Posts Tagged ‘dreams’

A Dream About Eddie Kingston

February 22nd, 2014

The following is true in that I had a dream that featured pro wrestler Eddie Kingston and chose to write down the details of it in order to tweet it to him.

Eddie Kingston: a man who doesn't want to hear about your dreams

Eddie Kingston: a man who doesn’t want to hear about your dreams

 

A young Eddie Kingston quits high school and runs away because people are firing arrows at him.

 

He keeps running and soon he is in Southern California running down a gravel road. Sometimes he stops and hits the deck as a top-down convertible passes by aiming machine gun fire at him.

 

He continues to run like Forrest Gump in that jogging montage. A song is playing with vocals from a unknown vocalist. Eddie chimes in for a verse of the song, which turns out to be about him.

 

The untitled-so-we’ll-call-it “Ballad of Eddie Kingston” ends up being thirty minutes long and the second half of it is sung by Steve Perry of Journey. The “ballad” becomes a major hit and is praised for being, as this reviewer puts i,t “the ‘Alice’s Restaurant’ or ‘American Pie’ of contemporary Christian rock-pop.”

 

Eddie attempts to long-jump the first paved road he sees. It is a busy street with a median. He clears the median but lands on the hood of a moving car.

 

The song is adapted into a movie, as Eddie plays himself in a post-apocalyptic California trying to protect a family of three from top-down convertibles driven by atheist thugs who shoot the hashtag #justfacts into the open.  Damien Sandow has a cameo in the movie, dressed like Aladdin.

 

After the #justfacts drive-by, Eddie tells the family about his fall from faith. He talks about traveling across the country to half-heartedly tell schoolkids to worship Jesus and not do drugs. In his school lectures, he makes up a story about playing on the soccer team and trying pot for the first time while rehabbing for a leg injury.

 

I woke up after that.

I Fantasize That I Am Not Me

February 12th, 2014

What I am about to share with you is something I have never thought to share with anyone.

 

In my daydreams, I fantasize that I am not me. There is another me in my fantasies and that is the substitute for the real me. The distance between the real me and the not-real me is so wide.

 

I get it, Hollywood. I get why you cast good looking people in lead roles instead of normal or schlubby character actors. Maybe when we daydream, we don’t see ourselves as ourselves. We see ourselves as Bradley Cooper or Jennifer Lawrence or whoever. Nobody ever daydreamed of being Philip Seymour Hoffman (RIP).

 

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one. Maybe I’m the only one who has fantasies that I’m not me. No physical resemblance at all. I should ask a professional if this is normal. I hate looking at pictures of me. They don’t reflect what I see in myself, or what I want to imagine I am.

 

All the world is a stage. Nearly all of us are extras, which means nobody spent any time on us in makeup or wardrobe. What a gyp.

I’m Not Going To Enjoy This

March 22nd, 2012

You should know by now if you don’t already that I can be incredibly jealous. This is especially true as I’m a musician and live performer. I am jealous right now because Sleeper/Agent will be performing on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon in less than an hour as I write this.
I should say right here that I have no ill will towards Sleeper/Agent. Tony Smith once filled in for me for a song at a TVH show. Both Tony and Alex booked TVH at a now-defunct coffeehouse they worked at. Once upon a time, I went on Myspace and claimed that Justin Wilson ate school glue but that was many years ago and for all I know he’s recovered from that damning accusation.

 

But I am jealous of them right now. There are about four going on five Bowling Green-related bands I am jealous on in one way or another way. All of them formed after TVH did but all of them with far greater public acclaim. This band’s on Jimmy Fallon, that band’s on Conan, this other band’s on Letterman for the second time. How could I not be jealous of these bands a little bit? Can I be truly happy for them?

 

I don’t even know if it’s a matter of deserving anything or not. It’s certainly not that they don’t deserve it. I’m just jealous. I’m jealous of the bands playing those shows that aren’t from Bowling Green, too. I was jealous of that band Karmin that played Saturday Night Live. But there’s a sick tinge of guilt in my jealousy when the band on TV is a hometown outfit. A sick, sour tinge.

Some Dreams Are More Awesome Than Others

March 14th, 2012

Last night, I had a dream that in 1986, professional wrestler The Honky Tonk Man main evented a bout in Wembley Arena in England.

 

The Honky Tonk Man: Cool, Cocky & Bad

 

In my dream, this Elvis-impersonating bad guy would be in the main event of a wrestling supercard, facing off against an unlikely celebrity opponent. . .

 

Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this...

 

Yes, folks. I dreamt that the Honky Tonk Man had a wrestling match against Freddie Mercury, lead singer of Queen.

 

I would do anything if someone made a jpg of an old school wrestling poster with that on the bill. That would be amazeballs.

 

Also, you’re probably wondering who won the match between Honky and Freddie. The answer? All of us.

You Can’t Be Helped

April 3rd, 2011

No one is giving me any questions for “You Can’t Be Helped”, so I’m going to take questions from Yahoo Answers and instead of answering there, I’ll answer here because this is my website and I’m far better than Yahoo stupid Answers.

