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Two wholly unpleasant things to have happen within an 8 hour span..

1: Seeing your Subway sandwich being assembled by an obese, shifty, pasty skinned woman with a dark moustache... The individual, thick and coarse hairs protruding from her semi-translucent, fishbelly skin

like some unholy, grotesque human skin fun-factory.

2: Going into the bathroom at work only to discover a toilet seat slathered in blood.

Whose blood is it? are they dying? or merely pushing too hard? What's in that blood?

McMassacre

Cheeseburger violence erupted at McDonaldland today as a burglary went horribly wrong. A pirate and a masked man dressed in a stripey uniform broke into McDonaldland and proceeded to eat it's citizens. Mayor McCheese and several of his flock were eaten alive in the assault. Several packages of frozen fry guys tried to stop the attackers but were subsequently fried in oil and eaten for their trouble. The nightmare ended when Officer BigMac shot the intruders dead in front of a dozen screaming children and their horrified families. Evidence suggests this was an inside job, and authorities are currently seeking an individual known only as "Grimace".

Fish Story

It was with no small level of inebriation or entheogenic influence that I undertook

the small, benign task of feeding my fish. I employ a simple, screw on and off maneuver that distributes a fine layer of food without actually opening the container all the way. I was utilizing this technique, not accounting for heightened senses, muscle pressure error, fatigue, etc.. and dumped like half the fucking food container in the bowl. It's only a 3/4 gallon little bowl I got as a gift with the fish, so I figure that amount of food in a small space with a live fish won't keep overnight like that... it'll either die from too much salt in the water from all the food.. or it'll eat itself to death just like dumb fish do. I've left out important details.. the fish is a male betta I got from a friend for Christmas. I named him Floyd. The food is tetra bettamin I think. It's a bright almost fuschia color with white chunks peppering the surface. Upon consulting the container, I discovered the white chunks were tiny, brine shrimp.

I used a spoon to get as much food out as possible, but it was all falling to the bottom at that point and I was definitely going to have to clean it now.

Floyd's tiny brain was probably HAPPY-HUNGRY-TERRIFIED in that order before and after I cleaned it out.

I transferred Floyd to another container, and cranked on my kitchen's hot water, blasting the bowl to clean it out.

It takes awhile to heat up in this building, but when it gets there, it's hotter than hell and scalds at the touch. The water churns and when I turn the faucet off, the bowl looks like some gnarly snowglobe filled with bright red gobbets of flesh and chunks of bone flying around. Floyd was sitting in the transitional bowl on the kitchen counter right by the sink. (My kitchen is almost prison small.) The pressure and sound from the sink must have been deafening as he is ultra sensitive to even the slightest noises and gestures. Being in the state I was, senses heightened and slightly alien feeling myself, I didn't arrive at this thought until after a few minutes of sustained sink usage, which must have had all the subtlety of two planes crashing into two giant buildings on poor Floyd. I only thought of it because the sound was deafening to me at the time.

I moved him and returned to the bowl I was cleaning. The aforementioned snow gore-globe effect was still in motion and I could make out details on the white, little brine shrimp. I could see their limbs, suspended and somewhat outspread in the water, waving in macro representation of faux life with bright, red bits circling with, but slightly faster than them like tiny, crunchberry will o' the wisps.

There were thousands in there. I kept rinsing and emptying enough brine shrimp to fight a damned decent world war, if they chose to.. which would make me one lucky spectator. I could picture them, perfect little zombie killing machines, all the same size and color.. uniform, like organic stormtroopers with feathery, waving appendages, brandishing macro rifles.

It dawned on me halfway thru this rinsing that all my dishes are now and will be tomorrow encrusted with pet-grade seafood base and enough brine shrimp to fix an undead shrimp election. I'm too fucked at present to care though. I feel good.

The fish is fine by the way, that fucker has to have the PTSD of Rambo at this point, but he never lets it affect his appetite.

1111 is appearing increasingly and becoming more random lately.. the receipt total of the woman in front of me, the sorting code of random parcels at work, the time I receive a call, my car's mileage, a business' last four digits phone number.. all this week... alongside the already prevalent clock presence. Acceleration most certainly signals change. Perpetuity and increase of events means growth, evolution, complexity, nearing an end.

