140101 Great! Another year over. And another dream.

140101 Great! Another year over. And another dream.

So, after being kept awake by juvenile occultists, ie., Queenslannders-in-general, and ice-age-ist Americans, from about 00:15AM through to 3 or 4, I fell back into an unconsciousness, shallow, and had a dream, which, unusually, with weird bits, was quite 'lucid'.

I seemed to have leased an ex-Yamaha motorcycle shop premises.

The images and events were with the shop/warehouse being located in Church Street Richmond, Melbourne inner eastern suburb, between Victoria Street and Bridge Street.

After waking, I reviewed it and recalled the shop the scenes were played out in, in the dream, was actually the one I used to buy a few things from, in Burnley Street, Richmond.

Nevertheless...., I'd leased the premises, confluent with my six year search for a 'shed' simply to complete my mobile hut in, and, as dreams go, was talking with a bloke, it seems, from a 'Yamaha' shop, who said “So, you want a consignment?

I replied with some hesitance, “yeah”.

Whence a truck load of still crated new Yammies was allofasudden there, unloaded, in the same place.

It might have been before that scene, that I was being taken through a series of depictions of events outside of my past, with scenes of fights between sizable numbers of people, all Australian, males, and, from those unseen signals one gets in dreams - especially dreams with distinct messages in them - it was between people sorting out those who'd done me over, the last 25 years.

'Graphic' scenes of around 20-to-30-plus blokes lying smashed on the floor in two scenes, of similar types of premises - shops or warehouses, legs badly bent and broken, as-if some tribe of them had been defeated.

'Audible' messages came through from a narrator of the dream, that the war had been won by 'my' side, against and smashing the scum who'd gone to extraordinary lengths to fuck my life over the last 30 years.

The smashed males lying together across a warehouse type floor indicating the story visually.

'Faces' appeared walking in the room and passed me, who at the time, the 1980s, and in the dream, were very familiar faces, mainly I think from some of the shops in Melbourne I frequented when I was apparently onside or OK with the Melbourne motorcycle scene.

But I can't place them in awake mode as blokes I did know, but a few linger as persons from some of my 'favorite' bike shps, wreckers etc., who I recall looking at me in the days when I was just beginning to be shit on, as if they were something like uncertain as to whether I deserved the coning punishment, or that it was unfair, or that they were more intelligent than to side with the shitheads.

'Friendly', or onside blokes, walking in through the dream as if to show they were part of the Mob who were finally tackling the scum, from, it showed, the same motorcycle retail scene of the 1980s in Melbourne.

The underlying message was that the scum had finally been smashed.

But other aspects - my 'leasing' property in Melbourne, which can be interpreted as simply being in Victoria, my home state - and being hassled by a 'Yamaha' bike shop owner or manager, or such, who delivered too quickly, the 'consignment' of bikes, could refer to my want to resettle in Victoria, after 15 years basically exiled, by these same motorcycling fraternity, and media, scum.

Surely the dream was a collage of my various thoughts, dreams, ideas and hopes, hopes mostly well known to be in-vain, since sister Wendy, well, since I first put it to the family for a loan to buy a cheap piece of land in - Victoria, in early 2013.

So, having spent the last 10 months perhaps, scanning real estate websites, viewing 'for sale' pages of everything from a 950 acre piece of high country bliss, to shitty sheds in Coburg, or Traralgon, but either a piece of rural land to start a humble abode away from the scum - other white people - or any shed that might be enough to fit ute, trailer, ute hut project, benches, equipment, tools and materials, and a bit more to spread out in, it's understandable the dream had as a central 'theme' this warehouse situation, and the suggestion of a workshop. And, even of 'retailers', who were up and friendly to me, who were straight with me before any rumors and plans and conspiracies to destroy me were active.

I've looked at and laughed to myself at lots of rural old and dilapidated garages and auto-workshops, dreaming, for nothing else to do, about that old 'romantic' biker's idea of owning a quiet country town motorbike shop, with - a workshop out back.

So while this dream was located in Richmond, the general theme of a motorbike shop was predominant.

But, above it all, I woke with the distinct feeling that my exile of the last 20-plus years was due to a bunch of Melbourne motorcycle riders and retailers, possibly with Yamaha central to the group, banding together to fuck my life. And, that some better minded crew, had finally got 'em.

