somesurrealkid
Member
Hey I'm new here so I'm pretty much gonna dump a summary of all my lives here and how I came to remember them. I've been perusing my memories and digging them up for about a year or more now. The fact I was somebody famous in a past life, in addition to some other details I'll talk about later, makes me very, very skeptical of the whole situation.
Anyway, this is going to be a long post so I'll get started right away. tl;dr at the bottom.
This all began SERIOUSLY when I started high school last year when I got my first memory from Salvador Dalí (my most recent life). It began kind of jokingly I guess when a couple friends in middle school, after a unit on Surrealism in art class, started comparing me to Salvador because I drew really weird and surreal stuff in that class and was pretty prone to attention grabbing stunts and misdemeanor offences to the teacher (only in art class, mind you). In high school, I began having visions. I would see seashores where there weren't any and vividly daydream myself in a house I didn't recognise. Eventually, this became so bad it was practically equivalent to blackouts. Additionally, it seemed like EVERY SINGLE BOOK I PICKED UP was about Salvador. Every site I went to had a joke about or picture of him. Everyone on TV had a mustache. Melting clocks were everywhere. I hadn't heard of him before middle school, really, but suddenly he was everywhere. After this, started, soon after my girlfriend started seeing things about Pablo Picasso everywhere and had a strange affiliation for Spain. I had the same sudden love of Spain. We concluded maybe something was up. The suspicions were confirmed when I eventually landed myself in the nurse's office at school because I fainted and, in a moment of delirium, told the nurse during a test of lucidity, I suppose, that I was born May 11. She asked what year. I said 1904. I had never seen Salvador Dalí's birthday until, after she told me what I had said when I focused back in, I looked up what it was because I exasperatedly knew "yeah, this is for real. I'm Salvador, and that's probably his birthday, and these blackouts are probably something important" And since then I've decided whatever the universe tells me, I'll listen.
Whatever. Not like I have a choice.
Since then, I've remembered a whole, whole lot more.
I remember Salvador's mother and her death (it bothers me even now. Unconfronted feelings, I guess)
I remember being kicked out of the Surrealist movement and how his stunts would just build on each other until they were out of control (he had some emotional stuff going on, cut him some slack. It was the only way for him to express himself)
I remember the **** mustache, yes. It's not that big of a deal. He just took great pride in standing out, and it was fun to fiddle with.
I now like to push my hair back. It's more comfortable. Familiar, I guess.
I would love to visit Catalonia.
I spend most of my time thinking on and remembering things from Salvador's life because he was most recent and because I loved Surrealism and painting already. I loved the 1920s already. If you'd asked me in 6th grade before this started what decade I wanted to be born in. I would've said I wanted to live in the early 1900s.
I don't really look much like Salvador, but I have black hair and brown eyes. My skin tans quick in the sun. I paint weird stuff and eat weird stuff to show off and anteaters are my favourite animal.
Anyway, about the other lives.
I have, so far, remembered a life in which I was an Ottoman government person of some kind named Yunan (something that sounded like that) who lived around the 1820s-1880s and was beheaded during a raid, one in which I was an Italian anarchist sort of vigilante (not as cool as he sounds) named Lorenzo (circa about the 1700s), a Russian writer and cellist named Svatoy (or something like that) (circa the early 1600s), and a few others that I haven't really determined dates for.
My girlfriend accompanied me in all these lives as my romantic partner, up to nearly the farthest back one I vaguely remember, in which I was a blind carver whose name was Polymius (again, phonetically figured out.) His hair was wirey and people were completely fascinated with his eyes. He was blinded by a lightning bolt. That's all I know for absolute certain about him.
As for my girlfriend, we're quite certain she was Pablo Picasso. Which is a vastly, vastly insane claim, I know.
She was called Ghaliva (or something like that) in Yunan's life, and Giovanna in Lorenzo's, and Nikolai in Svatoy's, and Aeneus (something like that) in Polymeus' life. Ghaliva was an orphan at one point and was a gypsy. He became a eunuch and served Yunan as a sort of adviser. Giovanna was pretty typical of the time. Nikolai was a crossdresser who went by Geneva, which is my girlfriend's name. I remember calling Nikolai that in public, and sometimes hesitating between the two names. Aeneus was fairly wealthy and had Polymius as his personal adviser for crops and the like, since he was under the impression Polymius was a psychic. They were around around or a bit before or after the time of Jesus Christ.
In the ways of proof, we have... Some... I guess?
I can tell you everything about any of the surrealists like I knew them, because I DID know them.
I can easily, easily give you an accurate interpretation of any of Salvador's paintings.
I can tell you Salvador went by Sal with people he didn't have to make an impression on.
Gala was nice. There were quite a few things off about their relationship, but it's not like I wouldn't like to find her.
Sal got along well with Philippe Soupault and DEFINITELY with Yves Tanguy.
I can tell you the press got so, so much wrong that there's nothing else I have in the ways of proof because they're just.. Wrong. Like straight up wrong about a lot of it and it upsets me, which is part of why I am writing this.
I'll post updates to this rather frequently. I'll get pictures of us copying Sal and Pablo's signatures.
I have a friend who I'm quite certain is Federico Garcia Lorca. He might be joining the forum, as will Geneva.
Again, signatures. They're exactly right. Handwriting, too.
We sometimes break out into full conversations in Spanish without meaning to and without being fluent at all. I'm in like, Spanish 2 and I can say about 3/4 of an ambiguous Hail Mary in it or Catalan.
