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Riding with George
The ancient, piece of crap car, likely a Trabant, fishtailed around a corner, throwing me against the interior of the passenger door. Oncoming cars veered into ditches, their terrified drivers leaning on the horn while white-knuckling the steering wheel. Righting myself, I turned to look at the recklessly incompetent driver of the car in which I found myself. I half expected to see my now dead father-in-law who, for all of his admirable qualities, was thankfully refused the renewal of his driver’s license when his age and aggression behind the wheel had far exceeded his abilities. Instead, behind this particular wheel, I saw a smiling and amiable George Soros.
For a few days before this dream, I had been researching accounts of the effects of the psychedelic drug DMT. I had been, and still am, trying to determine if the eerily similar reports of its users’ experiences are due to common Jungian psychological archetypes, or if something much weirder, and much more disturbing, is going on.
Regardless, I have read enough about it to definitely conclude two things:
1) DMT is not anything that I’ll be doing anytime soon.
2) I absolutely deserved the weird-assed dream that I just had.
A lot of us on this forum live for politics. And for at least one of us, politics permeates our dreams. This second, much smaller, group includes me (and probably just me) because, although it is a very rare occurrence, this would not be the first time that I’ve had such a dream. As I posted previously on this forum (“Dodging a Tap Dancing Bullet”), in the 1990s, I had a nightmare about Bill Clinton and the disturbing levels of allegiance that the media showed toward him. Of course, the media has become far more biased and far more obvious about it since then.
But, back to the car ride.
As George fishtailed the car around the corner, completely oblivious both to oncoming traffic and to how recklessly he was driving, and as I was being thrown against the passenger door, George was rambling in an avuncular fashion, asking me if I was aware of the conditions in this or that far-flung corner of the world.
Suddenly, the car hopped a curb as George drove the probable Trabant onto a ball field, tearing up the grass as he tried unsuccessfully to breach a hill and reacquire the road.
Undeterred, he swerved, hopping curbs again, into the back parking lot of the high school that I had attended. Part of me found that amusing, and I took the opportunity to explain to him how my world view was developed in this very neighborhood. I pointed out to him that right outside of his window was the duplex apartment that my parents lived in when I was born; that the quadplex apartment that I lived in through junior high and high school was a block down the road; that the houses currently looked quaint and well-kept because they were all privately owned, but, when I was a kid, that the entire neighborhood was a slum – because all of the housing was owned by the state and managed by a state housing authority. I explained the stigma of growing up as a “slum kid” in a slum located right behind a high school. And I assured him that the neighborhood, and the lives of its inhabitants, had improved by orders of magnitude when the houses were sold off to the private sector, oftentimes to their then current occupants.
Not that George was listening: he had important places to go, at high speeds. And I was his unwilling passenger.
I awoke, made myself some tea, organized my thoughts before the dream images faded, and wrote down all of the those thoughts. I knew, like those who take DMT claim to know, that what I envisioned was significant.
For months, I have been black-pilled politically: our government is occupied by unelected bureaucrats and charlatans who spend their days carving out tire paths of singleminded, self-assured, and incompetent mayhem. Despite all of their abusive, caterwauling damage control to the contrary, the last presidential election was stolen. And the next presidential election will be stolen as well. Because the last thing that those unelected bureaucrats and charlatans will ever do is willingly surrender their licenses and step out from behind the wheel.
For longer than that, I have also been black-pilled career-wise: my career has found me currently placed in the lucrative financial sector, but I know that those same unelected bureaucrats and charlatans who occupy our government are also steering that very same financial sector to inflationary implosion, to the financial enrichment of themselves, and to the financial ruin of the rest of us. And whatever insignificant role I may perform in my current position, and it is astoundingly insignificant, that role still benefits, and benefits from, those same unelected bureaucrats and charlatans.
So, to me, the message of this dream is quite clear: I and we are all in the wrong car and, when we are actually on a road, we are on the wrong road. For our own mutual self-preservation, it’s time to leap from the careening Trabant at the first viable opportunity.
It’s time to stop riding with George.
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My dream was of Donald Trump riding in the back seat of my Olds 442 convertible with his arms crossed and being very cool with it all. I don’t know what that means and FTR I have never owned a 442.
You don’t want to be bouncing around the interior of a Trabant. The door latches are crap.
Sounds like a good dream.
Thanks for reading, Joel.
That’s just one of many, many reasons.
Thanks for reading, Percival.
I don’t remember most of my dreams, but I did once dream about being at a pool party with Clarence Thomas and Rush Limbaugh. A long time ago I had a dream about Ross Perot leading a band of anti-NAFTA terrorists. I know I have had other dreams with political figures since then, but I don’t remember them.
I. AM. NOT. ALONE!
Thanks for reading, Randy.
Good to see you here again, Rick. I don’t have dreams about politics, but the ones I do have seem to involve motorcycles.
