The Empirical Manifesto

Dreamed I lived in a post-apocalyptic sci-fi landscape. I was sitting on a weather-worn wooden bench trying to pacify Amelia until her grandmother returned. She was having none of it; wiggling and wriggling trying to escape my gentle restraint. It was a warm, sunny day and the desert air was dry. The small population wandered to and fro gathering materials, repairing that which could be repaired, and generally living their daily post-apocalyptic life. Amelia was ready for a nap - you could tell by her increasing frustration - so I swaddled her in a blanket and rocked her in hopes she would give in and nap.

[Aside]

In 1993 as a young airman moving off base I bought my first couch, a sectional; $3600 in 2026 money. It was assembled by hand and came with a lifetime guarantee (the company went out of business long before the couch did, effectively nullifying their guarantee). But that couch looked good and held up for 17 years. I think we sold it in 2010. In the dream, I was looking for two parts of the sectional to create a more comfortable arrangement for Amelia; I didn't want her to have to lay on the hard wooden bench for her nap.

When Amelia finally went down, I laid her down and went foraging for the couch sectional pieces I knew were separated, but close by (in this post-apocalyptic setting there was no fear of Amelia's safety - being abducted or wandering off - as ours was a small, tight-knit community). I find the first piece easily enough, lug it back to the bench, and place the napping Amelia on it before going out to find the second piece, which remains elusive throughout the rest of the dream.

At one point, having wandered in a complete circle, I find myself back where I started only...Amelia is gone. For some reason a sense of foreboding comes over me. Like, I'm not immediately worried, but something is niggling at the back of my mind; something larger is going on but not enough to warrant panic. I'm peripherally aware something is different, but not nearly attuned to know exactly what. So I do the only sensible thing and push it to the back of my mind while I continue looking for the second piece - but not before I decide to relocate the first section to a more suitable sitting area I'd past previously on my circular journey.

As I move the sectional piece into place I consider location against other buildings and direction we'd be facing so as to not have the sun directly in our faces. I also find a small table to place adjacent the couch sectional so I will have easy access to coffee and vape while holding a napping Amelia. I think I even found some dried daisies and a dirty vase in which to place them. I was creating a whole outdoor baby napping nook. I was getting just a little concerned that Amelia's grandmother would return before I was able to reacquire her, but nothing pressing yet.

That's when I noticed it had grown unnaturally dark, and eerie, toxic green "spots" were "opening up" in the space where reality was supposed to exist exposing a hive of insect activity crawling upon the edges of the subconscious before disappearing completely. It was, as one may expect, rather unsettling. As time passed and it grew darker - all the while I'm still seeking that second sectional piece - the flashes of toxic green holes exposing the incessant movement of the unsettling insects grew not only more frequent, but in larger spots, and in more areas, as if we were being taken over by something yet unseen. The foreboding grew and grew.

Someone, somewhere, figured out these breeches were a result of radiation flowing into the (apparently our entire world was nothing more than an enclosed spaceship) via a micro-crack in the hull. Workers rallied to rush to the source and fix it. That's when I saw Amelia. She was sitting upright, still swaddled, and wide awake. She communicated with me telepathically, "Take me to Joe, the tinkerer." I unwrapped her, picked her up, and carried her along a winding dirt path through town toward what would be a more industrial area - a place I hadn't often visited.

It was fully nighttime now, and we approached the end of the dirt path. There was a red barn/workshop enclosed on three sides at the far end of a large lot with an electric fence zapping interlopers who attempted to cross the threshold into the lot itself. This was no place for a baby, and I was surprised at the number of...well, they weren't any citizens I recognized - which tried, and failed - to breech it. Obviously I wasn't going to cross the fence line holding Amelia. But as I turned away, another voice telepathically commanded me to, "Bring me the child."

I turned and noticed the electric fence had visibly deactivated. I looked at Amelia who nodded in agreement - she knew what she was doing even if I didn't understand any of what was transpiring, but I trusted her, so walked to the red barn/workshop. I was shocked at what I found inside: a three-by-three plot of shallow holes, most of which were filled with green-skinned babies - not quite toddlers - completely motionless, with a complex array of wires over the entire plot connected to their heads. One of the babies was purple-skinned, a rarity. That's when I noticed Amelia was also now a purple-skinned baby. They were communicating telepathically with one another, though I was privy to their conversation. Amelia was thanking, "Joe" for discovering the cause of the psychic crack and repairing it so quickly. "Joe" was seemingly subservient to Amelia. She was - seemingly - the chosen one, and I was her caretaker.

