Yea Forums post images and statements for me to look at and read before going to bed. I'll go to sleep in about 10 minutes from now. I set my alarm for 7:30 so I should get at least 6 hours of sleep, which should land me right in the middle of the 4th cycle of REM so right in the middle of a dream. I'll describe the sort of dream I had as soon as I wake up in the morning.
Yea Forums post images and statements for me to look at and read before going to bed...
Adam Evans
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Camden Morgan
Jack Russell
Picture a great white shark eating you head first, but once you're in it's tummy, you find that even though you've lost your legs, you can still tug that pud for one last yogurt slinging before you exit this mortal coil
Brandon Cruz
have a good sleep buddy, i hope you dream well. My day has been shit and I keep thinking about my crush's dead body, theirs something so beautiful about a dead body, limp,immobile, its no longer possessed by the soul;cold. I'd love her head resting in ahego state as if in ecstasy as she hung from a noose naked. I love her as person too, just something i've been thinking, I've never spoken to her but I can already imagine her precious delicate body naked hanging from a rope, so beautiful. pale cold cold cold rbone ribs cole smile at the unemotional dread no soul no soul body and ribs precious soft and cold
Carson Watson
Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.
Eli Young
>I don’t know, perhaps it’s a dream, all a dream, that would surprise me, I’ll wake, in the silence, and never sleep again, it will be I, or dream, dream again, dream of a silence, a dream silence, full of murmurs, I don’t know, that’s all words, never wake, all words, there’s nothing else, you must go on, that’s all I know, they’re going to stop, I know that well, I can feel it, they’re going to abandon me, it will be the silence, for a moment, a good few moments, or it will be mine, the lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts, it will be I, you must go on, I can't go on, you must go on, I’ll go on, you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know, I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on
Ryder Turner
Nathaniel Cox
Just dont wander into Yonia, senpai, although you'd have to be pretty determined to cross any of the portals discoverable in a Hypnagogic state, let alone those scarce portals permeable to males. For instance, there's a tunnel that appears immediately upon conjuring the correct sigil and this tunnel reeks with a pungence known only to lovers of morbidly obese women and perhaps poorly maintained health hazardous saunas, only these odors become geometrically more saturating as the tunnel is slick and foggy with "she-stench," some of us call it. Simple olfactory and gustatory measures such as these help to protect many such areas and Yonia is no different. The jokes you can make are pretty pedestrian, so har har, but the truth is, yes, some women smell bad, others smell gross, but it doesn't reduce our status as human beings and Yonia actually smells wonderful, like fresh bread mixed with nubile pheromones
Anthony Harris
I know I'm going to butcher saying this and end up sounding like an insensitive doofus, but if you are lucid dreaming and you come across archways or doors leading to Harlem Renaissance-contemporary poker games or dominoes, let alone musical performances, or even if you see the 1992 US men's basketball "Dream Team" practicing in a cloud-buttressed court otherwise open to infinite star fields, do not, I repeat, do not enter these places if you are of European descent. If you pause for a second to think this through carefully, your European heredity means African astral spaces will make little sense to you and may drive you insane. At the least, if you spend long enough with your consciousness projected into one of these spaces forged by African psychics, and you survive, you'll likely be unable to tolerate living in Europe. You will inexplicably seek out the dark continent, maddened by unquenchable quests, searching for a jungle's siren you may likely never find. Still, this sort of transformation is available to someone, but I caution against it, as few become conquerors and many more make the mistake of chasing a bouncing springbok or sprinting to an oasis around which strummed a distant drum beat, and quickly find themselves chased by a crowd of chalk-daubed visages that bark with great guttural gravity as each one flies past or directly through the face of your projected, and notably European, homunculus, often seeming to attempt to bite your psychic material with their ample jaws, emitting what modulated between an athletic event's hoot and post-pugilistic "Yeets," dripping in a postured baritone. Before long, one's whole field of vision would be occluded by a dense beam of these cephalic African spirits and animistic cohabitants, sensing the strange and foreign European entity and being momentarily fascinated, they understand plainly it's threatening, as most everything in Africa is inured to being threatened by Africa alone, and so it is no exercise or accident when psychogenic cannibals prey upon innocent European psychogenia that show up out of nowhere, fat, naive, used to comparatively idyllic and placid psychic spaces, and being so inured to that they present as an unwrapped chocolate bunny might to a clutch of children. Dumb or brave enough to withstand the onslaught long enough and the Watchers of Africanized astral spaces will eventually pull your homunculus' thoroughly gnawed upon orb out of the frenzy, as its a matter of pride and to see you perish would upset the balance of the already precarious extra-conscious realms. You'll be placed in a floating city festooned in aerial gardens that generate a dank nebulized ambrosia, which helps with the wait times for the lengthy administrative queue you'll find yourself restricted to as you await evaluation and arbitration by whichever pharaonic and sabaic elders are available that day, elders, who some speculate, are not, as is told to novices, human.
