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  • 1 month later...

I was in a zoo, looking upon a massive expanse of park-like terrain (much more expansive than your typical zoo's gorilla hab, alas). There were gorillas living in there. I noted two that were massive, even by gorilla standards. About the size of the cave troll from LotR. They started to fight. The mass of the grappling gorillas tumbled toward me, toward the fence (there was only a meager fence between the gorillas and the path I was on). They tumbled into the corner, by the entrance to the human path. One of them threw a big cat, a leopard or tiger, into a pool of water. Two human zoo workers came running in, and drew handguns (either actual handguns, or tasters--in my dream, I remember trying to discern that). I wanted to get away from the fighting cave troll-scale primates, but I would have to pass between the muzzle of one of the drawn guns, and their possible targets. So, I dropped down, and crawled beneath the line of the gun.

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  • 2 months later...

I was in this hotel room, waiting for a food delivery when suddenly air raid sirens began going off. I suspected it meant a nuclear attack was coming, but I also wondered if it was erroneous, or some sort of hack. I dove into the corner of the room, ducking and covering. They went on for a few minutes, everyone panicking.


I got on my phone, and saw a message from Farm Girl (whom I've talked a lot about here). She was asking if "Tell me you heard them, too" implying she wanted to confirm she hadn't just imagined them. I tried to send her a message back, telling her in the affirmative, and also telling her I loved her, but the message failed to go through, and my phone was all wonky.


Everyone was running to and fro, and I was at a high school now. A girl ran up behind an administrator, and demanded his car keys. "Nice try" he said, after he shoved her away--she had literally tried to mug him by sticking her index finger into his back, as if it were a gun. She noticed me watching, did a "shh" sign at me, did the finger gun at the admin guy who had tossed her, and fired some sort of psychic bullet at him. It worked. I walked outside, and another kid was dual wielding an imaginary micro SMG/machine pistol he used to shoot up someone. I realized, basically, you could now transform your imagination into action at the speed of thought. I imagined myself wearing bomb disposal armor, and holding a ballistic shield. A few kids took pot shots at me, but the imaginary armor worked. I then imagined a swarm of Guardian Angels from Eclispe Phase (personal defense quadcopters that can electrically stun people), and deployed them on the chaotic school.


The song, "world of pure imagination" began playing though my head. People were flying.




Warren Buffet was having some sort of battle Rick Sanchez. It was a sci-fi looking battle, with a bunch of, like, flying scifi-looking craft facing off.


Rick won. He turned to the viewer, breaking the forth wall (as he often does in the actual TV show), and pointed at his now-engorged cock (which he had pulled out, and was fucking massive and grotesque, like, as long as his forearm, really wife at the base, and sloping slightly--big fucking cone of a schlong), saying (IIRC) it was, like, not a cock, but some sort of health drink? He turned toward the ocean (the scene was now over at the sea side, I guess), his enormous tumor of a dick proudly pointing out toward the water.

I woke up.

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I made this video in light of multiple suicides of my game developer friends and colleagues, and others in depression, and contemplating suicide.



In this podcast I'll be attempting to discuss some serious topics, including the suicides and deaths of some of my friends in the game and game development community. Many of my friends and colleagues in nerd, geek, and adjacent culture have been succumbing to depression, self-harm, contemplating suicide, or taking things out on others. This really breaks my heart, and this video is me trying to confront this tragic reality, deal with it myself, and perhaps help some of these guys out there who are in a bad place by sharing my story.


I'll be opening up about my experiences with bullying, isolation, and depression throughout school, being a virgin for 20+ years, feelings of inadequacy, hopelessness, lack purpose or direction. A lot of the things which a lot of younger men are dealing with now, and how I ultimately came to a better place, doing what I love (making video games I am passionate about, and are creatively fulfilling), with a woman whom I adore, raising two amazing kids, and have never been happier.


Remember, there is hope! 


(WGB also plays an important role in this video)

Edited by TwiliteMinotaur
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  • 3 weeks later...
5 hours ago, gil said:

Tattoos...  I just don't understand the appeal. They are like a uniform you can't take off when you change your job.

Love mine. I have 6 currently and each one means something to me or represents the time of my life when I got it. 
I also just think tattoos are beautiful, and that they have a rich, artistic history.

My body is my home and tattoos (and piercings and dyeing my hair) are how I choose to decorate the walls. 

Edited by GreenRobot
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However, I am not opposed to medical tattoos, obviously. Blood Group, Diabetes alert, Serious Allergies etc. My wife, Beryl, who doesn't want to be resuscitated if she collapses in the street, is, half in jest, planning two tattoos. On her chest, 'Do Not Resuscitate', and, in case she falls on her face, another tattoo on her back: 'Please Turn Over'.