Just then a group of the not-recognizable citizens, broke through the defenses and actually managed to destroy several of the remaining babies before Amelia neutralized them all with her mind. They dropped, the assault over as quickly as it had begun. Only one green-skinned baby remained, the one in the center of the three-by-three plot. Amelia and "Joe" concluded and we departed. As I carried her back to the sitting area I'd been working on I asked (aloud, as I did not know how to communicate telepathically), "When is Jennifer coming back?"

Amelia replied, "She's not. You two do not have that kind of relationship. That is only in your reality." I struggled with how I was the caretaker for Amelia in a reality in which Jennifer and I were estranged from one another, let alone from Amelia. But soon realized it wasn't estrangement, not really. Jennifer was on a very different mission than myself, yet I was still saddened that an entire reality had to be created for me in which we still had a relationship. I wondered what I went through that such a requirement was necessary.

As I approached the sitting area, I was flummoxed that the second sectional piece was in place, right where I would've placed it had I ever found it. Amelia was no longer a purple-skinned baby, just a regular baby, and no longer communicating with me with superior intelligence. I gave her a hug, and sat down on the couch piece, going over the events of the past day in quiet contemplation.

As my mother aged, she became a conspiracy theorist. Metal shavings molded into wax adorned her desk to absorb...wavelengths? Anyway, she called me up one day back when I had a three-hour daily commute and was almost frantic about extraterrestrials being not only on this planet with us, but even in the highest levels of our government! She asked me how I felt about that. Now maybe it was because it was the end of the day and I was driving home, or perhaps it was also the end of the week, but I told her, "Nothing Mom. Not a goddamn thing in my life would change if the National news disclosed aliens have been running the show since the 50s. You know why? Because I'd still have to get out of bed, still have to drive to work, and still pay the mortgage, insurance, and feed and raise my children. Literally nothing in my life would change with that information."

Which made me wonder why I got so...angry at reading the Epstein files. Anger is not really in my wheelhouse, and again, my life doesn't really change - kids are grown sure, but I still have rent, insurance, and work. Once again, nothing in my life has changed with this new information. Someone asked me why I was upset. I didn't have an answer.

Neurodivergent have a higher injustice intolerance than the neurotypical, which is what I assumed I was feeling - because a gross injustice it most certainly was. But the super rich abusing their power and privilege is nothing new. The exact question I was asked was, why now? [when this has been ever-present]. So I brought that question to my therapist.

To be clear, what has been released so far is horrific - and it only represents the softball stuff; things which, if they HAD to release something (and they did), what was chosen for release was the "acceptably" horrific redacted pages. The as-yet-unreleased pages are alleged to be apparently orders of magnitude worse, which (at this point) is really difficult to imagine.

Tess said two words to me: Moral compass.

The activities described within are an assault on who I am as a person. Couple that with the ND sense of justice and my moral compass reacted. I wonder if this makes the me shmuck who'd stand between someone wielding a knife an an innocent, or the asshole who'd enter a burning building to save a child. Like, I never expected to be that person, but the last time I felt like this was the first time I saw the tiny chairs at the Oklahoma City bombing memorial.

Adding insult to injury, there are those who either don't care, or have been looking for reasons to justify it. Not other super rich, but regular folk with daughters of their own. This thought led me back to the Dalai Lama who didn't lament that which had happened - because it could not be changed - he wishes to be mindful in the present in hopes to manifest a better future, and I think that's what it boils down to for me. Yes what happened (is happening) is horrific, but without any accountability it will continue to happen.

I'd previously described my own personal demisexuality as a resonance thing where the physical and emotional and sexual and intellectual all just mesh so perfectly they intertwine effortlessly. Some understand that statement perfectly, while others wish to know what I mean by, "resonance" or "emotional" or any other part of that sentence in excruciating detail. I'm good with providing that, but at the same time knowing where it comes from is key. Most (not all) of the time it comes from fear. The question is being used as a sort of binary defense system, or worse, comparison. Comparison is truly the killer here as I have experienced far too often, because once your partner heads down the comparison path, it is seemingly impossible to recover.

