The week of thankfully disturbing dreams continues.
I was with a bunch of them people in a dysfunctional community called a workplace. One of guys was being teased about not being able to get any dates with the opposite sex. See what I mean? It was supposed he needed help to be set up on a date.
At that moment, like a well-oiled scene shifting machine, the elevator door quietly slid open.
Under lighting, music in our heads and perfect timing, out popped two sweet-looking syrupy juicy fruit tarts asking for the guy being mocked.
We were all shocked, and realized, that for the longest of days, we had been perfectly played.
So as not to be outdone, the virility in my gun shot through my tongue. I said, “Wait just a gosh darn minute!” Not really. That's what I wish I had said. I had a synaptic misfire.
Instead, still wrong-footed with the wrong head, I said, “Wait a minute,” as I grabbed one of them by the arm, pitting magic spell against magic charm, “One of you can come with me.”
An inspirational sensational synchronized double twist shimmy each, under powder blue come hither dresses, created a ripple effect. Lo and behold, as if a giant party popper had opened, an all out gimme-some-of-that-love-shack office party ensued. It was catered by the nearest in-an-instant liquor store and with endless food that each person brought from home and now pulled the food out from hidden places.
The party was going on right here, right now, a celebration to talk about for years. The party was going on in every office throughout the entire building. Party in a hate-my-job jail cell, might as well! Fun was to be had by all.The vixens with the fixings had disappeared, merging into everyone's sheer ecstasy, joy, elation, happiness and satisfaction of living a good life. As lifetimes of general fun, in a short span of time, slowed to a trickle, a few giggles, and not so intoxicating pantomimed grins and wiggles, it was time for the after-party. In this fun-house drama, you didn't have to go home, you could stay all night long. So the after-party ramped up, right there on the spot.
The gist of the after-party was for everyone to get in a group and walk around the office and find food that had been dropped on the floor. Not stepped on, but just lying there as the usual mess from a gorge fest of human zombies.Whoever picked the food up first had the opportunity to tear off a piece and choose who they wanted to eat it. When the chosen-to-be-the-consumer was handed the food, of course, they looked at it suspiciously.
Activated by that obligatory facial cue, the crowd shouted, Bunk That And Eat It! And so the person did, the crowd cheered and laughed because they were having big fun.
And so the crowd went, like rats and roaches looking for food on the floor to get others to consume. We found halves of boiled eggs that were not deviled but bedeviling. There were lots of finger foods such as bread and i-hope-its-not-an unstable-isotope jam sandwiches, most of which the home cook spread too thickly, that when a single bite was swallowed, a poison arrow went through the brain. It was enough to keep us entertained by the aftereffect conniptions.
The party was like a crawling freight train going nowhere except like a virus, carried back to each person's home depot where they could relax and cherish the day. With this culmination in mind, everyone at the party made their way towards one big elevator that was the only way down and out, despite there being several to create the feeling of bringing you up and in.
The party was legendary. It was talked about in the infirmary for thousands of years long after the particle sediments had blended with more of the same. At that point, none of those souls were laughing.
I thank whatever Gods may be, that at least one of them had my back and kept me in their emergency contact list.
In those painted on dresses, cut for maximum peek-a-boo effect, obviously those girls were two sirens from around the way of the mountain when she comes, who found their way to the America's. These twin ambassadors of avarice, Jerusalem and Samaria, have had many names. You can be certain America and Herallycia are their current names.
Mami Wata Sirene Oshun is rising to reset the table for the occasion. The feast of souls for souls, is being placed in serving dishes all around the table. Do not be found consuming the wrong things brought to you by the wrong people, the people who wrong you. Be careful now, about who you consume and what you eat. They are coming for your soul because these eaters of millions have eaten everything and your soul is the only worthwhile thing left.You know who, will consume anything, eat and drink anything, as long as they can figure out a way to catch it, prepare it and not die instantly from it. You know this behavior had to come out of an Ice Box incubator and bassinet.
The best thing about dreams through channelvision is that they are an early warning to those who have been in early preparation to understand dreams and heed them, rather than bludgeon their dreams with mostly ill-formed responses about the meanings of dreams, found on the internet.Secondly, dreams are fabulous in that they almost always give you an opportunity to wake up and get woke, before your choices get you killed for the thrill of being filled with creamy filling by those softening you up for the killing.
Do not find yourself as one or few among many of them, and think you are having so-called big fun, living good, living the life that will suffice for other's sacrifice, as you bunk that which will secure your salvation.
