Please, Stop Shopping

A month has passed since the last nightmare. A peaceful, stress-free month full of tall trees, forests, mushrooms, hiking and trips. Hustling alcohol, laughing gas and art at nude beaches, meeting you after work, sweet surprises, our best friends and family, and sunsets. Last night we went for drinks at one of your managers friend’s homes and talked late into the evening as I emailed my professors. We drove Nolito home, I am happy finally have a girlfriend in the house. The bull never gets irritated around girls, really. I’m just about at the point of convincing you to quit your slave labor construction job and work online with me, which makes me happiest. I love you so much Spencer, and can’t wait to spend every day annoying you, working from home, without the bull, I hope, without the bull. In a week or two, we will drive out East to collect the rest of my belongings, so we can officially live together, without the bull, hopefully. This month went by in a breeze, ever since Cody disappeared, we have all had peace, ease, bliss.

After the last nightmare last month, I haven’t had any like I said. I woke up that morning in our bed, sweating out but clean, untouched, feeling light and pure, like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I was glowing, and you told me I looked that way, too. Everyone in the house woke up by noon, happily to find that Cody had moved out seemingly over night while we slept, and that all of his stuff was gone, which was awesome news, as me and you have been wanting to move downstairs for a while – maybe after we sage and cleanse the room of his energy for a few days. He really was a gross person by the sound of what you guys have told me, and we were all glad that he was gone.

Just like every time the bull comes out, and every time I have those nightmares, there was an unexplainable mass death the same night of my nightmare, airing on the morning news in pubs and cafes around the town. We do not have a TV with cable in our big home, so it was Parv, the next door neighbor, who informed us first when he came over for lunch. Last month, it was 48 males, not a single female. Neighborhoods ravaged, houses had been broken into, leaving only traces of blood, corpses and a big mess. Some of the deceased seemed to be addicts from the worst part of town, that had lost their way. Most were wealthy middle-aged men. I hope they all truly deserved it. Poor souls. All seemingly rammed to death by an unexplainable force with no chance of forgiveness for their sins.

Upon investigation of the deceased, the authorities always find that they are bad people, just like in my nightmares. Rapists, offenders, murderers that had gotten away with the crime in some way, or were on the run, so informing them of this weird psychic connection and my so-called bull in my head would just land me in a mental ward, like they did in my teen years so I would rather avoid that.

That was the first time this happened here on the West Coast. It has been months since this has happened but it keeps recurring, and prior to the breaking news articles in the mornings, I always have the same nightmares, the same dream. The nightmare, followed by the peace. I think I might be psychic, or something Spence, I must be. Maybe I am connected to whatever is causing these deaths, maybe I can see it coming, maybe the energy of the bull leaves my body and enters a killer, but this is the fourth time this has happened Spence, and always in the city or town I am living in, how do I explain that to authorities? “I dream of the deaths before they happen!” They would think I am crazy.

I have a theory. Listen, I have to figure out the second half, as I have only figured out the beginning. The rest confuses me, because for the first time, the anger includes women now, too. The bull is starting to hate them, too. More often than not, they are blonde, by hair dye. Or have some sort of a fake piece of hair in. Fake breasts, fake body parts, fake lips, even fake cheeks. Expensive jewelry, enough to feed a village, eating expensive meals, ones that cost the same price as a full house of groceries in India, but they don’t think about this. I walk past the café I do my schoolwork in as you finish work at your construction site and he is triggered again. Fuck, Spencer. Fuck. What am I going to do? I lost my theory, I don’t even know what it is. All these voices get messed up in my head and I do not know what is good, bad, evil, right or wrong. Which is my higher consciousness, is it good? I believe so, just a pressing tone. Is there an evil spirit? I don’t think, I hope not, maybe just anxiety, anxiety.

I know that I am different from people around me. I would never wish to be the same.

I have a theory in construction, but it gets all thrown away at the thought of getting angry at girls. The bull always felt at peace around feminine, so I get lost about what it is that triggers him, this feeling of rage inside. Every time I have these nightmares, the bloody ones, the ones where the bull is charging through all the evil spirits, I wake up the next day and am fine. I dream I am on this beautiful, beautiful mountain top after it each time, and it feels so, so real. Every time I black out, these dreams, these nightmares, and the dream that comes with, feels so real, and then I wake up and I am okay, and everything is better. My theory doesn’t make sense, I think to myself, or maybe it does.

I have read different articles online about a united consciousness, Spence. They say that all of us are connected. They even have done studies about it, them being scientists, of course. Its nighttime. You’re going to sleep, to wake up for work tomorrow, to buy some stuff they tell you to buy. Them being, them. You know, them? The “they”? Come on Spence, you know what I am talking about. The same assholes who let all this sugar be in my chocolate spread leading to obesity but in my case, one too many zits for me to be happy with my own skin on my left cheek. The same them that tell me zits are ugly and I am supposed to be beautiful, flawless skin, at all hours, even though today it is hard to feel pretty without a layer of sludge called foundation covering my bare skin to make it even and perfect. The bull is annoyed, about a zit, I am so confused. What’s going on? Man.

You call me and talk to me about work, I don’t really care, the bull is angry, I want you here with me, but you want to work for Samir, Samir. The bull doesn’t hate him, like he hated Cody, but senses something is wrong, the same with the blonde girls, the fake ones. I walk past a big ad on the way home, “Stupidity has a certain charm, Ignorance does not”. 22 000 children die every day and all these girls are buying fake body parts and lips and stuff, I am so confused. Isn’t turning a blind eye to someone who is dying equivalent to murder? The bull is the most confused. I am confused too. 22 000 children is so many. Kobe Bryant died and everyone was sad. Everyone watched Hunger Games, and again they were sad. But isn’t this our reality? The bull isn’t even angry anymore, the bull is just sad. Black lives matter, the bull is so sad. Indigenous lives matter, the bull is still sad. This girl from my high school posted she is sad about the indigenous kids and I was mean to her on social media. She said she is sad about these kids who died but she always shops and buys new clothes, and that is killing kids today.

The bull is being different this time, Spence. I don’t get it. I write to you because I know you don’t like to hear about him ever since all the News posts and articles. He is angry now, but quiet. He is silent and in the back. But he still bellows, he still bellows in the back, pawing the ground at girls with fake body parts and expensive jewelry and the rich, bellowing at the rich. Isn’t turning a blind eye to someone who is dying equivalent to murder?