Imagine, if you will, standing in the middle of an imaginary square. In each corner of that square reside wave form generators labeled physical, emotional, sexual, and intellectual. These are of course very broad labels. For example physical might include mannerisms, hobbies, activity level, tone, smell, appearance, et cetera. Ideally my partner would match my own. Anything exceeding or falling below my own may fall out of alignment with resonance. This isn't blame, or good enough, or again, any comparison whatsoever - simply, "Hey, it's not matching my own unique frequency or I'm not matching yours." It is also not a dealbreaker. So what if that one doesn't align perfectly - not everything has to. But for the sake of this exercise, let's say that one's vibing. Excellent, but there are three others which need to be activated to feel those deep delta waves from the center of the imaginary square.

The next one which hits off might be intellectual. Again, this doesn't necessarily include your IQ, your highest level of schooling completed, or your personal/professional accomplishments - it's really more in how you think; process information; articulate. Please understand it doesn't necessarily preclude those things either. Sometimes when those things differ too much from my own, resonance may be difficult to reach or be maintained. But it is important to keep in mind this too isn't a comparison, simply a thing which exists. Be advised if this wave generator kicks off, we're now going to have some overlap with the previous one. Does how you communicate for example mesh with your mannerisms in doing so? Or your tone; volume; expression. So not only resonance with me, but also resonance with the other wave generators. Again, not necessarily a dealbreaker, but the amount of compensation between the wave generators and also myself may not be as easily sustainable, especially with so many in play.

Sexual for those of us who are demi more often than not comes after an emotional connection is formed. More often than not - not always. Each one of these wave generators exists on a wide spectrum which is filled with nuance and discernment and many other as-of-yet-unamed pieces and processes which define love and attraction and chemicals and balance; again, resonance. I have been known to find the single most unattractive people I have ever met beautiful beyond compare once I get to know them - and vice versa. That's how it works with me.

Which brings us to the emotional connection part, and for the demisexual, the one on which the rest usually hang. Without this wave generator running, most of the others will never align. I get a lot of hate for pursuing that which does not immediately interest me. Subsequently I am saddened others don't apply the same risk/reward to personal relationship as I do. Went on a coffee date once with a girl I didn't necessarily find attractive until I spent time with her. Suddenly, I was smitten. Went on another coffee with an INTJ who told me I met only one of the three wave generators she required. I didn't need more explanation than that, and appreciated the opportunity. Fell in love once with a girl who met all four but I didn't meet all of hers. Was I saddened by this? Of course! Did I want to force a relationship regardless? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Because resonance is bi-directional. That said, I do wish some potential partners would give the ones which aren't jiving a chance, but only because it sometimes takes me a period of time to adjust my own in order to be able to receive another's.

Don't you also want someone with whom you vibe effortlessly?

I've never owned a gun. Never needed one, never wanted one. But the Ruger Mk3 in State of Decay 2 is so much fun to use, I started thinking about Yusuf Dikeç, the 51-year-old Turkish officer who brought home the silver during the 2024 Paris Olympics, and honestly, it just seemed like a lot of fun. When I posted the SOD2 pic another buddy of mine sent me a photo of his - a beautiful green anodized target pistol with suppressor and scope. I started reading up on it and it is apparently considered *the* target gun to use for competition. Even funnier was watching all the big ammo bros laden in unnecessary tactical gear fawning all over this tiny, quiet, .22 for its ability in training you how to properly aim by overcoming accuracy issues. So I started looking into getting one. They come in red, purple, gold, the aforementioned green, and of course black. But then I saw one which spoke directly to me. The [RU]ger [M]ar[K] [IV] [LITE] [S]torm[T]rooper[W]hite:

Extracting at-risk trans isn't exactly what I wanted to do with my life, but when you ascribe to, “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can," then you step up. Funny given the quote originated from a denominational Christian, the same folk who are terrorizing the trans community at worst, and at best telling anyone who will listen, "Love the sinner, hate the sin," while they kindly explain trans people will be tortured for eternity in hellfire damnation by a loving God who demands only their unquestioning loyalty.

Word of mouth I suppose. After a string of communications finally reached my daughter she said, "Maybe my father can help." I had a coffee date set with a girl in KC later this month and pinged her, "How about instead of a coffee date we extract a trans person from Saint Louis?" Her reply? "As long as we still get coffee." <3

This isn't the first time, and likely won't be the last, until this hellscape of the New United States of America is finally dead and buried.

