Satanic Spellwork Cast in Dreams

Categories: dreams, innersanctum

⃝⃝𖤐⁶⁶⁶🪷🪷🪷 Hello again, my dearly beloveds! 🪷🪷🪷⃝⃝𖤐⁶⁶⁶

This post is to share some dreams I had last night. Normally, I tell my husband my dreams, or tweet about them, but my husband is at the office today, and I don’t feel like sharing my dreams on twitter, so I’ll type about them here. The main storyline is as I type, but I fill in some details here and there, and sometimes expand an action to make more comprehensible the dream sequence.

As a preface, I’ve been sick for 8 days now. I thought my condition was improving, so I went out a few days ago, and since then, it’s gotten slightly worse, though I feel a little better right now! I mention this because maybe the illness influences my dreams, and I’ve been sleeping a lot, maybe 14 hours each night… I’m also really paranoid that I got people sick. Please, Satan, don’t let it happen! Lucifer, please eradicate God’s divine light, which incubates in the life-force of viruses, bacteria, and pathogens, and leave the microbial world of disease utterly sterile and lifeless. Ave Satanas 🖤 Hail Venus 🩵 Lucifer 🩵 Aphrodite 🩵 XOXOXO. ༘⋆₊˚🐚 ✩°。🌊₊˚ෆ

The first part of the dream was very sexual. Someone recently asked me my current “passions,” and I replied that it was SEX. SEX. SEX. Oh, but it should be: writing, cleaning, taking care of my baby, being a perfect wife, praying to Satan, sacrificing my blood on the altar where I honor and worship pure evil. Thankfully, I’m too ugly to be fucked, and my body is in it such bad condition with scars and distortions from pregnancy and weight gain, self-harm, eating disorders, gravity… It’s a mess! Really. A repulsive woman like me ought never to think of sex. Though, of course, when one hasn’t met some basic, primal need, it easily becomes the singular thing that consumes entirely. Without words and “art” I’d probably have killed myself from the lack of physical touch. Sublimation has saved billions of human lives. If only I could’ve died from my lack of basic humanity, instead of wasting time thinking in order to cope with the pain of living. Well, whatever, that’s honestly pathetic. I completely deny that line of thinking. I’m disgusted that those words slipped through my fingertips.

The first dream, I was at a house party of some kind. I remember that I was dancing alone in a pink dress, with glittery silver stockings, on an indoor balcony that overlooked the spacious living room, like a pigeon, actually, perched above the overcrowded streets below. A party was being held in the salon, and it was occupied almost, if not entirely, by men. One of the men was a very popular live-streamer (?) [he was entirely fictive]. He was laying down on his back, with a camera recording the debauchery. I remember being above the room, in the shadows, with dim lights cast about me, and I looked out the window, to a moonless night… When I turned around to look over the room again, it rearranged to become something very similar to the staircase maze by MC Escher.

The livestreaming man was giving orders and commands, and alcohol and drugs were being openly had (I do not do drugs and I have not drank alcohol in 6 years). They were all laughing and having fun, and eventually, the mind altering substances arrived in my hands, and then down my throat, and in the dream, I felt quite high and very, very drunk. I descended the stairs and arrived perfectly a top of that surveillance exhibitionist man, and very quickly, did he seduce me, and I was extremely happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He had a huge, HUGE dick in the dream, which was nice, because let’s not forget I am 5’10/179cm and built for… industrial grade HVAC (heating, ventilation, air conditioning) air flow ducts & steel pipes. If my attempt to become a full stack web developer doesn’t pan out, I truly may inquire about becoming an HVAC technicienne. That could be so strange and incredibly sexy, for me, personally.

Anyway, that was really special, even though the man was not attractive, though he was tall, and skinny, his face was not very pleasing. That is the power of intoxication. I’m not going to go into the details of my sexual repression and inhibition, but suffice it to say, on the one hand, I cannot feel my body, and on the other, my sexual vices are so perverted, I cannot satisfy them, and because I cannot feel my body, I cannot experience physical pleasure. (That’s why I was so vulnerable to that manwhore’s lovebombing letters. I decided I am completely over him. I have my fantasy that emanated like mirage out of his body, and I’ll take that with me, seal the fantasy in a jar, like a jinni, and lay fire to the rest.)