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  • 4 months later...
  • 2 weeks later...
  • 2 months later...

Still no dreams....

I remember the last dream I had. I've never really had long dreams. I call my infrequent episodes "microdreams".

Here's the last one I remember having, about 7 or 8 years ago.


I wake up to go to the bathroom, and on the way in see an intruder in my living room. I rush back to grab my rifle, and the dream ends with me searching for the magazine. 2 seconds, tops.

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  • 3 months later...

Dreamed I got into a weird debate with my dad about car layouts.

Dad (referring to our Kia): "it's a 40/60 power distribution"
Me: "Wait, I thought it was a front-wheel drive, not an all-wheel"
Dad: "It had four wheels"
Me: "I know that! I mean, I thought just the front axle received any power"

and he kept insisting most cars were AWD (which actually seems the case nowadays?)

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  • 1 month later...

I had this dream where someone was apologizing.  I knew him from the Iroquois.  But it was all backwards.  Something about Hawaiian separatism and the new confederacy, shit like you say that crack in the biz world, and I’ll ham and egger you twelve sleepless nights. 

Then I was half screwing this Zerg harlotte, whom I almost loved, as I beggared the ‘e’ key into a fence:  I’m the one who is supposed to be wired, you stupid, contingent zit!  Or something like that…  Says the number who is a free man, and not a number. 

I am not a number, you cock-sucking fucker of an alumni locker crack pot! 

Why anger?  You, friend, like my uncle Bud, are not getting this. 

He ran, making shot gun shells from scratch, and this flop house, once. 

And then they asked, without current contact, so defined, as things go now:

Would you like the body returned?  To this country (?) defined.

This means:  Scrambled eggs and may I please you with scrambled eggs.

In other words, I just served 25 plus years for something I didn’t do.

Do you understand? 

Let me painfully try my French.  Do you want the body back?  This depends on guilty specifics.  Or do you want it washed on the shores of much and left to rot in, let’s look it up, as it reads, Kiev.

My handshake is made, so high and mighty, wave it.

Tongue out:  Suck it roaches!  I love your ass, assless roaches.  This was never me saying this, nor will it ever be. 

Simple bullshit.  Asshole tension.

Country or state secrets, and clearance, in reality.  Key it in, as a dream.


Mohawks fuck.  Always will.  Dream. 

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  • 1 year later...

Dreamt that there was a big old-school WGB meetup, I think it was San Francisco? but maybe not, there was a subway.


There were all these old board Wigbers, many of whom were real people, but many of whom I think my imagination invented...or maybe were characters from WG books? I was having a hard time keeping everyone and their names and board handles straight.


It was in maybe the 2000s, but felt even longer ago than that.


Just another excuse for an anxiety dream, between remembering people's names and worrying I'd get on the wrong subway train.

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London and subways, including pics in The Tube, have figured strongly in European meets. It also happened in Paris, but they were less populated. As for people in the old times, I doubt I would recognize more than a handful today, out of the around thirty I have met in person. 


I seldom dream about groups, too stressful, except as something I am running (often unsuccesfully) from. If they get me I wake up. But I have occasionally dreamt of board people, and they never look that they do, but usually as some variant of the avatar. Weird headspaces. 

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  • 5 months later...

Not again.  I can never figure reality out.

I'm on some sort of 'freaking' car that's made up like a Key West beach bar, driving down stuck in traffic through Toronto mid day.  George R. R. Martin is at the bar table, like a carnival float, playing poker also.

I think it's the 'Aces and Eights' fucking children's cancer charity or something, and I hear on the radio that's playing that they've banned Gibson's Neuromancer for stereotypes or something.  I'm just trying to get a third drink, and failing.  I don't understand.

I bet George R. R. Martin's final real 'Game of Thrones' book, which no one believes exists, but does.  

Someone mumbles something about Hawaii, and I say I saw the Islanders wrestle twice, live, back in the day.  I then recognize heads and tattoos as religious, which is too long in the coming, for realz.  

So I put this straw poll up on my phone for Martin's web site, 'Beautiful Nuts' or 'Evil Nuts', choose.  

Ya, that's it.  The music. 

All he's talking about are family trees.  I can't take it any longer.

He doesn't seem to mind me betting his unacknowledged book, though.

Cancer candidly really does suck.

Having said that, who doesn't love a (female) belly as tight as the drink I can't get because the float, so to speak, is going around a corner.

The river.  Like Heraclitus, with a shower.  Sir royal Heraclitus.  

What exactly do you mean 'Neuromancer' is banned or at least is no longer being distributed as a book? 

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