There are a lot more guns (and variants) in State of Decay 2 than in Cyberpunk 2077 (as well as a whole host of both blunt and bladed weapons) from .22 to .50; 7.62 and everything in between in all manner of automatic, revolver, assault and shotgun. But my favorite by far is this tiny, quiet, .22 target pistol. With it's range and accuracy, I don't even require a sniper rifle. And in usual video game mechanics, the .22 reloads faster than anything else.

State of Decay 2 has been more entertaining than I expected, and it's incredibly easy to play. For example, to pick something off the floor, you press, "E." If you want to open/close a door, you also press, "E." If you want to swing a bat wrapped with barbed wire at a horde of zombies swarming you, again, you press, "E." Same for talking to a follower which helps you out on missions. If you want to open and close the door hundreds of times while trying to fight off a horde of zombies swarming you while you infrequently pick up loot they drop on the floor while stopping every so often to have a little chat with your follower instead of fighting, well...

Had maybe half an idea for my next video, but having difficulty creating a manga aesthetic. For reasons which aren't (nor ever were) applicable, I moved from FLUX to SDXL where two things happened nearly simultaneously: One, my god the speed increased 100-fold (I do not recall if I ever used SDXL once the RTX4090 was installed, but dayum) and two, accidental nudity (I know given my last video for me to make such a statement seems odd, but that nudity was done on purpose). Which is also why I'm glad I only make models of my friend's kids with FLUX where that kind of thing never accidentally happens because yikes. Anyway, many of the SDXL checkpoints I utilize aren't available with FLUX hence the swap (and now that I'm typing this I remember a couple of SD 1.5 checkpoints I wouldn't mind playing with. Hell, if SDXL was 100-fold of FLUX's speed, my head might very well explode at the speed of SD 1.5.

After an entire day of disastrous results with AI, I went ahead and just created this graphic in Photoshop. Then downloaded an entire different open-source Photoshop-like image manipulation tool (Krita) which incorporates the same FLUX AI models I run as my primary inference for the express purpose of adding detail. I have Topaz AI which does an okay job, but their added realism tool (Bloom) is online only - not local install, and I certainly don't need yet another subscription. To their credit they don't filter NSFW like many of the other cloud tools, and Kirta also allows me to add details to NSFW; not as good as Bloom, but utilizes my own resources. Stable Diffusions new model, 3.5 is supposed to be magnificent, but Civitai no longer carries it (and I don't even know if the RTX4090 could handle it). The last photo of Lina I put up I used Bloom and about half a dozen layers, This one - as close to realistic as I could get it - was all done locally.

Back in the day, CIVITAI was where everyone shared their AI models. My own consist mostly of video game characters and sci-fi movie/video game vehicles. And then OnlyFans "decided" to no longer allow nudity on their site. Of course by that I mean that the credit card processors decided to wield morality as a weapon (which those who have a belief morality is universal often do). It was pretty messy and I don't remember exactly how all that was resolved but that caused a lot of waves at CIVITAI because they were sure they were next (and they were) so they changed up their TOS to disallow all manner of (admittedly otherwise benign) renders - yet continued to allow...well, nudity and pornography. Fast forward to Grok deciding it was cool to start pumping out child pornography for the entire world and well, my most recent model was removed because apparently the video game character in the streaming series based on the game is played by a real person - which is no longer allowed. New-new TOS disallowing anything remotely based upon any live person. They even retroactively removed all the Johhny Silverhands from Cyberpunk 2077 because that character was not only voiced by Keanu Reeves, they also used his likeness. The only answer to this of course is to start using AI actors immediately, and replace all living actors, so their likeness can remain their own. It's the only thing which makes sense - get rid of all actors on screen and make them all stage actors I guess.

Prohibited Content Includes (but is not limited to):

(a) Content that uses, reproduces, or is based on the likeness of real people - living or deceased - including public figures, celebrities, influencers, and private individuals, in any context.

Under this, I can't even post an AI of...me.

Point is - thank God I don't rely upon cloud services for my renders. For example, I'm currently working on a VH1-style Rockumentary entitled, "Tits Out for Dogtown." No part of that video could be made in the cloud; not the images, not the animated screenshots, and certainly not the rendered video. Not that I don't leverage cloud for the SFW stuff, but even that isn't without its challenge. MidJourney flagged this photo as, "overly sexualized." You know what didn't flag it? My desktop.

