The Dream Cities…(Stories/Poems/Letters/Thoughts&Dreams)

(letter)

June 30th, 2026

Sarala,

I just want you to know that no one could ever compare to you.

I don’t know what death actually is, but from what I’ve learned — studying, asking people, and especially talking with indigenous people wherever I go (because “university educated” people are usually too arrogant to admit they don’t know everything) — I think death and dreaming are connected somehow. I can feel it.

I don’t know how, though. But when you wake up from the most vivid dreams, you quickly forget. And I’ve said this before, but what if you were somehow in another place for real in a dream — a place with different physics, a different universe, where everything is just different. And you live an entire life there. Or for a long time. And then you die in that world, and you wake up here. Maybe that’s something to do with death or dying.

Because maybe the people who were in your dream just think you died. What if a dream you had a year ago — to the people in that dream, you died, and they’re still mourning you, while you’re here and don’t even remember.

If I shoved you back into a random dream from three months ago, would you even remember a thing from it? Maybe that’s something to do with being “born” — we come here with no memory of this place, but every ancient culture talks of previous lives.

What if, when we die here, we just go to another life, and this entire existence feels like a vivid dream for a short while — then an hour or two into waking up, or “death,” we don’t even remember or care. But the people still here will think we died and mourn us for a long time. Meanwhile, we’re in a whole other existence, just thinking of this life as some crazy dream. And remember — dreams never feel crazy while you’re dreaming. It’s only after we wake up that we realize how strange it was.

What if that’s exactly how we’ll feel about this reality when we die?

I don’t know. I know I sound crazy, and I know I’m rambling. But I can feel it inside my body that dreaming has something to do with death and birth. I can feel it.

And I intend to find out. And I intended to be able to show you.

And I will not go into whatever is next unless you come with me.

Otherwise, I guess I’ll end up as a ghost wandering around, scaring people, whispering your name — like a creepy ghost story.

I will not leave this place, whatever it is, without you. Ever.

Yours always
Humans are truly disgusting, all over the world

June 8th, 2026

But did we ever have a chance or choice at anything else?

Or was it always meant to be?
You’ll never know what I became because of you

January 5th, 2026
October 16th, 2025

And so it begins, Sarala

This is what I’ve been talking about, with me and you talking in Hypnagogia, sort of

This is a very primitive version of it, although I’d argue that unless properly trained it’s all very difficult to achieve

But, if you weren’t so stubborn, I could have already taught you how me and you can go anywhere we want in hypnagogia (even with my limited knowledge)

And I don’t mean just on this planet-although that’s possible

I mean anywhere in the universe

Understand that we are already in a dream state, this is an experiment, and me and you both (and others) willingly went into it, as volunteers, though I don’t know why or what for

And there are people alive right now who will be among the first to never die in the “traditional” sense, me and you will be among them, I promise

This all aligns with very ancient stories and teachings from Thoth, who lived for 36,000 years (or more) and ruled over Kemet (Egypt) and is still alive somewhere today

The Australian Aboriginals say we are in “sleepy time” and when we “die” that’s actually just when we wake up, and they’ve been saying that for thousands of years

But think of it like this:

When you’re deep asleep and dreaming, what happens when-in your dream-you get in a car crash and die, or get shot and die, or fall off a cliff and die etc

??

Basically when you die in a dream, your body jerks itself awake back to this “reality” which is just one level higher than your dream

When you fall asleep, you go one level deeper

So most people go back and forth between 2 levels and never go any deeper or higher

And that’s it, that’s basically death, and we’ve all experienced it

You’ve literally experienced death, Sarala

And the dream you died in, the people that existed in that “level” (who you interacted with)…to them you’re just as dead as anyone and can never come back, so they’re mourning you

But to you, you just jerk awake and think “wow that was such a weird dream” and 10 minutes later mostly forgot about it

That’s exactly what happens to people who die that we love.

To us, they’re “dead and gone” but really they just woke up and went up a level, and the next time they sleep and dream there’s almost zero chance they’ll be back here in our reality ever again

Now, imagine training yourself to be able to not only know (and accept) what’s going on, but to meditate so deeply you can go as deep or high as you want

Bhuddist monks do it to this very day

Hindus also do it

As do aboriginals in Australia and shamans in Africa and South America

It’s a very disciplined thing to learn and very difficult

But I’m dedicating my life to it, and I’d love to share what I have learned so far with you, and what I will learn in the future

You can train your conscious to go in and out of any level or “dimension” you want

And that’s where physics gets all these different dimensions from, that’s what it means-the multiverse. Multiple universes, or dimensions, or “level”

Call it what you like

As far as I know we are just randomly assigned to random dimensions, but we all have the capability to then visit any, which would be the bhuddist state of enlightenment or “Nirvana”

But the lesson here in this reality, is to learn that and utilize it to help bring others to enlightenment or “nirvana”, also know as “the golden age” which Egypt had achieved thousands of years ago and then taught the rest of the world, until greed crept in

Now, I’m aware of how fucking crazy and psychotic I sound-I really am

But think on it, and look up this experiment for yourself

(Picture attached)

And remember, next time you die or get injured badly in a dream and your body jerks itself back to this “dimension”…….it might have just been a fleeting dream for you, but you’re gone from that reality forever and there are people mourning you, and even though you may have only been asleep 7-8 hours, it could have been many, many years of time in the dream, depending on several factors, because time is relative

Sorry for the rant, and I’m sure there’s a bunch of spelling errors as well

But please, think on this information, I can’t do this alone

Sweet dreams, sweet girl
Happy birthday, Sarala

September 6th, 2025

You’re the women who taught me “Blood Science”

You’re the women who told me the story about the Britanica & Botanica

And you’re the woman who taught me that time isn’t linear, but a shape. A closed loop where we all meet, love, hate, and die

And then repeat.

