I had a dream. I was holding my baby son. On a train to take him back to his mother. Shared custody. The mother was maybe 28. A white woman, beautiful. We weren’t together,. I was handing him over. Telling her something. Giving her instructions about to do this, that. How to take care of him. And it occurred to me she knew what she was doing. It would be fine. She was his mother.
A good dream. Woke up feeling better than I had in a long time. I should eat whatever I had yesterday. Have the dream again.
Sat down at my computer to write about it. And I got a DM from this girl. I met her at a reading. I asked her out. She blew me off. Sorority girl. Beautiful. Maybe 28. If I hadn’t been “important” at this place I wouldn’t have had the nuts.
Now here she was. She said want to go on a hike.
I found a magnificent waterfall. Far enough not to be crowded. We drove to the Angeles Crest in her Tesla Model 3 Performance. Pearl White Multi-Coat. Überturbine wheel package. She put it on Autopilot. There’s a screen where you see what the car sees. Gray ghosts of semi trucks on the freeway. Twitching and clipping like Skyrim trees popping in on Xbox. She’s a writer. Day job in the same industry as me. And in profile in the window, not looking at the road, gesticulating with her hands off the wheel as the car calculated how to flip 17 times and scourge us in white magnesium fire– she looked like the dream.
We climbed into the canyons. The lizards watching. She dates squared jawed Stanford tech chads, she told me. Engineers aren’t Kermit voiced autistics now. They have boats. Women. She’s deep in Silicon Valley quasi-Epstein scenes. Ketamine with fractal mathematicians. Her friends have NDA sex with trillionaires. Chasing that frosty Jurassic Park can of Elon’s sperm. God, is this meant to be.
I gave her the baby in the dream. She knew what to do.
The waterfall was dry. It was 110 degrees. On the way back she dry heaved. Her Apple Watch reading a pulse like a hummingbird. She couldn’t make it to the car. Had to sit in the shade panting while I ran down the hill to get the other water bottle. Couldn’t figure out how to unlock the Model 3 Performance while she flatlined up in the chaparral. I got it. I ran back up the hill. Gave her the water. I saved her life. Talked with her in the shade for a while. Waiting for her heart rate to go back down so she could stand.
Driving back she said I’m getting back together with my ex. The billionaire who bought her the car. What does it mean.
delicioustacos 
Your life is so sad now.
Can you make an official post or tweet with all the details for your $10K “find me a gf” offer? I’m highly interested. Thanks fren
Please, stop hurting me
Just gotta Costanza the last part and act like it never happened.
You didn’t know it but you were on a mission from God to get that perfect couple back together, help them to have many offspring, strengthen America’s stock. One of their daughters will grow up to become the first President of the West Coast Confederacy and will restore order during that tumultuous period by instituting Universal Basic Girlfriend.
Praise God.
it means you should buy a tesla (for yourself) so you can impress an age appropriate filipina. the white woman in the dream is a source of anxiety due to inferiority complex. the only way to get over your inferiority complex is to race-mix with a woman from an even more inferior race, so that she can adore you. but you already knew that. we’re all just beating a dead horse corpse at this point.
Tacos is the type to have already pre-ordered a CYBERTRUCK. By the time it finally gets released for mass purchase and ownership, it will be known as the preferred vehicle of RIGHT WING CHUDS. Doesn’t matter though. Beautiful Women will swoon and ovulate if they see you driving this magnificent vehicle, a sign of futuristic masculinity. This is why we want to make MONEY, not just to buy our freedom, but to buy awesome cars and luxury $hit. The rest is noise.
Maybe it’s time to come out of the closet. Middle aged single dude, no prospects, just talking about his abs a lot. And birds.
Before all the hate comes pouring in. Let me just put it out here, again, that finding your writing changed my life. It gave a voice to the emotions I was feeling since childhood.
I’m in fucking Nigeria and it feels like you’re my doppelganger. Let me know if you ever have plans to visit Africa at some point. It’ll be my pleasure to show you around Lagos. It is a filthy place devoid of beauty, but it’s my homeland and you’re welcome anytime – we have a few beaches and resorts that are not so ugly (and we’ll do daygame, if you’re interested. Having you wing me will score me points just by the virtue of you being white, and I can be a competent wingman on my best days also).
Don’t worry about money. $5000 is around 3 million Naira here. You’d live like a fucking king (although you can leave most of the bills to me). Just let me know if you have plans of visiting Nigeria.
I write like you now and everyone thinks I’m weird. But writing is something I can’t ever stop now.
Keep going, DT; you changed my life for the better. I want to start a blog myself because if whatever I post has the effect on just a single person in the same way yours did to me, then it’ll have been worth it.
Also, how can I send contact you directly? Do you have an email address you check? I’d like to speak to you about something.
I really miss following you on Twitter. I’m no longer on that vile platform due to the censorship, but your tweets always made me laugh, and they were a nice companion to your blog.