(As of yet untitled, a work in progress) Part 1

I wondered if dreams of such grandeur held any more weight in reality than the spotty, fleeting, seemingly random dreams that occupy our slumbers on most occasions. So commonplace, yet so uninterpretable, too many ignorantly deem these small dreams to be mundane. Ignorantly, indeed. How can they be blamed? Going about their simple lives, such an abundance of phenomena which escape their threshold of reality are overlooked quite easily. To them, these things are nothing more than part of the daily routine. After all, they've worked hard all their lives to create such a comfortable eggshell of reality. Nothing in nor out, except on a few rare occasions; pay no mind to those. Ah, but to the dismay of too many, in truth it is the worthless little dreams that bear more significance in this great cosmos than all they had learned in their lives...

But-- those numbering too many... They never included me. As a disturbed young child my dreams were all well recognized, and heeded dearly. I lived in two worlds, my mind, and the public's. What had caused me to be self-titled as disturbed began when I noticed that these two worlds, which I walked ever so cautiously, were merging together. In unspeakable horror, I contemplated with my young innocence what such a massive integration might imply. Imagine, if you will, your childhood monsters running amok in the real world, with no real cause. The unanswered mystery frightened me more than any other aspect of the ordeal. As I continued to observe the procession, I grew utterly suspicious that the two worlds were never separate in the first place. Needless to say, I was always slightly distracted in my earlier years.

I sat upright, my sheets, pillows, hair, and awareness disheveled. Drenched in sweat, but no longer sweating; I never knew how to deal with the aftermath of sleep-sweat. Some dream... Awake and catching up to my body, I glanced at the digital clock. So curious how we are often called upon to instantly go from lofty sleep to electrified alertness, as if simply switching on a light. 6:13 A.M.

The sky was a dark cloudy grayish-blue, still completely void of the upcoming day's arousal. I sighed and rubbed my face with my hands. My alarm was set for 6:30, and normally I fight quite a battle to leave the bed. This wasn't the case. Well, at least I was jolted enough to get up faster. I set on the kettle for some tea, just like always. Even in my warm apartment, the bitter cold from outside could still be sensed. The tea helps. The dream still had me shaken up, though my recollection of it was fading fast. Oh well. I turned up the lights a little more. Looking around the place, I was reminded of how dirt poor I was as the result of my college debt. I walked over to the single, large window, and observed the Chicago scenery. At least the view was good. The kettle began to murmur. Then, looking over the tops of the buildings, I noticed a gigantic, strange symbol taking shape. It was as if it had always been there, sunken amongst the shapes and patterns of the city, only now revealing itself to me. Familiar... The kettle was whistling to a crescendo. A patch of my dream flashed into my mind with overwhelming speed, the symbol cemented in the vision. Was it mere coincidence that the symbol of my dream was identical to the one I was staring at now? The kettle's screech grew deafening. I snapped out of my trance and tended to the tea. The slightly bitter green leaves were calming. I put on my coat and scarf, gathered my pocket items, and got ready to leave. Before closing the door behind me, I checked back on the window. The symbol was gone. Whatever it was, I could feel it speaking of something ominous.

Walking down the road, I kept turning the symbol over and over in my mind. I couldn't make it out clearly. It sat there like one of those optical illusions, requiring you to gaze out in order to view the hidden 3-D image. Arriving at my first destination of the day, the bus stop, I checked my watch as I did every day. I looked to my left to see a strange man in a black fedora hat, a long black trench coat, black leather gloves, and in his left hand he held an open umbrella above him. It wasn't raining, and I assure you it was depressingly far from sunny. I searched his hidden face with an unintentional look of confusion upon mine, yet his I could not find. He turned his head to me, clearly sensing my stare, and greeted me with a cheerful smile. Realizing my rudeness, I smiled back politely. I happened to notice his footwear just then-- a pair of pink rubber sandals. Already a little on edge that morning, the surprise had me taken aback. This was getting very awkward. Then, the single dark gray cloud looming overhead began to sprinkle a warm rain. It contrasted with the biting cold, and slowly generated a gentle fog. The man let out an easy sigh, pleased that his preparations were justified. Looking around with a slight grin, he wiggled his toes. My eyes instantly locked on to them. What a weirdo... Nice pedicure, though. We could see the rain cutting through our breath in the cold. His breath produced a much thicker steam than mine. The bus arrived. He gestured kindly for me to step on first, and I gave him a nod and another polite smile. Peculiar though, his face was so generic-looking, it seemed completely unmemorable. I couldn't quite pin down what his face was like. He could be anywhere from twenty to forty years old. The husky black bus driver had a look at the unimposing man's feet, tilted her head back, and raised an eyebrow at him. "It's too damn early," she thought. The man just smiled at her and progressed down the bus...

... And out of every other empty seat on the bus, why the hell did he have to sit across from me?

PART ONE- END.

Tribute Seminar

"OW, THAT FUCKING HURT! ...THAT WAS AWESOME!"
There are only two kinds of people in this world who would interact in such a way: Masochists and Martial Artists (Although honestly I don't see a difference anymore). All day saturday and sunday I will be attending an annual tribute seminar to the memory of my teacher's teacher, Luis Orbegoso. Every year, we invite martial artists from all around, get as many people as we can, and go crazy for a weekend of violence. Amongst some of the regular teachers who attend the seminar is the honorable grand master of Kosho Ryu Kempo (my art), Bruce Juchnik. There's very little one can say to accurately describe his abilities as a martial artist. His movements are so tiny, so seemingly insignificant, that the average person sees no movement at all. Yet these few small movements are all he needs to generate incredible power, and cause immense pain. Truly, watching him demonstrate is a spectacle. So, I have been, and will continue to, going around with all sorts of different teachers, and learning all sorts of techniques and concepts. We beat each other up, back and forth, taking in all that we can, all in good spirits and friendliness. We have a mighty good time, and it is ever more evident when at the end of the day, everyone releases a zombified grunt upon sitting down. So far, as of day one, it has been a fantastic experience. Sticks, knives, swords, staffs, striking, feeling, throwing, Aikido, Kempo, Arnese, Kenjitsu, Goju Ryu Karate, Hapkido, fun, fun, fun. More tomorrow.

"... I'd follow him to hell and back I would!"

Well, we visited the University of Wisconsin in Madison. The drive is so long that the visible light spectrum actually breaks down. If you could stand on your house and look at those fancy little badgers from a telescope, they would appear to be only red, as the other color frequencies would have dissipated through the immense difference in space and time. On the other hand, of course, red is their school color. I think they picked that to symbolize how fucking long of a drive it is to their school, because even if you live a mile away from the campus, it's still probably a three-hour drive. Nice school, though.
In other college news, I began looking at the essay questions for the University of Chicago application, and they are fairly interesting. I'm a little confused as to wether you have to do all of the essays, or just pick one. If it's the former, then for the "make your own" essay, I plan to write several pages on the intricacies of Futurama. It seems as though I would be perfect for the University of Chicago, but so far they have made it seem easy for me... Perhaps... Too easy... There's probably going to be a trap door or a wall that shoots poison darts when I go in for my interview.
Moving on, I have discovered an enigmatic question, one that has vexed mankind for millennia: All scholars and scientists agree, like the Earth, the internet is flat. But, what is the end of the internet like? Perhaps it is great convergence of all the tubes, producing one final tube, where a waterfall of internet fluids cascades out a massive opening into the infinite abyss of eternal nothingness. Perhaps it is a 4Chan page. Who knows?
However, there is one thing we can be certain about. A man would have to be daft to sail such a distance. Indeed, that we can be sure of.