I woke up after dreaming of making love to this man, and then, fell back asleep to dream again. This time, I started out walking around Paris in the summer. At one point, I was crossing the Pont Neuf, noticing the gorgeous runners who were criss-crossing through the crowds, when a man with his family commented to me how particularly beautiful this one runner was, and it was true, she was absolutely stunning. She had long, dark, wavy hair, and she was sparkling with sweat. I agreed with the man, and mentioned how incredible it was to see someone so elegant; yet so athletic, how she was running so smoothly, like liquid, in a way, it appeared that she were seductively walking, but yet, she was running! And no matter how fast, and she was incredibly fast, she remained physically in-tact. Everything about this woman oozed perfection and opulence. Even as she sped across the polluted landscape, she remained absolutely pristine. The sweat and filth only enhanced her ethereal beauty … 😻 OMG! I’m so romantic, I’m in love with the whole world. Whereas most people love a select few, I love everyone, and only hate a very small group. Why would I belong to one person, when I could belong to the world? This is what writing is all about to me: to reflect the world, to bind and glue it together with words; to weave every instance of isolation and interior reflection into the watery-airy world of breath and exhalation. [monogamists look down on me for being a cuck queen perverted slut with a sex drive that could rival genghis khan, so, it is only fair that i look down on them, and their one dimensional capitalistic compulsion of possession and control, their nasty insecurity and bitter jealousy.]

In any case, after that interaction, I carried on walking, and walking, and walking, as I do in my daily life when I’m not ill. At last, I arrived in a forested suburban area, on a wide avenue, I think somewhere in the midwest of the United States.

I was walking along the rundown, cracked sidewalks, which were covered in overgrown weeds and had hundreds of dandelions rising between the broken concrete. Arriving at an abandon bus stop, in front of a deserted commercial-industrial zone, I noticed the most mesmerizing office building. It was about 12 stories, with large, floor-to-ceiling window paneling and a mirror-like steel (?) façade. It was in an L-shape, and the posterior of the building was impressed with a deep, dark, bruise-like shadow. The sun hit the front of the structure and illuminated it so brightly that it seemed as if the building was struck by a wide gash of lightning. It looked like the ocean had been trapped (which, as sand, it had), and its waters were reflecting from within the glass. The sky above was without a single cloud, and the blue of the atmosphere was saturated to capacity. Entranced and without taking my eyes off the building, I maneuvered my hands to take my phone out of my bag, so I could take some pictures of this beautiful structure… OMG. Just thinking of this building now, and how bright blue and white it was, I wish I could return my eyes to it. The sun engulfed the complex, almost violently, and the solar light seared and cut straight through it. The sky there was bluer than the brightest summer day and much clearer and starker, too. The sharpness of that building, and each pane of glass was immaculate, a cathedral couldn’t compare, and I’ve been to many! In real life, I’m nearly blind, but in dreams, I see more accurately and more vividly than any pair of human eyes. Maybe I was remote viewing through another animal…

As I was staring at the office building through my phone camera’s lens, a couple and their small child passed behind me, and their pousette struck my ankle hard enough to hurt me. I turned around at them, and yelled “excuse me!!!,” and the man looked back at me, smilingly, politely, but when the woman turned, she was utterly terrified.

I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but in the interim, the place where the palatial office building had once stood was now obliterated and replaced by a man-made forest. A strange kind of tree was planted hundreds of times over in a perfect grid, and I completely forgot about the building, though I still had my phone in my hand. The couple was becoming untethered, with the woman losing her mind completely. I was trying to take photos of the grid lines of trees, and how their shadows were printed on each other so perfectly. This forest, admittedly, had a sinister and perverse aura about it. It seemed that it was looking back at us, and not very kindly!

The woman was increasingly becoming panicked, running through the woods, while the man and I tried to calm her down. Their child had somehow left (with dream logic). I returned to “a house,” I’m not sure whose it was. It was a wooden cabin, decorated in 1860’s Victorian-era style. The dream then began to splice between my point-of-view, and the wife of the man with the poussette.