Oh, I just remembered another one. I dreamed that I was at my mom’s house and was disturbed to discover that she was having an affair with Henry Kissinger!
Nice contact buzz. Thanks Rick.
You mean all of our Mom’s would not jump at the chance to have an affair with Mr Détente?
I’ll have what you’re having….
Which means that you are certainly more well adjusted than I am.
Thanks for reading, CS.
“Mom… we have to talk…”
See I was right! There is something about Henry.
And very considerately not enough to break through the barrier to truly weird DMT zone.
Thanks for reading, Barfly.
My dreams are populated by older figures. Ben Franklin sometimes appears.
I’d never heard of a Trabant before reading this post. Sounds like a thrill ride/disaster just waiting to happen, no matter who the co-pilot is.
The photo accompanying the OP–at first glance–reminded me of a Citroën from the 1970s, I think it must have been the Citroën Ami. I was spending the summer as a nanny among the rich and famous, in the rarefied suburbs of Pittsburgh, and it was the car on offer, owned by my employers and free for me to use. Unfortunately, it was a manual transmission, and I’d never driven one.
It was a dreadful little car, even once I’d surmounted the gear shift difficulty. A nightmare to drive, and one I could never wake up from. I survived, but barely.
Understandable.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0iahEbZLUXU
Living in a dream like you have described must be in some ways better, at least the hurts are not real, than the successful deceptions I lived within for my first sixty years. But I was very successful at living two lives in distinct worlds simultaneously, my life as an American resident citizen and my life as an individual human being.
The first, my life as an American, was definitely shaped by government actions since I started a working career in the federal government resulting very directly from government actions resulting in a serious economic recession around 1970. This was after more than ten years working in private sector banking.
Now that lapsed ten year period is interesting in its own right for the range of personal event impacts that shaped the individual human part of my life. This is the really important part because I went from being a child playing in the real world to being a man with at least some understanding of what it takes to cope in the world. I went from constant what I thought were good and happy times filled with all kinds of physical pleasures to getting married to the right one for the rest of my life and learning something about what that life is about, a big difference.
Now these two lives joined on a single course for the next thirty years or so with great success for both. By 2000 my children were busy with their adult lives and building their own families so that today we still are fortunate to have our three children, their families that include seven grandchildren and three great-grandchildren so far, and all are thriving. That’s a very good thing because our own personal utility is diminishing rapidly.
So where are we now? These last twenty plus years have seen us help a lot with growing offspring, it’s both work and a pleasure and our utility and the need for our help fades a bit so we each compensates by finding our own interests.
Now we are back to you and your theme @rickpoach, maybe I don’t live for politics but I’m pretty upset by the gross deception I have lived under as an American, of course, that’s on me for not paying attention but then I was kinda busy for a while as are many Americans. And now we see that we are in a whole new ballgame where deception is not even important anymore. So I’m with you.
I’ll call this my third life so now I can say “I Led Three Lives”.
I’m sorry to have let you know that the Trabant existed.
You are a much more patient and forgiving, and perhaps stubborn, person than I am.
Thanks for reading, She.
It’s not on you: America was once a high trust society.
This sense of busyness is exactly what the charlatans count on.
The deception and the discovery of it, yes.
You’re certainly not alone in the feeling that something is different enough to be considered another life.
Thanks for reading, Bob.
“Power is the great aphrodisiac.” — Henry Kissinger
We’re now entering what the DMT Psychonauts would consider bad trip territory.
I do not appreciate the mental image of the late Henry Kissinger getting jiggy with anything!
My political dream. I was once in small covered boat on a bright shallow bay with Trump and eight other people. The sun was shining, the water calm and pale blue. Everyone was dressed in bright summer clothes. Trump was in his Brioni suit, sitting casually toward the bow, leaning against the gunwale, talking to each passenger in turn. Everyone was having a good time, and Trump was smiling and very complimentary to everyone. He wasn’t anything like portrayed in the press. The half-hour ride was extended to an hour.
This is the scene we came back to.
I. AM. NOT. ALONE!
Thanks for reading, G.L.O.M.
I never said I either understood his magnetism or wished to review it, just that it was a phenomena I was aware of…
Come on man, we all know you’ve got the hots for Kissinger.
I once met Hillary Clinton in a dream. She was not like the usual Hillary Clinton one sees in the news, wearing a Hitler mustache, talking like Hitler, and threatening to put me in an internment camp. She was just ordinary and pleasant. I don’t know how long ago that was — probably well before she ran for President. It was disturbing enough that I haven’t forgotten.
I also met Richard Nixon in a dream. Chuck Colson was there, too (before he went to prison and got reformed) as well as Nixon’s wife and their two little boys who were remarkably like (unpleasant like) my wife’s cousin’s two young boys. This would have been in 1974. Some people tell me that the Nixons had older girls, not young boys. I’m here to tell you I saw with my own eyes that they were boys.
I. AM. NOT. ALONE!
Thanks for reading, TR.