Holy crap, have I been dreaming today.

It’s been one of those days, at least so far.

I am a storm-tossed dreamer who can’t find his way home
This shipwrecked existence is all that I’ve known
And if I met a policeman who knew my address
I would follow him blindly and take leave of this mess

Sorry for the sudden poetry, but I just had my exposure to this dude, and wow did it make a huge impression.

His name is Ben Kaplan, and he makes my beard feel inadequate.

That is seriously my kind of music. Emotional, poetic, raw, lyrical, withtouches of madness and sadness and badness and gladness and all the other nesses of the big old messed up world.

So today has been kind of surreal on a couple of levels. I am certainly going to hunt up whatever Ben Kaplan songs I can find. Apparently, dude is so indie that there is not even much of him on YouTube yet, and what there is of him there is all live performances, no studio tracks.

Color me intrigued.

It does not hurt that the guy kind of looks like me. Mostly, that’s just the beard (epic beard!) and glasses, but still. Us bespectacled beardies do not get a lot of media exposure, let alone get to be represented by such a rocking out dude.

But back to the dreams… oh, so many dreams.

I know that at one point, I was having a ball exploring some rich person’s sex dungeon. (Don’t worry, this does not get that erotic or personal. )

I know that before that in the dream, I had an angry confrontation with some shallow rich bitch about what a shallow, vain, and stupid person she was.

But to be fair, I kind of started it by making fun of her dress to some unnamed person who was with me, and I guess she heard.

And it was a fairly ridiculous goth type outfit. What I said to the unnamed person was that there was a fine line between dressing to impress and wearing a costume, and this girls was clearly ready for Halloween, not a night at a club.

Pretty bitchy thing to say, but what the hell, it was a dream and I am coping with a lower Paxil dosage and that seems to be shortening the distance between my thoughts and my mouth.

And that is going to be one tricky bitch to work with, as I have had a long time getting used to being able to think my bitchy little thoughts in private and amusing myself without them escaping my brain through my face and wreaking havoc in the real world.

So I will either have to learn to stop thinking evil little thoughts in order to amuse myself (boring!), or I will have to exert more willpower in order to keep my thoughts to myself.

The latter sounds preferably. I have no idea what I would do with myself if I had to stop letting the occasional nasty thought pass through my mind and amuse me, safe in the knowledge that I would never actually do or say any of the things my little inner demon whispers in my ear.

But anyhow. Sex dungeon. After my run-in with Rich Bitch, someone (I guess the person I made the bitchy comment to? Maybe?) suggested we check out the Dungeon, and I said “Sure!”.

Still, as we made out way there (via a series of increasingly bizarre and athletic steps that involved things like climbing carpeted ladders and jumping down three floors with apparently no damage to us), I felt the need to explain to my guide that I was not into BDSM per se. To me, pleasure and pain are simple, I said. Pleasure is great and pain is bad. But I was sure that there would be something in a well appointed sex dungeon that I would find interesting.

At that point, we parted company. I think she (it was a definite she) was disgusted at my confession of non-kinkiness (if only she knew!) and ditched me. But it didn’t matter because I was there, apparently.

So I wander into a random room, and it is a pretty normal room, set up like a simple hotel room, with a big bed and a bathroom and a sort of living room type area.

Now is when things start getting distinctly weird.

Because in the room is a pleasant seeming lady who is watching a video about this weird device that supposedly removes your shed skin cells from your skin and then uses them to “patch” gaps in your skin, which would supposedly protect you against disease and, I kid you not, mosquitoes.

Now that I am awake, this idea seems impossibly gross. It sounds like it would just result in you smelling terrible and having a lot of zits. But whatever.

After watching the video, I noticed that there was one of these devices in the room with us. So I decided to try it out just on a patch of arm, see what it felt like.

Turns out, it was like getting zapped by static electricity over and over again. Not my cuppa. But I suppose it was someone’s kink.

So I got bored, and decided to see what this place had in its pocketses, or in this case, drawers. I started checking out what was in the drawers of the room I was in.

Nothing too crazy. One drawer had lots of panties in it. Nothing my size though, le sigh. Another had things that looked vaguely like whips or floggers. Boring. Another had a light blue bodice with some other bits of frilly stuff that looked like straps of some sort.

Eventually, I found a computer room, where there was a big screen and porn and stuff, and most of the computer was locked away from tampering fingers. I looked over the porn selections. All boring straight stuff. The only title I remember was ZEBRA, but don’t get excited. It was just interracial.

I don’t remember much more than that. There was more, but dreams melt in daylight.

So, weird shit going on in the cabesa del Fruvous.

Weirder than usual, I mean.

Seeya later folks!