Of course, indistinct as dreams usually are, I'm still left unsure as to whether this was trying to say I can return to Melbourne or even eastern Victoria at last, to buy and settle, and die? It might have been saying I'll never be able to?

Being landed with the 'consignment' of crated bikes, before I actually decided I was either interested, or able to go that 'retail' or such, path, indicated I was still open to being set-up - AGAIN - by such scum.

I'm not too pissed about that. I've deferred to hopelessness and my remaining years of being shit on by them, which is why I stay withdrawn from all society. So all notions of any form of commercial enterprise is out of the question. Besides, I'm 59 in 4 months, tired of life, hate western culture, and all who blithely consume it, and know well that I'd be setting myself up for disaster were I to venture into any form of business which depended upon consumers/buyers and suppliers.

On the other hand, without signals and GUARANTEES clear and well written, signed by the fucking QUEEN herself, or such, that I could start something of a life again, in one of those 'dreamed-of' semi-retiring quiet country town shops, I know, as I came to see in such as Brisbane, when I moved there in about 1998, driving taxis, that most of my customers were 'set-ups', and if I'd done good, that day, I'd make heaps. But if I hadn't done good, they'd short change me, and I'd be sent to despair in anger and minimal takings with their filthy attitudes and even runners without paying, etc.

As well..., knowing my other side now, of being a fucking exiled monarch, I know any or all the trade I might have come through the doors, would be patronizing and sent in, either to make me feel good, or simply to perv at this idiot without a life, but with masses of occult beings floating around my 4th dimensional aura.

And anyone else, would be so patronizing and 'pretendly' as to make me hate the whole situation quicksmart.

But, I'll think again of the dream no doubt, and might recall more bits of it, which might fill gaps and make clear the message.


It'll take quite a lot more than a programmed - input - uploaded dream with many weird and indistinct visuals in it, to convince me to like almost anyone I knew - er - I thought I knew over the last 58 - 59 years, or to trust any such messages, or to even trust any face-to-face conversation, and offerings without tangible guarantees, in this alleged awake dream state.

Ten million dollars Australian [ $10,000,000,000 ] [ yeah, that's ten billion, I know! ] MINIMUM would get me off my haunches on any such road to my psychological, emotional and humane, social recovery.

Indeed, with what I do think I have in the talents departments, and thus the possibilities I once had of making a healthy, honest and rich life for myself until motorcycle shop/media/courier scum ruined it all, without being one bit arrogant, I reckon I shouldn't have to pay one cent for -

a fleet of BSAs
a few Harley choppers,
a sea-going launch,
a HUGE fully-equipped shed to tinker to my hearts desire in,
about 500 acres of pristine mountain country,
and ready access to all and any materials I decide are best for a rural enclave, and to build my desired world-traveling ute hut 4x4 mobile home/chariot/war-truck/drag-racer.

At this stage, I am simply too old to have to fuck around building
a house,
a shed,
fencing - like 20 foot high six feet thick radio-active and high voltage WALLS around the 500 acres,
a nuclear war-proof 500 foot deep bunker,
a large bank of nuclear warhead missiles to throw back at the scum when they finally flip right out,
and the other stuff to finally feel 'safe' and relaxed, let alone comfortable in!
And - a fridge!

Thanks for trying though?

However, realizing I have been 'induced' to have a bad habit of 'self-sabotaging' efforts to get me whatever, and that this dream might be a positive sign, while this e-ssay has my generally negative and FUCK YOU! attitude to it, I will try, for a few days at least, seeing as it is a new year, to look positively again at finding something to lease at least, and to buy in Victoria.

I hope my new years resolution thing, myth and futile as I've come to regard such, lasts?

And, were any of this life to bear healthy fruit, at this late stage, and were any of my 'requests' for compensation to manifest, I would refuse any returns if I knew they were out of the pockets of those who were - behind the war scenes - still onside with me and my weird warlike antipathies to egomaniacal scum of the ----- type.

NB: While I still get stalked when I go shopping, set-up buy vendors and retailers with shit produce, phone camera pics taken of me or of the ute, curses touched on my aura, on my ute, in my sheds, still....,

Those who actually were actively slaying the demons, know I do not mean against them.

Happy New Year to you all!

Brayakooloong Gunai Indigenous Outlaw

All Praise the Immortals!
All Praise the Warriors who have fallen
Fighting for a Just World!

from the Travelling 4x4 Tent of


Bleck - Green - Red
Wisdom - Intelligence - Honor