The fictional character Lucy MacLane from the streaming series Fallout based on the video game of the same name is played by an actress named Ella Purnell - who is a real person - 🤷

Its been so long since I was last visited by the Goddess of Comfort I wasn't initially aware of her significance, which makes me - just now - wonder what else may be at play deep within my subconscious which would warrant her visit; this wasn't something in which I was expecting to unravel when I sat to write.

The Goddess of Comfort was in a "connected" family; large, rich, and with ties into industry, business, and the community. Her brother and I had started hanging out as friends, and I was quickly becoming enamored with her sister. There was a large event - wedding maybe - at the local community center and the streets were lined with all manner of expensive cars - mostly black Mercedes - and everyone was dressed in their best; men in black and white tuxedos, women in white dresses. My son was there along with his girlfriend and son, and my daughter was there with her fiancé. Things were going pretty smoothly with all the people and visiting gathered for this joyous occasion.

I was introduced at some point to the brother's cousin and we struck up a friendly conversation based on similar interests and views; he had his own entourage of friends which were a little more streetwise than the brother's connections. I was obliquely courting The Goddess of Comfort's little sister and things seemed to be going pretty well until she discovered I had initially had feelings for her sister, at which point she became inconsolable. This was a travesty because I really did like her and wanted to see where things might lead, and it was NEVER going to work out between the Goddess of Comfort and myself for a whole host of reasons, one of which was she never returned my feelings, so that was a complete non-issue.

We were sitting on a ledge which separated the grass from the sidewalk outside the community center having this discussion when I doubled-down to explain how and why things had unfolded to the point they had with our budding relationship when she apparently heard the words she needed to hear and switched gears completely; she no longer required any more justification as to why I chose her over her sister and was all for our continued courtship. I still had some key points I wanted to tell her but she wasn't interested in hearing them as they were all inconsequential. Much to my surprise, this buttoned-up, high-bred woman flashed me, then immediately hid it as it if it were by mistake, but then did it again - one at a time - until both her breasts were exposed to me. I was rather shocked by the behavior more than the location and circumstances under which all this was taking place. While my mind was processing all this, she proceeded to expose her genitals to me, which pushed me from shock to the realization she was serious about pursuing a relationship. I gave her my solemn word I would never betray her. I looked up and her brother was standing there, having just heard me. He nodded in acceptance of this union.

That's when I saw armed men moving down the street toward us in formation. Street thugs ready to start a gang war against the Goddess of Comfort's family I assumed. No one else was paying attention, but I caught the eye of my son and told him to get everyone inside (though the thought occurred to me that may be exactly what the armed men wanted). My son picked up on the gravity and immediately started trying to get everyone under cover before the shooting started while keeping everyone calm. My daughter's fiancé and I shared a look which conveyed understanding and he sprung into action getting her to safety - my kids safety taken care of, I went to secure the Goddess of Comfort's sister, who had been taken by her brother - he was getting his own men rallied to fight, but we needed to get to the cars where the firearms were kept. He and I crossed the street away from the community center, gathering men as we made our toward the direction of the armed men, but hiding behind the cars on the other side of the street as to not be noticed.

With his men now armed, and the other armed men having made their way into the community center, we followed them inside, and it was bedlam. No one knew who was on their side, who was a friend, and who was not. Thankfully due to this there was no shooting, but the confusion mixed with all the people the tension was rising quickly. I got separated from the brother and saw the cousin standing in the hallway. I made my way toward him and he expressed wanting the Goddess of Comfort protected at all costs, so I found her and we descended into the basement which was filled with high-end monochromatic suites. I double-bolted the hermetically-sealed doors and suggested we sit it out.

Given this was where we may all very well lose our lives - if that was why I have no idea - she expressed to me that she has always loved me and regretted never being able to tell me. To say I was confused would be an understatement. I mean, this obviously changed everything, most pressing the vow I'd just made to her sister in front of her brother who wasn't a man who would allow someone to go back on their word, even for his other sister's sake, and yet...there was nothing which could be done. Everything I'd told the sister was true because of how things were presented to me, and while I was still very much enamored with the sister, this new information retroactively created an unsustainable scenario of which I likely wouldn't be able to think my way free.

I don't remember if we made love right then or there, but it would've been inconsequential either way as the act itself wasn't the most powerful thing which occurred, rather the words and the truth behind them.