Here is your birthday gift………

It’s not much but in return I give you my 3 poems, a small part of “she who sings to shipwrecks”

“Blood Science”

“Time is a shape”

And

“Britanica & Botanica”

All sonnets, mostly

As you know, my favorite poem ever is is a sonnet

“Ozymandias”

So, here is “blood science” which is about the science of *mostly* biology, but it’s a higher form because it incorporates electromagnetism and metals, which is what our human bodies-to this day-still run on. Electricity and iron and magnetism

…………………

Excuse my mess, but I am unable to complete blood science at this time

I do not know enough about blood science to post this poem at this time

I wanted to have all 3 completed for your birthday but my time and schedule didn’t allow it

So I’m moving on to “time is a shape”

…………………….

TIME IS A SHAPE

I met a woman-veiled in dusk-who said:

“Behold this circle carved in shadowed stone;

Time is no line that marches on the dead,

but bends, returning, to devour its own.

I loved you once beneath the ash of home,

I loved you next where burning kingdoms fell;

each vow we swore became a shattered home,

each kiss a torch that lit the mouth of hell.

Still here you stand, though centuries decay,

your eyes the same, though walls around us rot.

The world forgets, but we are made to stay,

ensnared in shapes that mercy fashioned not.

Look on our love, eternal, dark, confined:

a circle wrought of stone, and serpents twined.”

…………………

Britanica and Botanica

A story about two sister ships, both mighty and majestic ships in their day

One sank in an ocean….the other still parades passengers and crew around, proudly

Thousands of years ago

Who knows where the sunken ship is, and even more a mystery still…who even knows where the surviving ship is?

……..…………….

BRITANICA & BOTANICA

I met a sailor from a distant shore

Who spoke of sisters, mighty, forged of steel:

“One rules the Pacific, calm forevermore,

Her decks still shine, her engines ever wheel.

The other ventured where the icebergs roam,

Atlantic’s depths became her iron tomb;

Her shattered hull lies far beneath the foam,

A monument of silence, cold as doom.

And on her rusted bow, these words remain:

Behold our glory, made to never fall.

Yet oceans mock with tides that can’t be chained,

And Time, the breaker, laughs at human call.

The living sails, the drowned one sleeps below,

Two fates entwined, where seas eternal flow.”

(-“she who sings to shipwrecks”, by Eric Campbell)
Happy birthday, Sarala Samantha Bhukal

September 5th, 2025

Happy birthday, Sarala. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, whether you believe it or not, and whether you care or not. I’ve said it many times, to many people-but I’ll say it again. Over and over until my death, when I am finally released from you, and fulfill the promise I made to you all those years ago………

I am glad you were born. If you ever feel like you wish you weren’t even ever born, just know that there’s a guy here in a corner of the earth who thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen-no matter how you see yourself

I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see your face again-fuck I don’t even know if you’ll get this-but that won’t stop me

I’ll do what I have to and fight through a thousand people to either get to you-or die trying

A couple days ago I finally got started on my arm tattoos that I have a plan with-to cover my entire arms-and I stared with these birds(one on each arm) and will grow it out from there over the coming weeks/months once I take time to sit down and really think about what I want, although I have a decent idea currently, I want to refine it more

But I’m starting with these, from a picture/drawing/painting you made for me 15 or so years ago

They aren’t complete yet, still need more shading/color

I love you deeply, and truly

Always be safe

Sweet dreams, sweet girl
August 31st, 2025
A letter to Sarala (from a story)…

June 30th, 2025

My love, Sarala…

I don’t know where to begin, so I’ll start with what’s true: I miss you. The days are long, the nights louder than any wind I’ve ever heard, and still nothing drowns out the quiet of your absence.

The ship smells of rot and men. The kind of stink that seeps into your bones. The sea has no mercy, not even for the innocent. The slaves below deck — you were right — they are not cargo. They are human. I see it every day in their eyes. Some no older than children. Some with eyes like yours: sharp, defiant, exhausted.

I do what I can, love. I bring them extra water when the others aren’t looking. I sneak bits of dried fish, bread and meat to the youngest. I speak to them — quietly. They don’t understand me, not always. But kindness needs no translation. And in their silence, I think they know I mean no harm.

But I cannot change what this ship is.

Some nights, I sit alone on the deck with your cloth in my hand — the one with the bird stitched in blue. I run my thumb over the threads until I forget where I am. I picture you at the machine, the baby pressing against your ribs. I wonder if the fire still crackles in the hearth. If you still sleep on my side of the bed. If you’ve told your father I left.

I see your face every time the wind turns cold.

And I remember what you said on the shore: that I must come back. That I must not leave you alone in this life.

I want to return to you. I want to hold our child in my arms, to smell the smoke in your hair, to sit by the fire and forget all of this.

I do not know if I will make it back. But if I do, know that it will be because of you. Because I made a promise — not with words, but with the choice to leave for you, for us. And now, I choose every day to survive for the same reason.

If this letter reaches you, then some part of me already has.

Yours, and no one else’s
March 20th, 2025

You know what’s terrifying?

We are floating on a ball of dirt and water through space floating around a huge ball of plasma, and barely anyone even wonders about that or what we are even doing here or how we got here

We just wake up and go to work and pay bills and taxes and some people take advantage of other people and we just all do that for 70-90 years and then we just die, and no one is even talking about it

When is the last time you had a conversation with anyone about what could be going on or you wondered what we are even doing here with someone?

And if you tried to discuss concepts like that with someone would they even think or wonder or care?

It’s just wake up, work, consume some entertainment to distract you and then sleep then repeat every single day

Then die
My favorite writing symbol, and the name of a short story/poem I wrote years ago

March 18th, 2025