-paws, walking gaily along, it’s back half, dragging behind it, like a chicken wing with the flesh chewed off, just one bone left, the other one being picked at by some monster rabbit with webbed feet, wrapped in something like a rolled-up carpet of earth, in a cage, in the garden.
I’m not angry anymore, I’m not even participating. I’m disappointed, but it doesn’t matter.

All work and no play

I had to stay up till 5:30am folding brochures because of some production mistake. I amused myself by watching Twins music videos and about 6 episodes of “My Name is Earl”. I think that affected my 2 hours sleep because I dreamed in American. Somebody in a library in my dream called me a “butt hole”. Nothing personal, they didn’t know me; they were just directing it to a faceless customer, who happened to be me. That made me a little annoyed when I woke up. I mean, who the hell do they think they are? It’s my dream.
Work was busy. It’s now 4am. I really should be in bed, I need to get organised to fly back to NY on Sunday, but my assistant got us Santa hats today, so I just had to draw, just a little.
I hadn’t had a chance to have an orgasm for days. I finally stole some time to myself, and for one moment, in the darkness of my fevered mind, I remembered all the beauty of humanity that got buried in the last couple of weeks.
Must sleep now and get back to inhumanity tomorrow.

Fast awake, wide asleep

I’ve been dreaming so much lately. I’ve been going to bed with a happy anticipation of seeing brand new friends ‘again’. Memories of these dreams are intertwined with memories of real-life events. Waking is much the same. I don’t know where I am anymore. I don’t know who I am. Is that bad?

A cry for help

I really want to keep sheer reality at a comfortable distance from this blog, but I have a problem I can’t figure out and I’m going to ask you, virtual pals, if anyone can advise me. It’s about setting up a fixed IP address. I have a server and I want to access this while overseas, and give clients FTP access. My internet provider is just too expensive to justify signing up for a fixed IP address, so I have tried using NoIP.com, and directing my noIP.com address to the server’s FTP address (the server, by the way, is connected to a router which is the gateway to the server and various computers). Inside my office I can access the server via the NoIP.com address, but people outside can either not see it, or not login.
I’ve been trying for over 2 months to figure this out, and I just can’t get it together.
I’ll pay you, any of you, anything you ask (be reasonable, this is reality, remember), if you can help me understand and resolve this.

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To balance that unpleasant slice of reality, I’d like to tell you about my dream.
I was traveling and was waylaid in Iran. While we packed the Jeep and arranged documents, President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad came to see how we were doing and joined us for tea. I’ve long been a fan of Mr Ahmadinejad (until he made that odd comment about there being no gays in Iran), and this made me feel a tad misunderstood when he behaved the way he did to me. During tea he was pontificating on things in general, as he does, which is fine; but then he added lots of sugar to his tea, and explained it was because Muhammad (peace be unto Him) had suggested he dose his tea with sugar to counterbalance the corruption that had infested my soul. President Ahmadinejad wasn’t entirely hostile though, explaining that it was because I showed promise that he deigned to take this action (regular infidels would just be disregarded without sympathy). I was kind of flattered, yet, really, President Ahmadinejad, I’ve championed you before, so I wish you would think of me as less foreign than you do. Or am I fooling myself? Really, is it so bad to be soulless, corrupt, self-absorbed, with a history of bursts of violence? It’s the human in me.