Dream Diary
1997
Paraplegic Transexual Migration
Tue Jun 17 07:00:00 BST 1997
I'm standing in the bathroom at my parents' house, just having stepped out of a warm steamy bath. The bathroom is small and narrow, about the size of two baths placed side by side. Sunlight from the window is relecting from heavy droplets of moisture which tumble chaotically through the air as they find a stable height at which to soar.
I am still naked, and whilst drying I start to play with my penis. It is a strange shape, and seems to be very wide. The opening of the urethra is very red and sore, possibly caused by soap. I feel around, and realise that there are large folds of skin inside the urethra, like a sort of internalised foreskin. The penis is wider still now, and the urethra has started to look more like a vulva, as if I am undergoing a transexual transformation.
I also notice at this time that due to the steam and heat in the bathroom, various sections of my skin are peeling off, coming loose from the flesh on various parts of my body, particularly my back and shoulders, and my stomach. My penis has now completely transformed into a soft fleshy mound, and the red lips are dry and peeling off to form a large circular piece of bloodied rice paper with a small central hole.
Feeling my shoulder with one hand, I realise that it is not simply a case of the skin coming away, that in fact there is a whole extra layer of hard, leathery skin on top of the normal skin on my shoulder. This leathery skin is attached to my arm, but the shoulder is not, it seems that the arm is separate from the shoulder. I can't feel anthing in my arm, and it feels like wood or plastic to the touch.
I call my mother in, and she admits to me that when I was at the hospital, they had to remove my arms and legs, but that they fitted me with prosthetic devices so that I would not be too distressed when I came around. The latest false limbs are very sophisticated, it turns out, and can magnify muscle movement at the stump into full range motion, and transmit sensation into nerve bundles at the stump also.
My mother helps me to get dressed in my new limbs again, as they have all slipped off in the steam of the bath. As I am attaching the leather straps and buckes arounnd my crotch and neck, I reflect on how lucky I am to be a paraplegic, and realise that my transexual fixation was actually a misdirected amputee fetishism.
Wed Mar 12 07:30:00 GMT 1997
Watching TV, there is a show on with a commentator, and a single camera pointing at a set. There's a very thick sheet of metal which is intended to used as a bench or perhaps a bed. There are two people, one man and one woman.
The woman has a jar of some kind of liquid, and she is toying with a long shiny palette knife, dipping and swirling it into the jar. She very carefully applies the liquid to the bench, ensuring that she covers every bit of the metal surface with the viscous, translucent slime, stroking it and smoothing it evenly over the metal.
The man is naked apart from white underwear. The woman is also wearing white undergarments, and is standing to the side of the bench. She is controlling the man's movements - he is willingly co-operating but she is guiding her movements with her hands.
He is groaning very loudly, lying face down on the bench. He is holding his chest and head up off the bench, arching his back, so that the fronts of his thighs and his knees are touching the bench. The camera focuses in on his lower back, and we see how there is a tide of sweat emerging profusely from the pores on his back.
He seems to be screaming both in agony and ecstasy. The commentator says that he thinks the liquid might be concentrated sulphuric acid, possibly combined with nitric acid, made into a gelatinous resin so that it sticks to the skin on contact. It is possible to see steam rising from the bench where the skin is in contact with the liquid, which seems to be some kind of corrosive industrial solution that dissolves flesh and bone on contact.
Gradually, as the man and woman perform on the bench, the woman forces the man to rub his legs back and forth over the bench, dragging them through the slime, so that the flesh is gradually dissolved away. The acid is so powerful that it actually seals up the wound as well as it goes, so that after ten minutes or so, all that remains of the man's legs are two short and swollen stumps way up above the knee. The stumps are bloodied, but they have been completely cauterised and sealed over.
The man starts to work himself up into a frenzy as his legs start dissolving further, the acid gets closer to his genitals and eventually melts away the entire lower half of his pelvis.
I stop watching the TV program, and a second program comes on afterwards, it is a discussion about whether this form of TV program is acceptable, and what kind of implications it has for the viewer. It says that if you're the viewer of this kind of thing, you're probably going into shock, you should find that you're breathing heavily, starting to run over and over the scenes in your head.
I find that I have all the symptoms it describes, I am indeed replaying the images again and again in my mind's eye. I feel so disturbed by the images that I keep thinking about it, and I feel physically very sick.
However, I have a premonition that what's shown on the TV program is actually footage that has been shot for real by some religious cult, whose members are indoctrinated into believing a religious frenzy that in which they are purified by the acid, that it cleanses their bodies, burns away the evil of their flesh.
Mon Mar 3 07:30:00 GMT 1997
It's the summer holidays, and I go to my girlfriend's house. I'm sitting waiting. I've been let in by the mother, and told to wait. I'm sitting up in the bedroom upstairs, but I can see over the landing down to the room below. The younger brother arrives and we have brief eye contact, although we don't acknowledge each others' presence as we're not in the same room together. However, when he does come up the stairs, we eventually release the tension by greeting each other, and he then slouches into his room.
I'm sitting on a bed and there's a bath filled with water to my right, I have a number of towels which I can dip into the water and use to clean things. The optician enters the room. I'm still sitting on the bed, but I'm separated from him by the railing, which resembles the side of a cot.
