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Jeremy A Vaeni

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Member Since: Jan, 2002


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Though Ball
By Jeremy A Vaeni
Sunday, November 23, 2003

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Do not adjust your antennae, folks, this is still just a dream. Just a nightmare. Just a dream.


Mom’s Apartment

A friend from high school is getting married. I decide to attend. I joked that if I made a speech at the reception it would be about how even though we weren’t great friends, he was consistently kind so being there is worth my time and the trek from New York.

There is a girl whose name I forget but think it is “Kristen” or “Christine.” She is standing by stacks of boxes because there is no place for her to sit. Bob and I occupy the only seats from whence we adjust our tuxedos to perfection. I offer her a seat on my lap in a joking manner so as to lessen the blow to ego when she inevitably declines.

She inevitably declines.

Fine. I offer to dig up a beanbag for her but she declines that as well.

I notice how dark and ominous the lighting is and that wrestling is on TV. The television set is the only thing not packed in a box so we (more like I) watch as the then-WWF (currently WWE) plot unfolds. Hulk Hogan has some lackey win the championship belt for him. The lackey hands over the belt to the Hulkster. It isn’t the World Heavyweight Championship title; rather, it’s some fictitious lesser title whose name I’ve now forgotten. I thought the Hulkster had sunken to a new low fighting for some shit belt.  Fireworks and pyrotechnics explode and fizzle in the arena. WWF CEO Vince McMahon brags about taking on ABC and “20/20”—which he did in a real-life interview.

Carrie,  another high school friend, has just entered the dream. She is wearing her prom dress and is sitting in a plastic school chair, preparing for the wedding. I try to convince her and Kristen, let’s call that first dream gal, that wrestling is awesome and they really should watch it.

They don’t buy it.


Wedding Reception

Bunch of friends mingling with people I don’t know. Everyone has a thought ball, which is a small ball of silly-putty-like substance. The balls are different colors; mine is gray. No one knows or cares what they are for except me. Everyone looks bored so I telepathically control my thought ball to bounce around the room. My perception follows the ball as it zips and pings off the walls, the floor, between peoples’ legs, underneath tables—all over the place. This entertains everyone. While they are distracted, I take their thought balls and put them in a glass mug a friend gave me in real life for attending his wedding. I offer the glass, which has my initials inscribed on it, to the groom as a wedding present. I do this semi-jokingly as it isn’t a wedding gift proper, but will have to suffice as I’ve not yet bought him anything. He decides to ask the thought balls a question the way one asks a toy Magic 8 Ball.

“Hey though ball: Does so-and-so like so-and-so? [I forget the names]”

The two balls corresponding to the two people in question respond by changing their colors to white. Originally, one ball was mauve; I forget what color the other one was. Somehow we understand this change to mean, “yes.” This game goes on for some time, with the groom and his new bride finding the inner-most dish on his best friends. Like the Magic 8 Ball, I note, the thought balls can only answer yes or no questions.

 The newlyweds and their guests file into another room for partying, I think. Great. Now I can ask my thought ball the questions I’ve always wanted answered. I pick it up off the floor and play with it. I discover new properties, namely that I can make it hover between my hands but not over them. I take a moment to formulate the proper wording for my question then ask: “Hey thought ball…Have I ever been abducted by aliens as I perceive them?” (By “perceive” I mean that I don’t really know if these beings people call aliens are from another planet.)

The tiny thought ball really comes alive now, morphing and expanding in my hands. It turns into a rectangular plaque the size of a hardcover book. A large-eyed “typical” alien face materializes in the plaque. Terror sweeps over me like an iceberg. Then, at split second intervals, the thought ball morphs into a human face—possibly my own—then expands into a life-size cot. At that, the words YES! BIG TIME! Flash through my mind. I hadn’t known what to expect before asking the question but the sheer rawness of the answer was frightening beyond capacity.

I drop the thought ball, which is now an ever-expanding cot, and realize my surroundings have changed. I am now standing alone in my mother’s parents’ bedroom. I flee to the living room, where all the people should be. In real life, the terror has jolted me to a more awakened state but I fight to stay in the dream.

And the dream fights to keep me there.

My mother is in the living room as well as my extended family. I have the thought ball in my hands again, as if I’d never left it behind Now, though, it isn’t a ball anymore, it’s a food tray and clay tablet in one. I wonder privately why I am allowed to know this about myself, that I’ve been abducted by aliens, when it seems from reading the literature, so many other abductees are not. In response to the unasked, the part of the tray that’s a clay tablet reads something like: “Article 1 states that the human species has a right to know everything about itself from present to 1346.” (That’s a loose translation from my fading memory.)

[I remember that the date was crinkled so at first I only saw the 46. I thought this referred to 1946, the year of the alleged Roswell UFO crash. But even that would be wrong as the year of the alleged crash is 1947. Fortunately, the inscription flattened itself out to reveal 1346, which at the time, I thought mean the 1300’s. Again, this makes no sense, unless by “present” the thought ball meant the present time from which its message was sent, which would be sometime in our past. Let’s not over think this. It’s just a dream, folks. I don’t know if I called timeout for this but…time back in!]

There is food on the food tray part of this thing that is certainly alien to me. There is a whitish-brown cylindrical thing that looks like a cross between an egg roll and a sandwich wrap. To its left sit two noodle wafer looking items, brownish yellow in color. They seemed to be pastries or pastry-like—nothing I’ve seen in real life. To the right of the food in big letters is the word SPECIES.

“You want me to eat something called species?” I joke. I know the implication is that the food contains some sort of knowledge that is meant for me but I am feeling extremely full and do not want to eat. I think maybe my mother wants it so I give it to her. She accepts eagerly.

Back in real life, I can no longer keep myself from waking up as I am now aware that I have to pee. I use the bathroom then climb back into bed. I note the time: 7:51am. It isn’t hard to conjure up an image of the thought ball. I have so many questions to ask it but the answers I receive are conscious and forced.

The answers I receive are not real.


It was extremely difficult getting back to sleep. The implications of the dream were startling. Did I really gain conscious access to my unconscious mind for a fleeting  moment? The terror was real enough and everything about what I was shown smacked of a truth I only thought I was prepared for.

I think the cot is symbolic of the fact that they take me at night. The alien face was them but who was the human face? Was it me? Was it some other alien type? Or were both faces my own?

How can I hope to sleep normally tonight?

       Web Site: Jeremy Arthur Vaeni's Valiens

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