 

Conor asks: (btw, this is posted as typed on YA)

 

I had a dream where I died over and over again in gruesome ways (ripped to pices, boiled, alive broken down by acids, creepy things skinning me alive, ect.) The strange part is that before this dream I hadn’t dream t in 3 years. I keep a log and there is nothing in it. I (when I had dreams) at least remembered 6 or 7. Stranger yet is that I felt it all. I didn’t even awake for 36 hours. Is this lucid dreaming? Past lives? Whats going on?

 

Okay, Conor. If you were a reader of this website which I gather you are not, you will notice that I recently wrote a detailed description of a gruesome and violent dream I had.

 

For your sake, I want you to know there is no actual meaning to your dreams other than whatever you want to ascribe to them. They’re a bit like Pink Floyd lyrics. They can mean whatever you want.

 

Every song Blondie ever recorded was about ending world hunger.

That doesn’t mean your dreams mean anything, though. Basically, when you dream your subconscious finally gets to play and get lots of sun and have some fun in a safe environment. Most of our thoughts seem to go away whenever we have new ones, but they don’t really go away. They go into our subconscious and may crop up on occasion. We repress all our memories and thoughts, not even on purpose.

 

What happens in dreams is that everything in the brainpan goes splish-splash and clashes together crazily. All kinds of disconnected things that have nothing to do with each other end up in the same story and your mind tries to make it fit as a story. It’s not a story, it’s not a signal or a premonition. I’m sorry to tell you that if that’s what you hoped for. You are not a clairvoyant. Otherwise every dreamer would be one.

Writing To Ease The Tension

April 2nd, 2011

I wrote a new song very early this morning. Working title: “6th Fl., Rm. 7″. I like it enough to consider including it on the next Ky. Prophet album.

 

The title came to me in a disturbing dream I had the night before. The finale of the dream was that I was sent to my pod in a large, futuristic prison-entertainment complex. My pod was #7 on the sixth floor. It was a small room, reminds me now of when my family would go to visit my grandmother’s mother at the Roosevelt House. Small room, big enough for one person to live in. I’ll try to sketch the map of the complex in Paint later on.

 

The song has one note, played on an organ preset staccato to resemble the sound of a heart monitor like you would find in a hospital. The dream and the song have no other connection beyond the title. In the dream I am an inmate but in the song I’m a mental patient. I believe people will find this song disturbing once they hear it.

 

The dream I had the other night was very disturbing. It started with two people discovering a mass grave in an abandoned car lot. All of the bodies were individually wrapped in plastic tarps very tightly. The two men, one of which was a county deputy, kept pulling body after body out of this rotted hole in a small hill. Perhaps the hill wouldn’t have been there if not for the bodies. When you bury a body, you displace the ground that was there first so it looks like a lump when it’s finally packed in. The more bodies, the bigger the hump, I guess. Possibly as many as twenty dead bodies in this rotted hillside.

 

From there, I ended up in an office building engaged in a series of shootouts. I get shot in both sequences. The first time I’m a terrorist in a corporate office and I get filled with bullets from a machine gun. I could feel as I dreamt where the bullets landed. By the end of the first bit, I was riddled with bullets.

 

The second dream, I was in a back room of the same building and this time I was trying to stop a group of terrorists from entering the main office. There were seven of them against me. I picked off four of them before they finally killed me. This was a less gruesome death than the first one.

 

I was a passive observer in the first one, and the gunfights were cinema verite. But the last one was the strangest of all, as there was a figure meant to represent me but he didn’t look like me at all. He looks more like Jason Patric in the film Rush, but that is the one I identify as “me”. It is revealed that I have been strung along by a conniving prison warden who has decided he is tired of toying with me so he releases me back to my pod. The one on the sixth floor, pod #7.

 

When I go in, I see the warden sitting in a comfy chair across from three other people I don’t recognize.  At one point I see the warden open his mouth and out flies a set of pinchers/suction/digestion devices, long and stringy. He throws these from his mouth onto the man sitting in the chair across from him and uses these pinchers to take the man into his mouth whole. I run into the bathroom and cower behind the door afraid to see for myself what is happening but I can see the shadow on the wall where the man fights for life while his lower half is being eaten by the warden who has decided to return to his natural alien form. Eventually, the shadow gives up and dies.

No, I have not been taking melatonin.

Now That I’ve Introduced Myself, What’s Next?

February 27th, 2011

It is time to set the agenda for KyProphet.com

 

What is this place going to be? A clearing house for me and my ideas, rants, raves, reviews.

 

Actually, that sounds exactly like what the agenda should be. I guess we’re done here for now.

 

What do I want to accomplish with KyProphet.com? Isn’t it enough to “just want to do better?” I would h0pe so, but WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? What does it mean to “do better”?

 

I want this to be the place that my people come for updates about me and my many ventures. Also, I’d like to make some money. More money than I make now, which is not very much at the momentthanksfornothingGod.

 

I’d like to meet hot chicks that want to kick it with an awesome, mildly-socially-anxious writer-blogger-singer-announcer. Throw yourselves at me, don’t be ashamed. I won’t judge you to be sluts. You’re not sluts; you’re the farthest thing from slutty. You’re delivering to me a care package of vagina, and I will never talk down to or about you.

 

So in summary, I want to get laid and get paid, and I’d like people to attend events I’m working en masse. This is the American Dream, no matter where you go.

 

A mild correction: I want to get laid and get paid more. These are my hopes and dreams. Forget about long-term security.