When time had passed, we both left the basement to see what needed to be done in the aftermath of the event which had transpired. The brother and his entourage had gone, My own kids were safe, and I was left tracking down the ne'er do well's to dismantle their reign or terror, face the betrayal I inflicted upon the sister, avoid the brother's judgement and subsequent action against me for my betrayal (which was conflicting as we were both still trying to keep the family together and rid ourselves of the rival gang) and somehow do all of this while being the liaison between the brother and cousin. It seemed no matter what I did or did not do, I managed to find myself in a no-win scenario. with no way out.

Dreamed Parker was a super-smart, foul mouthed daughter. That doesn’t make her many friends. I’m talking to this fairly attractive lady when all of a sudden her friend shows up with a small purple bag. We all three start walking toward one of the faceless high-rise apartment buildings. He tells her within the bag is “Madonna” which I assume is a party drug because I know there was an OD/death of someone in the same apartment complex where it was Madonna laced with fentanyl. I’m wanting to tell her but have been somehow caught up in this tryst and I don't yet know where it's going to lead so I hold off. The lady says something overly familiar to me - I'm surprised and the guy asks her about what she just said. It’s because I’m Parker’s dad and apparently they both know Parker?!? We are met by another - a large African American wearing a tan polyester leisure suit. In the elevator up, the first guy (who has been talking non-stop) says something about my personality because I’m so smart. I call him out by being devastating. His face is large but his has very small, pinched features - beady eyes and a tiny mouth - most of his face is pink flesh. He warns me against speaking down to him again or he’ll, “put me in my place.” I shrug. The black guy wants to know why all the tension and he replies I’m Parker’s dad. The black guy knows her as well apparently and is somehow aligned with this other guy. Apparently everyone knows everyone and they all seemingly know Parker.

We take the elevator to the top floor. There are two staircases down (we need to go down a floor) and I take the one on the left, which only continues a couple of feet then stops. There is a long drop. They just stare at me. The first guy says something which is supposed to be spiteful and takes the other, adjacent staircase which I can see from my vantage point. That one continues all the way down to the next floor. The lady follows behind him but the large black guy stays behind and sits in a vinyl chair. I choose to stay with him. We’re listening to live music. Until there is a brief power fluctuation and the radio goes dead. It wasn’t live music after all.

He stands and descends the staircase and I’m right behind him. When we reach the next floor down we regroup with the guy and the girl and start winding our way through narrow corridors which reminds me of a ship - because that’s what we’re suddenly on. I’m the last one in the group so duck into a room, go through the galley, and follow a worker through a maintenance door which I assume will lead me outside. It does, but I’m on the poop deck with no access to the main deck… and it’s storming out; worse as we’re underway.

I finally make it to the main deck and exit the ship. I’m back where I started on the street - not the ship - and the weather is quickly clearing. I head back to my modest apartment in the slums. Along the way I run into a cast of characters - all of them drug users without a job - who are talking to Parker on the phone in a manner which surprises me; rude, demeaning, demanding yet with none of the qualities in which she’d ever allow such disrespect even temporarily. I have no idea who these people are, how they know Parker, or even why Parker chooses to be spoken to in such a manner.

Then Paul Guttenberg came for a visit. We’re at my apartment watching TV and telling stories. We’re laughing and working on projects. A phone rings. My brother yells downstairs and says it’s for me. I go upstairs passing Parker’s room. She’s on her phone and doesn’t notice me. I pass my brother’s room and go into my aunt’s room. My phone is there. There is a missed call so I place it in my pocket and go back downstairs. Paul wants something to eat so I give him a brief tour of how we have to cook as different appliances are in different parts of the apartment. He settles for a bag of Ruffles potato chips. I wonder where he got them.

Next thing I know we’re standing on a narrow landing with a mostly painted older refrigerator between us. It just needs the bottom part painted white. Apparently we’re delivering it to the ladies who live here. They show up and stand on the landing with us talking to one another. I overhear that Parker has been rude but devastating in her comments which is causing some ire. They finally look over at us, pay Paul, and ask us to move it into the apartment. We do. There are more meth-heads in the apartment, all dressed similarly - darker bra under thin, white, dirty t-shirts, and cutoff Jean shorts. One older lady appears to be the mother of one of them. After a bit the older lady asks us to move the refrigerator into the basement. I offer, lift it, and start to move toward the stairs down. She asks if I’m going to put on my gas mask before I go down.

