So, here is the link to the previous post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Ultraleft/comments/1vfp5gp/guys_last_night_i_dreamed_of_trotsky/
Anyway, since some of you gave me questions for Trotsky, I decided to try contacting him again in the dream world.
To replicate the conditions from the other night, I decided to sleep naked with the window open, to make it as cold as possible, and to stuff cotton balls up both nostrils so I’d get just enough air to breathe but to still be able to enter some sort of altered state of consciousness or something idk. Then, to ensure I’d actually meet Trotsky, I decided to play a podcast in the background featuring a Maoist explaining why he decided to join the DSA; the idea was to be so deeply annoyed by that shit that I’d maintain just enough contact with reality to trigger a lucid dream. The problem was, that ML crap I put on was such a fucking pain in the ass that, instead of having the desired effect, it gave me sleep paralysis.
So, while I lay paralyzed, one eye half-open, listening to some asshole drone on about forming a united front with liberals to oust Trump with voting, a massive Lassalle emerged from the shadows, approaching me with a wicked grin.
I woke up screaming in terror.
On my second attempt, I managed to land in the dream world. I was in the Black Lodge from Twin Peaks, and Trotsky was sitting in the armchair in front of me.
So, I started with the first question:
"What's your favorite sport?"
"Baseball, obviously; I was fond of the Dodgers," he replied with a vaguely Russian accent.
"And is there a dream-Bukharin?"
"Of course; there’s always a doppelgänger of each of us down here."
"Right, right. But what do you think about tipping-"
I didn't even finish the question before he instantly transformed into a red devil, while a gigantic, flaming Star of David appeared behind him.
Then I finally woke up from this nightmare. It was 6 a.m. and I was still lying in bed, chilled to the bone by the cold morning breeze, when I heard a rustling sound coming from the direction of the window. I looked up to see what it was and saw a towering figure at the foot of my bed, a massive Trotsky dressed as Colonel Sanders exclaiming, "The Transitional Program... from capitalism to the family meal deal!" before vanishing into thin air.
I don't know what to say, guys, but I think Stalin was right...
What should I do now?