2005-04-02 - 5:44 p.m.

The Pope is dead- but alive in my trippy-ass dreams

So very rarely am I what I had been prepared to expect.
Like today.
Like just now.
Like how the Pope died, and for years and years I was mad at him. I couldn't believe that he opposed Latin American Liberation Thelogy. I couldn't believe that he still opposed birth control in a world where children starve on the streets. I had other quarels with the Pope too- lots of 'em, in fact. When he began to get sick I thought "good riddance- maybe we'll finally get a liberal one!"
And yet today....
today I am profoundly sad. I pray for the Pope. I wish him well. Even though I never liked him, I always respected him.
And you want to know why I feel extra sad?
Last night I had a dream. I know it was a dream but it was SO REAL. In it I was sitting in some ornate Baroque room, talking to the Pope. I don't remember what exactly we said, but I got the distinct feeling that he was a nice guy. I felt very lucky talking to him. Then I realized I was dreaming and it all disolved. I was angry so I called to task the Sandman. You know- like in the comic book that I was reading right before bed? The tall, gothy fellow who lords over dreams? I turned to him and demanded to know why the Pope went away. I don't remember what he said but then I was either making out with him or thinking I was making out with him (you know how dreams go). If you aren't familiar with that comic you should know that having a dream about it earns me 2 Goth Points. The dream where I made out with Marilyn Manson earned me 3. I'm sure I have about 15 by now (the other 10 being earned by the fact that I wear Halloween costume jewelry on a regular basis, my propensity for eyeliner, the occasional recreational trip to a cemetary and the fact that I'm listening to The Sisters of Mercy right this second. I know that should probably add up to more than 15, but I lose a lot based on the fact that I hate fraternizing with goths, find the whole "scene" pretentious as fuck, no longer have any interest in suicide and have delightfully, chronicly unhip friends.)

Where was I before that rant? Oh, yeah- talking about my dreams. Annnyway, after the pointless makeout scene I went skiing on a mountain owned by the Powerpuff Girls. The problem was that since they can fly the roads leading up there were in a horrible state of disuse. I had a hard time getting up there in my little car and a few times I got stuck and had to sit in a snowbank while all the guys in Hummers passed me by. When I finally got to the top there were a lot of obnoxious frat boys. I saw my ex who reminded me that I hate skiing with a passion. He was right of course, so I went back down the hill. Then I locked myself in a room with 3 beds and masturbated.

A pretty typical night of dreams in my world, all things considered. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true. I dream more and more vividly than anyone else I know. The life behind my sleeping eyes is amazing.

The last thing I wrote before this thing. The next thing I wrote after this.