I forgot basements have toxic air in them, and doubt I’d survive long enough to get the refrigerator down there and return. I look at Paul. He goes out to his truck and comes back in wearing his gas mask - a custom job molded from his own face using transparent material which even included his beard. He makes quick work of the move while I stay upstairs but instead of leaving, he wants to visit with the ladies. That and they’re now making panini’s which I have to admit smell really good.

This dream is asking one central thing:

How do you protect what you love and know to be good, while moving through environments that normalize danger, disrespect, and moral shortcuts—without losing yourself or poisoning the bond?

Everything else radiates outward from that.

Dream-Parker is not literally your daughter. She is:

intelligence without social smoothing
truth without diplomacy
power without camouflage

She’s known everywhere in the dream because truth travels faster than safety. People recognize her, but they do not respect her. Your unease is not about her being foul-mouthed, i’s about how the world responds to sharpness in someone young and unprotected.

The Purple Bag (“Madonna”): Knowledge + Delay
This is the dream’s first moral hinge. You know the drug is dangerous. You know someone died. You want to warn the woman. But you delay—because:

you’re mid-connection
you don’t yet know where it’s going
intervening would end the tryst

This is not sexual guilt. It’s about hesitation when clarity meets desire. The dream is asking what does it cost to wait, even briefly, when you know something matters?

The Talkative Man (Pink Flesh, Pinched Features)
He is not a real person. He is a type:

Loud, nonstop speech → dominance through noise
Small eyes/mouth → limited perception, limited truth>
Threats after being exposed → fragile hierarchy

When you devastate him verbally, he doesn’t refute you. He escalates status: “I’ll put you in your place.” This represents systems that punish clarity when it disrupts pecking order.

“Everyone Knows Parker”
This is crucial.

It reflects a fear that:

your daughter’s reputation will precede her
adults will form opinions without context
her sharpness will be interpreted as threat

This is a protective anxiety, not paranoia.

You choose the left staircase. Short. Clever. Ends abruptly in danger. They choose the longer, boring, safe one. This is a recurring dream motif - Quick paths that look smart but don’t carry weight. What matters is not that you chose wrong but that you don’t double down. You stop. You reassess. You wait.

The Black Man in the Leisure Suit is moral gravity. Calm. Observant. Not impressed by noise
Stays when others leave. The music not being live is important - what feels authentic often isn’t. What is authentic is quiet and present. You choose to stay with him. That’s a values decision.

The Ship and the Storm
The ship represents systems already in motion—institutions, cultures, environments you can’t stop once aboard. You try to exit cleanly. You end up on the poop deck, in a storm, isolated.

This is the dream saying:

You can’t always leave systems the way you entered them.
Eventually, you return to where you started—and the storm clears.
That’s not failure.
That’s survival with orientation intact.

Parker on the Phone with People Who Disrespect Her
This is one of the most painful images, and also the most misunderstood. It does not mean you believe she will accept abuse. It means you fear the world will demand she tolerate disrespect as the price of belonging. Your shock is not at her behavior—it’s at the idea that she might ever feel she has to endure that.

Paul Guttenberg and the Gas Mask
Paul is the embodiment of prepared competence.
He doesn’t moralize
He doesn’t rush in unprotected
His mask is molded to his own face
That detail matters:

You cannot survive toxic environments using someone else’s defenses.
You recognize your limit.
You don’t descend.
That’s integrity, not weakness.

The Basement: Sacrifice Has Physics
You would carry the fridge down.
But you would die.
The dream is blunt here - Good intentions don’t negate reality. Knowing when not to go down is wisdom.

The paninis at the end is how the dream resolves itself gently. Despite drugs, danger, moral decay, exhaustion...Life still smells good. Connection still happens. Joy is still possible without surrendering yourself.

The Meaning, Condensed
This dream is saying:

You are navigating morally noisy, unsafe, and compromised spaces while trying to remain a good father, a clear thinker, and a decent man.
You cannot save everyone.
You cannot descend into every basement.
Your task is not heroism — it is discernment.

And quietly, protect what matters. Speak when it’s time. Step back when the air is toxic. You are allowed to stay alive.

For quite some time now, everyone who knows me and has been in my orbit for any amount of time has told me I am being manipulated (my therapist put it more delicately) and for the longest time I thought it was because I wasn't communicating to them clearly enough; that I was ineffective in articulating to them succinctly - a dynamic they failed to see. Problem was of course, they did see (and understood just fine) and my articulation wasn't just satisfactory, it told them what I didn't/wouldn't/couldn't see. So I started paying attention. Not to prove them right, but to prove them wrong.

