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Post by thebossapplesauce on Apr 19, 2014 2:59:23 GMT
So, this is kind of creepy and I just had to share. In about a week from today, my grandma would be dead for one whole year, so I've been thinking about her a lot lately. When I think about her a lot during the day, I tend to have nightmares about her blaming me for her death, and it always ends with everybody blaming me and sending me to some place that's dark and cold and I'm all alone.
Last night, I had a dream that involved grandma in a different way. It seemed normal, kind of eery... in the dream, I got a phone call and it was grandma's old number that was on the caller ID. It gets really weird when I wake up, it turned out I missed a call from an unknown number while I was sleeping, but whoever it was left a voicemail. I called the voicemail and it was just static.
Just a coincidence? Or is grandma just trying to apologize for haunting me in my dreams in a not so nice way?
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Post by Geno Cuddy on May 20, 2017 20:33:28 GMT
Has anyone ever had a weird dream that was caused by eating either fermented or old food, I certainly have, I did a whole show on it. Let me know your thoughts and what strange hallucinations you've had.
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Post by thebossapplesauce on May 21, 2017 4:00:30 GMT
Yes and no. LOL. There's a type of sage known as salvia divinorum. and that is one that crosses a line between food and drug. Like magic mushrooms in herb form... I tried it a few months ago and I'm still thinking about the experience. I don't know if I traveled back in time or did some astral projection or what but it was some crazy shit that caused about three separate visions.
I don't remember much of the first vision other than I felt like I was super cold, as if I was naked in the snow. In the second one, I turned into a wolf of some sort and felt that I was lost so I started running and looking for help. The third one was most detailed... I was human again and joined by an Indian tribe and They were doing some ritual with music and I was playing a drum. After the ritual, they took me on a walk and I could feel all the energies of all the plants and trees around me. It somehow made me think Pocahontas/Colors Of The Wind.
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Post by Geno Cuddy on Mar 23, 2019 7:12:24 GMT
OK, so I had a dream earlier today, during one of my catnaps, that played out almost like an episode of the show. "On a sunny mid afternoon, a group of friends and myself head out to do some urban exploration, with our cameras. We make a pitstop at a convenience store to get batteries for our flashlights, snacks and drinks. While inside, I notice this eccentric older couple in doctor's garb. The man is balding, is wearing aviator glasses and has a brown handlebar mustache. The woman has short, brown curly hair, purple lipstick, and purple rimmed glasses. I thought they were kindof odd, almost not of this time period, but I had to get going so I wiped it from my mind and proceeded back to our four door minivan. We arrived at our destination, the old and abandoned Whitmore High School that had been vacant for over 30 years. It looked very run down, the lettering on the sign had fallen apart, the building over all was weathered and worn, and generally uncared for. The weeds were up to our calves and we had some hesitation about going forward. One of my friends told the rest of the group, "We came this far, we might as well proceed." We slowly approached the double door entrance, took a deep breath and entered the building. (At this point, CO.AG's "Cicada 3301" starts playing, Link below) We started looking around the place, it smelled very musty, and the floor was covered in dirt. We put on our respirators due to the high volume of black mold in the building, from years of water damage. Every step we took, all we heard was "Cicada" playing in our heads, our heavy breathing coming from our respirators and the occasional drip form the ceiling. As we looked around, aside from the effects of age, the school was virtually untouched with posters still hanging on the walls that had been there since the school shut down in the early 1990s. We walked past the trophy display, which still had all the trophies still inside, along with photos of the sports teams and plaques. We walked inside the classrooms and saw the desks and seats still arranged in rows of four, there were even still lessons on the chalkboards, even though the text had faded with time. I saw a flight of stairs heading towards the basement, so I called my friends over and we all traveled downstairs. As we got closer to the bottom of the stairs, we saw a light coming from the room off to the right. It was the only room in the building that still had working electricity. We walked though the room and saw all of these yearbooks scattered about. I then heard what I thought was someone crying. I turned the corner and there was a man, sitting on a couch, crying looking through a yearbook. I quietly signaled my friends over to see him. The man had long brown hair, glasses, stubble, a yellow shirt and green shorts on and was morbidly obese, he looked eighty despite the fact he was in his mid forties. I nervously approached him, and greeted him with a kind, "Hello." He looked up and saw us and asked what we were doing here. We told him we were urban explorers and had no intention of harming him or the property. I asked him, why he was crying. He looked at me, and gave a deep sigh before speaking. He proceeded to tell us a very haunting story. As he told us the tale, he grew more emotional. 