He extracts one of my contact lenses, and gives me the other contact lens to clean in my mouth. It's the size of an old ten pence piece, solid glass, slightly curved to fit the shape of my eye, and it clunks against the lemon cough sweet on which I'm also sucking. They both have sharp edges which scrape against the side of my mouth as I slop and slurp them around in my mouth.
I'm lying on the bed in the bedroom, staring up. I've been anaesthetized, I can see the strip lights on the ceiling, it's a severely sterilized environment, with metal doors and bright white walls, and I know that I've travelled from many miles away, so that my girlfriend can't come to visit me.
The optician starts to talk to me about my contact lenses. I'm actually in the bath now, as opposed to being beside it previously. Clusters of foam bubbles are floating on current of warm air, mingling with strands of steam ascending from my skin. The optician chastises me for smearing bubbles all over his stethoscope, and he improvises a theory along the lines that the bubbles will penetrate the internal mechanism of the stethoscope and cause it to malfunction, which might mean that he would then be unable to tell whether I am alive or dead.
There is a woman, perhaps a nurse or just an old woman, sitting next the bed beside me. She is also talking to the optician. She is an Indian lady, very short, wearing loose fitting brightly coloured wraps and wooden beads. She is asking the optician about the lyrics to a particular John Lennon song, which is based on a tantric chant.
I reflect internally that perhaps under the stimulus of LSD the mind is particularly suited to the mesmeric effects of tantric chanting, and I contemplate the overall effect of the neural weightings in the brain after a prolonged period of chanting, how that will set up a cascading feedback equilibrium throughout the entire neural network system of the brain.
The Indian woman is still speaking to the optician, and she begins to sing him the John Lennon song. It is a fast sequence of high pitched guttural clicks and moans, interspersed with exaggeratedly sharp breaths. The song is composed of seventeen syllabic subcomponents, each of which has the structure of a haiku. There is a higher level structure of the song which also has the haiku structure, five then seven then five haikus.
The hospital bedroom is now the top deck of a double decker bus. I'm sitting next to the Indian lady, and the optician is in the seat behind. We're at the corner of the stairs that go down to the bottom deck of the bus. This is a hippy bus, and everybody is chanting tantrically, so we all join in, and pass away into mesmeric bliss.
Lucid Transexual Juxtaposition
Wed Feb 19 07:30:00 GMT 1997
I am in my bedroom, walking into my en-suite bathroom. As I look through the doorway into the bathroom, I notice that there is a mechanism similar to the Borg Queen's cybernetic clone body attachment device hanging from the ceiling. As I walk through the door, I am able to choose between different bodies into which my disembodied head can be inserted. Simultaneously, I realise that I have become lucid, and consciously choose a female body to see what the sensation is like.
My new body is pale, curvaceous, and supple, with child-bearing hips and delicate skin. I am now rather shorter than when occupying my male body.I walk forward a few paces into the bathroom, and am surprised at how different it feels to walk with this different body frame. My hips are now so rounded, and as I step forward they gyrate suggestively. My feet are so small that it feels like I will topple over, except that my breasts and backside seem to balance each others' weight.
The cybernetic implantation has been so efficient that I cannot feel the join between my head and my body. However, I can feel the presence and sensasions of my skin, the feel of the smoothness of my legs as they rub against each other. Still lucid, I wonder what it is like for a woman to masturbate. I reach down, still standing naked in the middle of the bathroom, and gently caress the soft moist flesh which protects my swelling clitoris. I watch myself in the mirror as I play with myself, conscious of the novelty of being able to experience this transformation...
Sun Feb 2 13:00:00 GMT 1997
I'm at school, and I've got to present my report to the class. My mother tells me the day before that she would be really pleased if I'd wear a special suit that she was having made up for me, which included a bow-tie. I attempted to shrug off her suggestion.
The time of my report came, and so my mother was in class with me. I was wearing a black tshirt, and she came up to me to tell me that she was upset that I wasn't wearing the bow-tie suit. I protested that I had never agreed to wear it, that she was out of order for presuming that she could impose her desires on me in this way. I felt slightly guilty for not making it clear to her at the time that I wasn't going to fulfil her wishes, but I felt justified given the immorality of her position.
She claimed that someone had told her that I was going to wear the suit, and had therefore been anticipating seeing me give my presentation while wearing it. I became furious, and demanded to know who had told her this. She would not tell me, so I picked up one of the school desks by both legs and smashed it on the floor in front of her, screaming at her to reveal to me the identity of my betrayer. I repeatedly smashed the table on the floor, as she cowered and crawled back through the doorway out of the classroom.
Sun Jan 26 07:00:00 GMT 1997
Watching a film, maybe I'm actually there whilst it's being filmed, it's hard to tell. There are actors with prosthetic makeup on, simulating an imaginary alien lizard-like skin texture, all green, knobbly, and uneven. As the scene unfolds, it turns out that the film is actually a porno film, and the actors have the lizard alien makeup aplied to their genitals too... and they are there doing their stuff, the male alien naturally having a very long serrated green schlong...
Sun Jan 26 08:00:00 GMT 1997
There is a revolution happening. The leader of the revolution is Stelarc, and he's wearing see-through plastic pants, with the manifesto of his revolution strapped inside the pants, and with his enormous twelve inch schlong hanging out stallionesque as he stands triumphantly on top of a wrecked police bus.