It is easy to reminisce about the wonderful sixties and seventies. The music, the art, the culture, the fashion and the generation that fought so hard to change the world. A time of anti-war and anti-racism combined with an innocence and naivety that only made the times more wonderful.

Today’s younger generation have taken up the mantle and they too are shaping opinions, politics and art. Placing their indelible imprint on society for future generations to talk about and debate. Musical icons of today will become the Frank Sinatra, Jimi Hendrix and Pat Boone type legends for the current generation to listen to when they are sixty-five.

But one thing has gone missing from the halcyon days of the sixties and seventies that the current generation will never experience. UFOs!

So where have all the UFOs gone? Away with the flowers of San Francisco? Blowin’ away in the wind of Dylan. Passed by and departed with Jimi in a Purple Haze?

How many years has it been since a grainy black and white photo of an odd glow in the night sky made the front page of a newspaper? For that matter, where have all the newspapers gone? All the secrets of Roswell and Area 54 have vaporised into ancient history. Only discussed by ageing conspiracy theorists who now inhabit nursing homes for the clinically bored.

I love mysteries. And UFOs were the best ones during my younger years. I really miss them. We have been sterilised and disemboweled of our lust for flying saucers, Martians, alien races and little green men with antennas. Orson Wells is probably rolling in his grave at this very moment. War of the Worlds wouldn’t even raise the eyebrow of a four year old today.

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I am often asked where I find my ideas. Well, ideas is quite a compliment as I would more accurately describe them as irrational thoughts carelessly transferred into text (most often in Arial as I quite like the plainness of this font) and then irresponsibly published on either paper or in the gaseous cloud we have come to call the internet. My ultimate aim is to be published on either papyrus or granite, but I am told that this idea is rather backward looking.

Anyway, I have digressed from the title of this blog post.

To cut to the quick of it, I have discovered that by some strange freak of nature and clearly a small mix up in my DNA processing, I have ended up with and extra and rather odd gland. It is located quite inconveniently in my right cheek, and tends to swell at the most embarrassing of times. Over the years I have learned to have some limited control over it. If I grit my teeth firmly shut, the gland tends to stay quiet and flaccid. But if I allow my teeth to part, my tongue immediately goes into action and titillates the gland to a lumpy, cheeky sort of lump protruding from my right jowl.

In this state it is almost impossible to speak, although guffawing is possible with some effort. With limited oral communicative ability I find that it is the best time for me to get a pen or a keyboard and start writing pronto.

After conducting a lot of research over a period of about two minutes, I discovered that I may not be the only person in the world with this extra gland affliction. (Check the accompanying picture as proof.) I am happy about this, because I really do not want to feel as though I am a singular freak of nature.

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As a long time internet resident, one facet that has always fascinated me is fantasy. We have the good fortune of being able to present an image of ourselves to the world, minus our faults and foibles. Whether it be via a website, blog, chat, text or any other form of internet communication, (now poetically called social networking) we present ourselves in our best possible light.

That is natural of course. But where it gets interesting is when the image is partial or total fantasy. The starting point would have to be our profile images we use. How many of them are recent? How many of them are even of ourselves anyway? The image icons used in Twitter give me a good laugh when compared to the conversations. Then there are of course the spammers and phishers who use cute little girlie pics to attract their victims.

I should point out here though that I never use and image of myself on the internet that is more than a year old. Well, maybe two or three.

In our messages and conversations very few of us would admit to sitting in a cluttered bedroom, dressed in unfashionably old fleecy pyjamas and worn out slippers drinking warm milk, and blowing our snotty nose every five minutes due to a crappy head cold and suffering from flatulence after eating cold left over pizza. No, we are well connected, wealthy, cool, polite, charming and real pretenders to the the thrones of sex gods and goddesses with an enviable social life. Yeah!

So I’ll be the first to admit that at the time of writing this blog post, I was dressed in an old track suit and much older T-shirt. The T-shirt had ‘1976 Paleo Festival’ printed on it, but now barely visible. I had no shoes on and noticed that my toenails really needed clipping. In addition, I think I counted three farts. About one per paragraph, so that’s about on average. I can’t say for sure, but I may have belched as well. Sorry, I didn’t keep a count of coughs, sneezes and yawns.

My coffee cup looks disgusting. I think it’s time to get back to the real world and do the washing up! Now, where did I put my nail clippers?

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I woke up suddenly from a dream last night and wondered, yet again, about how illogical dreams seem to be when you awake, but so very logical when you are in the middle of one. I say yet again, because this thought has so often run through my mind. This morning I started to think about dream logic again and suddenly remembered taking some notes a long time ago.

After searching high and low, I found the rough notes I had made. I had woken suddenly from a dream one night and had tried to note down as much as I could remember. Still half asleep mind you. With a little, but not too much editing, I have pieced the notes together to try and recreate the dream for you.

The Threesomes Dream

Spinning disks. Colourful. Falling from the sky. Floating, yet spinning. Coming closer. Full of children. One slamming into a roller door of a suburban garage at a racetrack located in the back yard of my grandmother’s house. Children killed.

Retiring to the garden at the side of my grandmother’s house. Watching our handbags being used as sprinklers. Deciding to walk home. Upset at the tragedy. Walking miles. To the house I lived in as a child. Two doors away from my grandmother’s house.

An old friend who I had never met (yet!) was already at home watching TV. Waiting for us. I approached the door with my wife, and entered the house of my childhood. Also with my other wife, who I had never met, but knew she was going to be my wife.

Three parallel universes. In the same place and time. Created to increase the economic output of Earth, as it was not meeting galactic quotas. Developed and implemented by the Central Galactic Economic Advisory Committee to accelerate the technological and economic output of Earth, so it could join the Western Orion economic zone, 7 million years ahead of schedule.

Life forces were in limited supply. Stories of souls by monks and priests were not far from the truth, but were used to explain and pacify ‘crossovers’. Heaven was used to explain re-bodying of life forces. Three parallel universes of Earth made better use of life forces as bodies were easy to produce but life forces were governed by a strict galactic quota.

Earth humans were way behind the rest of the universe. Third world like. The oligarchy were in charge of the plan. A ‘get rich quick scheme’ with many tax incentives.

Three way division of life forces had drawbacks. Only one third of each personality could be used in each universe. So each individual was incomplete. Hence no one was completely balanced as elsewhere in the universe. Leading to a breakdown in society values and behaviour. Needing new strictures and supervision. Police, military, government, churches. To control the inevitable lack of discipline one third of a human psyche could attain. There was no need for these controls in a single universe. It was hoped that three universes could be merged back into one in three or four million years once economic performance and technological evolution had been attained.

Dreams were crossover points. Ones that were impossible to eliminate because of the strength of a single life force. But were explained away as just dreaming. Occasionally a life force would wander too far from this dream state and realise the reality of the situation. In a three way split state, all dreams, fantasies, odd thoughts and déjà vu feelings were just consequences of the reality. Simple crossovers. The results of not being able to completely split a life force into three.

I was being briefed by Nimrod Kwic on a small hill overlooking Jerusalem. Why here? And why me? And why now?

Like him, I was a rare revert. The merging of my three split forces had been gaining pace in recent years. This was monitored by the authorities and any such occurrences were sent here. And where is here?

The fourth dimension. A holding reality. Where life forces exist on hold until the eventual merging back of the three spilt universes (Earths). Only a few million years to wait. But we had no actual reality. No bodies. We are complete and balanced, as there is no such thing as an imperfect life force. But because life forces are in limited supply, we are not to be wasted. Just kept on ice per say.

Now, all of that seems perfectly logical, doesn’t it?

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