'I was a student here at Whitmore High School, the last graduating class, back in 1991. For our senior trip, we got to go to Grand Canyon, I still remember the date, June 7, 1991. We loaded up the bus with all of our gear and we took off for Arizona. We were halfway there when our bus driver fell asleep at the wheel and veered of the road, and over a 50 story cliff. I heard the screaming of my peers as we went over, which was silenced as soon as we crashed. All I remember after that is the massive blaze of fire and smoke surrounding me, my accelerated heart beat and the bodies of my peers who had all died on impact, save for myself and two others. I managed to escape the wreck and reported the incident to the police. Due to the notoriety of the incident, Whitmore High shut down permanently in early 1992. Over the years, my mental state deteriorated, and I was ultimately diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I cried myself to sleep every night thinking about my friends who had died. It bothered me so much that I never got married. Every year, on the anniversary of the incident, I return to the school to look inside the yearbooks to see the photos of my friends, and to roam the halls trying to remember the good times. This is 28 years since it occurred and I haven't been able to recover.'He handed me the yearbook, and I leaved through it, seeing pictures of the dead staring back at me. He pointed out himself in the book, aside it was his name, Albert VanBeuren. He looked clean cut, thin and chiseled, an overall handsome young man, lightyears away from what he had eventually become. He told us, "I let myself go, pretty much after the incident, to you young boys I probably look as beaten down as the school." I held back tears as I saw the hurt and anguish in Al's face, he looked so much older, almost unrecognizable from his yearbook photo. He pointed out the other two who had managed to escape the wreck, a man and a woman. As I studied their faces, I remembered them. It was then that we heard footsteps approaching, we all grew tense as we thought it was the police coming to arrest us for trespassing. Instead, it was the old man and woman from the convenience store. They approached us and asked us what we were up to. We provided them the same explanation we gave Al. The old man smiled and introduced himself, "My name is Dr. Fredrick Willis and this is my wife Brenda". They saw Al looking through the yearbook and Dr. Willis had an annoyed look on his face. He looked at us and told us that we should vacate the premises before the police grow suspicious of the vehicle parked out front. The doctor and Brenda escorted us and Al upstairs, and out of the building. He told us to never come back. The rest of the group fled the scene, but before that I looked back and saw Dr. Willis scolding Albert and Brenda restrained Al to the ground while Dr. Willis injected him with a lethal amount of morphine, I heard Al scream at me to run and save myself, before letting out a loud yowl that could have awoken the dead. I ran to go help Al, but then he, Dr. Willis and Brenda faded to dust, which blew through the school. The school itself began fading away, the posters disintegrated, the walls crumbled, the trophies, tables and chairs turned to dust and soon enough, all there were, were the tall weeds and our van. (the ending music of the computer animated Tony De Peltrie plays over this sequence) Albert had died, and the school had faded from memory. I stood there looking at the barren land, shocked, saddened and stunned. I stood for almost five minutes, hearing nothing but the wind howl in the background and the occasional passing car. One of my group called out to me, "Geno get your ass over here before we get busted by the cops!". I took one last look, took a deep breath, slowly turned away and walked to the van. As we drove off, I looked up at where the school once stood, and I cried silently. My friends all consoled me and told me that Albert was at peace, and he was no longer hurting, he was with his friends now. I agreed and we left the scene." This dream was very sad and nightmarish. I could easily have imagined Fi being in my position in a potential season three or four episode of the show. It reminded me of a much darker version of "Eddie's Desk". I often dream cinematically, with all of the details being incredibly vivid. I used to be heavy in to dream analysis, not so much now, however I would love to have this one analyzed and dissected. What do you guys make of this one? CO.AG's "Cicada 3301" : www.youtube.com/watch?v=b73t9SLss8kTony De Peltrie Ending: youtu.be/yhzXHdGapDE
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