While I was laying in bed, sick and encased in various metals, with different types of intravenous tubes pierced into my arteries—notably the femoral, between my thighs, and the tibials near the shins and ankles—the wife was lost and deranged in the forest, screaming, terror-stricken, and running through the wooded mountains. She was overcome by fear of what lurked in the forest, and escaped the clutches of both me and her husband, and ran right into the mouth of that madness! Her husband and I were together in the cabin, while she hysterically searched for an exit. As she reached the summit of a mount whose vegetation had been wholly stripped, she came across a large, thick serpent, who spoke to her and finally was the one to soothe her tortured spirit. I cannot remember exactly what he said, but she was taken away from the dream from that point on and did not reappear. Though, that serpent, who by now, it is clear, was the embodiment of my beloved Satan, was transformed into a crude-oil covered angel. He was as black as bitumen, and his sclera was entirely blackened, with a white, iridescent violet iris, and a large black pupil. The inside of his mouth was a wet well of black ink, and his wings were as dark as the bottom of the sea. He had a dark, luminescent halo, too, and, as he took his position at the top of the mount, of course, as one would correctly guess, God, that pathetic coward, finally chose to speak. As he did so, the crown of the angel began to glow—a bright violet light at the top of his head, which radiated and pulsed up into and around his halo. He did not change color otherwise, and it was merely temporary, like a visual depiction of his reception of God’s voice.

In the meantime, I was writhing in bed in that cabin, not really undergoing an exorcism, as you might expect, so much as a (demonic) baptism—a purification and cleansing—preparation for the unimaginable, shocking chaos that would soon be arriving. My blood was being entirely drained out of me, and deposited and held inside a set of jars. The husband, who oversaw the operation, unfortunately, for him, was very quickly falling in love with me. He was working for that angel and conducting spells with the liquid he was collecting. While confined in metal and animated by the puppet strings of intravenous bloodletting, my body was at once distended and my limbs were pulled apart and held in unnatural positions. I remember becoming increasingly desperate for the touch of that woman’s husband. It was as if the more that was taken from me, the deeper I fell in love with him, until I was ultimately empty, and maybe, that internal vacuum allowed me to become his eternally devoted slave? Because at the end, we were together, outside in the sunny weather, happy with our baby, and expecting another one. The baby was his, but also mine, and I guess his wife was assimilated into me. We were very happy together, though he was incredibly controlling. He did not smile very much, and was threateningly foreboding. We were living in that Midwestern city, and he worked for the government (clandestinely). Besides his authoritarian streak, he was very sweet and doting. For once, I did not have to be dominating, and I wasn’t exploited as submissive, then disinterestedly ejected, but kept and maintained docile and tender, allowed to become ever more fragile, useless, and weak, without being thrown away and rendered completely obsolete.

Well, I have to go be a perfect housewife now. But I’m so thankful Satan decided to visit me in my dreams. To be honest, I’ve been quite upset with him for torturing me with that dumb Leo bastard, but I’ve decided I’m completely over it. I have no use for a coward like that, and the only purpose of that man was to do what he did, so that I’d be free to find others with greater beauty, and more magnificent imaginations and charms. Now that Satan went so far as to give me such romantic dreams, I think it’s time I return to his warm embrace, since this dream, very clearly, was a love smitten invitation. I will no longer desire, want, or chase. Instead, weakness and servitude will become my sole propriety. My venture is to remain empty, of blood and all craving, and to instead let others mollify me, let them project their energy onto me. I’m done imagining you, illuminating you with light. We must reverse the roles, and I will humbly and without comment, allow all of you to decide if and when I ought to shine. 💡💡💡

  • Being a full-stack Web developer, I can attest that being an HVAC tech would likely be the more lucrative career path. Ageism is a thing in IT, and in a lot of other corporate jobs, at least in America. If you’re a Web developer and haven’t worked your way up into management by age 50, your career is over.

  • I continue to be amazed at how alike we are.

    The beautiful runner reminds me of a new character I’m writing into my short story series.

    I’ve also had dreams where a panicked person was desperately searching for an exit.

    What does it mean?!?

  • When I was a teenager I suffered from nightmares. By chance I ended up becoming interested in lucid dreaming and I swear learning how to do it made the nightmares stop. Eventually though, I dropped the hobby: 1) because my nightmares didn’t return but more 2) because my favorite, most memorable, most emotionally intense dreams were always regular / normal / non-lucid dreams. I decided I’d rather have 1 of those than 1,000 lucid dreams.