Brody Wood
Goodnight puppet
Camden Watson
If you can so surmount the trickery that is craft and trade to all successful psychonautical navigation to and from extraterrestrial psychogenia, some of the most strange secrets of the universe await you, much like the secrets of the Zone in Stalker. Apocryphal and difficult, there is little that is graceful about accessing exo-conscious spaces, the majority of which originate from psychic architects in completely different galaxies with physics older than our own. These spaces have only ever been discovered by accidents, the tricks of bold, clever Shamans who so comforted and calm in the grips of proprietary hallucinogenic elixirs they could climb to great heights, propel themselves on the throes of what would send most of us retreating to tripsitters and the fetal position. The valiant psychonaut may reach that same level as those Shamans who first found the Grey's "Ganymedean Gazebo," as we've come to call it, a glowing hexagonal prism that becomes accessible once you focus your third eye upon Ganymede's atmosphere, dissolving its Autostereogramic patterns into the fabled glowing Gazebo, which, maddeningly, has been documented as glowing a distinct color for nearly every psychonaut who has reached it, so if you do make it that far and were expecting neon orange and instead get hot pink, you haven't erred in your projection nor lucid dreaming. You found the strange entrance to the Grey's own, well, by all means proceed if you have a way with words and can describe it. Suffice to say, what helps explain what you see in there is a firm basis in the admittedly esoteric knowledge gained by a great deal of psychonautic exploration and adventure. You will need to not only greet the Machine Elves but parry wits with them, the whole court if need be along with the assembled stadium of derisive polyhedric rabble, take them all on and quiet them, or else flee and leave your Goddess-given psionics to rot. Few can best any psychic predicaments or mend mischief without a great deal of practice and rehearsal. Modernity has so degraded our psionic abilities that human psychogenia are like manatees fighting speed boats of more psionically nurtured and trained species. The psionic student will learn that many a trip, the best of them especially, are gobbled up and their won wisdom disappeared, devoured by jealous beings that loathe such knowledge being thieved by filthy humans. Leaving our beautiful planet Earth and becoming proximate and vaguely communicative with extraterrestrial species forces humans to confront yet more confounding revelations. For instance, most sentient forms react to our appearance with unbridled fury and disgust, some going so far as to learn our silly languages simply so they could say with all emphasis and no ambiguity that we are one among a predominant surplus of slave species seeded, most of which were grown by what we would call "machines," that had long ago extinguished their own flesh and blood progenitors. And that we're shit.
Hudson Hall
Gonna go to bed now I guess.
Read all your posts. Actually thought it was fairly interesting stuff despite having no idea what it was about most of the time. I'll try and take the advice given in it seriously on my journey tonite.
Dylan Ward
Landon Lee
I love you baby sweet dreams
Hunter Lee
My name is Charles.
Sleep tight
Kayden Myers
>Sony
>not something else
Faggot
Levi Wood
They were giving these away at CES 2018
Nolan Thompson
I DONT WANNA HEAR IT user
Levi Long
How come?
Jason Rivera
Ehhhhh I dunno. Did you wanna tell me why they were giving these away at CES 2018?
Andrew Murphy
You brought that up
Andrew Anderson
didn't really have any dreams, most i can remember is something random about business cycles that my brain made up, but I can't remember that either.
Noah Smith
I hate it when I don't dream, feels like I died inside.
Better luck next time OP.
Blake Young
Is this copypasta? This is the second time i have seen it posted.
Ryan Powell
Probably. A pretty entertaining one though at least.
Brayden Peterson
That's because you aren't sentient.
Christian Myers
I dreamed I crossed an ocean and waited for the waves to calm but they kept in their roaring. I felt afraid but realized I was safe. I saw things that I was sure to destroy me but understood that I was not to be one to be destroyed by myself. Still I felt fear. I closed my eyes for centuries and opened them again, waves roaring still. I prayed and calmed, and I was still. Calmness now roared, a peace rose and fell in swinging magnanimity, crashing inside itself, swelling again and sighing yes
yes
Here I begin, at the end of all things