The old lady nightmare

Nightmare recounting for Saturday, January 30th.

I've been sick for about 3 weeks and haven't been drinking or anything else because I was experiencing phobia and became unable to differentiate between the effects of being under the influence and the symptoms of my headcold/inflammed/sinus infection/difficulty breathing. Also, I haven't taken melatonin for a few weeks, which I usually do nightly to increase REM and give me better rest. Last night I took 3mg melatonin with L-Theanine.

Setting: A city halfway composed of Portland and Anchorage in the Spring/Summertime. In the nightmare, there was this old, decrepit lady (I'm estimating between 85-95) I would visit and do favors for, like bring groceries, run errands, etc.. This old lady happened to be a butcher for some reason. Her apartment was located in the upstairs of an old building.. the bottom floor was her butcher shop/restaurant.

I was visiting with her and she said to me "You know how I'm always on the lookout for fresh meat.." I replied "yeah?". The next thing I know, I become dizzy and fall over unconscious. I awake groggy and standing upright, restrained at both wrists and ankles to a post or x-frame of sorts, similar to the S&M type. I am under the influence of some drug that has rendered my body paralyzed from the neck down so I can hear, speak and move my face, but nothing else. The woman has a tiny, teddy-bear style, black pomeranian that sits and watches me with rapt interest while all this is taking place. The old woman mumbles, telling me that she is going to cut me slowly, finally dismembering me and selling my meat and serving the meat to her customers, but first, she needs to remove my teeth. She produces a shiny metal, curved blade with a handle at both ends. It's essentially a U-shape with the middle curve utilized for cutting. I've seen similar tools used by clay sculptors to scoop out large, round sections of clay. She positions this tool under my top, frontmost teeth and applies leverage causing my front four teeth to break away in a soft, crumble as if they were made of wax. It happens so fast and seems so strange that it doesn't even hurt at first, but then a wave of the most intense pain I've ever felt washes over me along with copious amounts of blood, and I become enraged, crazed and nauseous at the same time.

The sudden and powerful rush of endorphins causes the paralytic effect of the drug to wear off at that instant, and though I'm still very weak, I grab her small, feeble, white haired head and twist it, using one hand under her fragile chin and grabbing a handful of waxy, white hair in a fist with the other. A dry, wrenching noise sounds, like someone noisily crunching a large piece of peanut brittle in a closed mouth... She makes a horrid broken up, keening moan and begins cursing me loudly, oaths of terrible violence and hate spewing from her mouth along with dentures and thick, clear, viscous saliva in shiny strings. Her speech devolves into garbled, screechy gibberish that is truly terrifying and I'm increasingly alarmed at her heightening, frenzied madness.

I feel weak and scared, and I think she'll grow stronger unless I finish her, so I slowly force my thumbs into her eyes, feeling them swell and pop, bluish gloppy slime, similar to her drool gushing out along with corded, grey fibrous tissue from the insides of her eyes.. all of it sloshes down my thumbs and her cheeks along with her impossibly bright blood. It looks like a colorful bit of Dale Chihuly glasswork creation that I might admire in a book or at a museum exhibit.

I feel my thumbs start to splinter and then pop through the delicate, eggshell-like layer of bone behind her eyes and into the warm, squirming brain beneath. The brain matter causes the skin of my thumbs to tingle and itch slightly.

Next, the scene just cuts to her apartment with blood everywhere. the dog is looking up at me as if nothing has happened. I fill his bowl with food, start to clean up and realize that no amount of cleaning will fix this. It was self defense, but who is going to possibly believe me? I decide to turn myself in. I go downstairs to exit through her butcher shop/restaurant and discover two patrons sitting at the counter waiting to be served.

One of the patrons is a woman who gapes at me in horror, and I look down and realize that my hands are covered with shiny blood and vitreous humour. The other patron, a man, is speaking in hushed tones to someone on a cellphone. "The police" I realize. I exit the building to a painfully bright, sunny day and this is when I wake up. It takes about 30 seconds of getting up, walking around before I realize that I don't have any reason to turn myself in because I haven't done anything after all.