To all who care,
Who in god’s name am I talking to? This is the question I’ve been trying to answer ever since the beginning of my enthusiastic evangelical career. You might be thinking that I’m talking about prayer when I ask such a question, but I’m not. I’m talking about something more sacred than prayer; something more exciting than the fatuous Joseph Smith tales. I am talking about something that has brought forth a new holy scripture; something that has revolutionized divine communication since days of Moses. This something my friends is my paradisaical power of communicating with the supernatural by way of Somniloquy Revelation. I’ve had many Revelations, and I have translated many of them into what is now known as the Septiteuch (the seven scrolls), which is the seven interpolated chapters of the Book of Willard. And I am proud of this accomplishment, but, there comes a time when a prophet reaches a point where he must question his very own divine authority, and that time is now.
See, lately I have been very active in my Revelations, and by active, I mean I’ve been very verbose and animated in my various slumbers. Now, my analytical mind has been trying to scientifically figure out what causes the talkativeness thereof. Various questions come to mind: Why is it that some nights I talk a lot and some nights I don’t talk at all? Could my diet have anything to do with it? What about caffeine? Could it cause a suppression in my sleep talking that somehow enhances my dreams? One thing I have noticed is that I never remember what I am dreaming about when I talk at incessant lengths. But, when I do remember the dream, I listen to the recording at the approximate time of the dream, and find nothing but maybe a yawn or two.
For example, last night I dreamt I was at my high school’s parking lot preparing for a trip to Riverside and back. I was with two high school acquaintances. The trip was quick and I am still confused as to what the purpose of it was. I think it had something to do with moving these acquaintances into their new apartment in Riverside. So when I returned from the trip I ended up walking with a friend to his apartment in the midst of this brick walled housing community containing only trailers and apartments. Before we got to his place my friend started talking to one of his neighbors. She was an older lady and he started preaching to her in a subtle way about god knows what, and she listened and complied with hidden agitation and went about her business. As she left he introduced himself to one of his other neighbors in an awkward way. I was feeling a questionable vibe from my friend as he communicated with this gentleman. It was almost as if he were some kind of leader of a pernicious cult. Then my other friend with long flowing shampooed hair appeared next to me and told me about our friend’s outgoing nature. I remember I admired that about him at the time, respectively. Then we all went inside, and for whatever reason we left the front door wide open. In the kitchen they had two peanut butter sized jars full of cocaine, and they later told me they preferred injection rather than snorting. (I am not sure if they prepared it for injection or just straight injected the powder.) That’s when they opened the jar and decided to reenact the Fight Club self-sacrificing scene with the cocaine placed on the top of my hand. After, I went to the back room to wash my hands, leaving the jars for the public to see, apparently. Then I got reprimanded by the beautiful glistening Pantiened hair: “There are two jars full of illegal substances, why in hell would you just leave them there for everyone to see?” I then apologized and said: “Oh crap, I didn’t even think about that, it was just ever so nonchalantly there.” That’s when they decided it was time to tell me about the destruction of 2012 AD. They told me that Christianity has now adopted the Mayan calendar and accepts it as St. John the divine’s Revelation. I could see it in there eyes that they “knew” that our very planet will end in five years. They then gave me this plastic baggy containing a pamphlet with information about this new found church/cult with survival techniques. The survival techniques included computer programs that somehow allowed you to escape the world’s demise with fashionable microchip ear plugs.
So after this vividly detailed dream I went back to the evidence and found that I didn’t mumble but a sound. Why is this? One would think that I would be talking throughout this whole dream. I then fell back asleep for another three hours or so and woke up without a memory of the slumber. I scanned the evidence and found that I did talk. (If you would like to hear the evidence, please check the previous Somniloquy Revelation entry.)
What I’ve learned is this: dreams don’t correlate with sleep talking, and I’ll never be aware of when I’m talking in my sleep. Which leads me back to the original question: Who am I talking to? For I have no clue, and I may never know. But, it is my personal belief that I am talking to my personal God Elohim. There is no way to prove or disprove my belief, therefore, I will stick to faith for all perturbing questions of this nature. The fact that I can’t remember anything when I talk in my sleep is a profound statement, to say the least. It’s profound in a sense that Elohim works in mysterious ways that science just can’t answer. For faith is my number one answer to all the unanswerable questions the world brings about.
These things I say in the name of Willard Pentameonus, thou ascendeth!
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