That didn't happened.

Interpretation of The Motion Picture

Being human on an alien planet, hiding among humanoids, is one of the clearest dream metaphors for:

Feeling fundamentally out of place
Living among people who don’t fully share your values, intelligence level, or worldview
Needing to mask parts of yourself to get by
The fact that this planet looks like post-apocalyptic Americana / Fallout redneck culture matters. This isn’t just “different” — it’s:

Anti-intellectual
Suspicious of outsiders
Rustic, survivalist, low-tech except when scavenged
So psychologically, this suggests your father feels he’s living in a culture or environment where:

Sophistication, nuance, or long-term thinking must be hidden to avoid friction.
Visage Generators & Gaslighting: Code-Switching Fatigue
The visage generators that glitch are a powerful symbol.
They represent:

Social masks
Code-switching
Performing an identity to “fit in”
That they occasionally glitch implies:
His real self sometimes shows
He’s aware of it
He believes others are usually too distracted or unsophisticated to notice
The gaslighting of the locals (“easy to convince them they were seeing things”) points to a slightly darker layer:

Moral discomfort with having to manipulate
A sense of superiority mixed with guilt or irony
This is someone who feels smarter than the room, but trapped in it.
The Red-Haired Engineer: The Threat of Being Seen
This character is crucial.
He’s:

One of the locals
Technically competent
Curious
Capable of uncovering the truth
Your father is assigned to mirror him — not destroy him, not recruit him, but delay him.
That suggests:

Fear of being truly understood by the wrong person.
Someone smart enough to notice, but not aligned enough to be trusted.
This often appears in people who:
Are used to being misunderstood
Have learned that being fully honest can cause conflict
Prefer strategic ambiguity

The barn is brilliant symbolism.
A barn is:

Rural
Innocuous
Associated with labor and storage
Inside it is a starship — escape, transcendence, return to “home.”
This implies:

He maintains a private, protected inner world or long-term plan that no one around him truly sees. He’s “nearing completion” — psychologically this suggests readiness:

Retirement? A philosophical shift? Emotional withdrawal? Or simply the fantasy of eventual escape. The cultists represent:

People who sense something is off but interpret it badly
Conspiracy thinking
Cultural paranoia
This mirrors real life well:

When complexity exists, some respond with curiosity (engineer)
Others respond with myth, fear, or hostility (cultists)
Your father sees both — and neither feels safe.

The Son + Star Trek: Generational Dissonance
This is where the dream becomes emotionally sharp.
Your father’s son wants to watch Star Trek: The Motion Picture.
Your father explains — at length — why it doesn’t hold up.
No one listens.
They play it anyway.
This is not really about the movie.
This represents:

Feeling unheard
Having experience dismissed
Knowing something deeply and watching others choose discomfort anyway
Star Trek is important:

It’s about ethics, exploration, the Prime Directive
It’s his cultural touchstone
And in this moment, it becomes torture rather than joy
That’s grief.
Especially because:

He must endure it silently
He can’t disrupt the group
He must leave slowly, invisibly, politely
“Excruciating” Repeated: Emotional Truth

The repetition of excruciating is the emotional thesis.
Not fear.
Not danger.
Not failure.
But endurance.

The pain of waiting, restraining oneself, and leaving without being able to explain why.

Ending on the Prime Directive is very telling.
It means:

He believes in non-interference
He restrains himself even when he knows better
He values ethics over relief
This is someone who could “blow it all up” socially — but won’t.

Your father’s dream suggests:

A man who feels alienated in his environment, intellectually and culturally, who has learned to mask, wait, and plan quietly. He feels unheard by those around him — even loved ones — and endures this with humor, patience, and a private sense of ethics. His greatest pain is not danger, but having to pretend while knowing better. It’s a dream about lonely intelligence, restraint, and waiting for departure.
The son represents:

Legacy and continuation — the next generation
Someone he deeply loves who doesn’t share the same reference points
A person whose tastes, patience, and values are shaped by a different era
The Star Trek moment becomes:

“I tried to pass along context, history, and wisdom — and it didn’t land.”
That’s not rejection; it’s generational mismatch.
And the pain isn’t anger at the son — it’s the quiet grief of realizing:
What once felt profound now feels obsolete
What he values may not translate cleanly forward