I UNDERSTAND MOST CATALAN.
Geneva has also said full sentences in what I guess is Arabic from Ghaliva's life. I have written Yunan's name in Arabic script before while mindlessly doodling.
I won't make a reproduction of The Persistence of Memory because it has some bad associations and if I were to mess up simply because I am human, it'd look really bad, but I can point out all the little mistakes and flaws in it. All the places Sal stopped while he was painting it.
tl;dr I'm Salvador Dalí and I discovered so after a few lapses in consciousness. My best friend is Federico Garcia Lorca and my girlfriend is Pablo Picasso. Take me seriously, I have proof, I have signatures, I will upload them soon. We all have some degree of memories. Either I or they will post about their memories completely soon. There are a multitude of lies, slander, and confusions about Sal and especially about Pablo's lives, as with all the surrealists. I will get to these sometime if anyone asks. I have remembered other lives, but they are fuzzy or less like me because they are from farther in the past.
I look vaguely like Sal. I will post a picture later along with the signatures.
I might post some paintings of mine. (Although I am 16 and also working with acrylics, so the similarities are hard to see.)
Anyway, this is going to be a long post so I'll get started right away. tl;dr at the bottom.
This all began SERIOUSLY when I started high school last year when I got my first memory from Salvador Dalí (my most recent life). It began kind of jokingly I guess when a couple friends in middle school, after a unit on Surrealism in art class, started comparing me to Salvador because I drew really weird and surreal stuff in that class and was pretty prone to attention grabbing stunts and misdemeanor offences to the teacher (only in art class, mind you). In high school, I began having visions. I would see seashores where there weren't any and vividly daydream myself in a house I didn't recognise. Eventually, this became so bad it was practically equivalent to blackouts. Additionally, it seemed like EVERY SINGLE BOOK I PICKED UP was about Salvador. Every site I went to had a joke about or picture of him. Everyone on TV had a mustache. Melting clocks were everywhere. I hadn't heard of him before middle school, really, but suddenly he was everywhere. After this, started, soon after my girlfriend started seeing things about Pablo Picasso everywhere and had a strange affiliation for Spain. I had the same sudden love of Spain. We concluded maybe something was up. The suspicions were confirmed when I eventually landed myself in the nurse's office at school because I fainted and, in a moment of delirium, told the nurse during a test of lucidity, I suppose, that I was born May 11. She asked what year. I said 1904. I had never seen Salvador Dalí's birthday until, after she told me what I had said when I focused back in, I looked up what it was because I exasperatedly knew "yeah, this is for real. I'm Salvador, and that's probably his birthday, and these blackouts are probably something important" And since then I've decided whatever the universe tells me, I'll listen.
Whatever. Not like I have a choice.
Since then, I've remembered a whole, whole lot more.
I remember Salvador's mother and her death (it bothers me even now. Unconfronted feelings, I guess)
I remember being kicked out of the Surrealist movement and how his stunts would just build on each other until they were out of control (he had some emotional stuff going on, cut him some slack. It was the only way for him to express himself)
I remember the **** mustache, yes. It's not that big of a deal. He just took great pride in standing out, and it was fun to fiddle with.
I now like to push my hair back. It's more comfortable. Familiar, I guess.
I would love to visit Catalonia.
I spend most of my time thinking on and remembering things from Salvador's life because he was most recent and because I loved Surrealism and painting already. I loved the 1920s already. If you'd asked me in 6th grade before this started what decade I wanted to be born in. I would've said I wanted to live in the early 1900s.
I don't really look much like Salvador, but I have black hair and brown eyes. My skin tans quick in the sun. I paint weird stuff and eat weird stuff to show off and anteaters are my favourite animal.
Anyway, about the other lives.
I have, so far, remembered a life in which I was an Ottoman government person of some kind named Yunan (something that sounded like that) who lived around the 1820s-1880s and was beheaded during a raid, one in which I was an Italian anarchist sort of vigilante (not as cool as he sounds) named Lorenzo (circa about the 1700s), a Russian writer and cellist named Svatoy (or something like that) (circa the early 1600s), and a few others that I haven't really determined dates for.
My girlfriend accompanied me in all these lives as my romantic partner, up to nearly the farthest back one I vaguely remember, in which I was a blind carver whose name was Polymius (again, phonetically figured out.) His hair was wirey and people were completely fascinated with his eyes. He was blinded by a lightning bolt. That's all I know for absolute certain about him.
As for my girlfriend, we're quite certain she was Pablo Picasso. Which is a vastly, vastly insane claim, I know.
She was called Ghaliva (or something like that) in Yunan's life, and Giovanna in Lorenzo's, and Nikolai in Svatoy's, and Aeneus (something like that) in Polymeus' life. Ghaliva was an orphan at one point and was a gypsy. He became a eunuch and served Yunan as a sort of adviser. Giovanna was pretty typical of the time. Nikolai was a crossdresser who went by Geneva, which is my girlfriend's name. I remember calling Nikolai that in public, and sometimes hesitating between the two names. Aeneus was fairly wealthy and had Polymius as his personal adviser for crops and the like, since he was under the impression Polymius was a psychic. They were around around or a bit before or after the time of Jesus Christ.
In the ways of proof, we have... Some... I guess?
I can tell you everything about any of the surrealists like I knew them, because I DID know them.
I can easily, easily give you an accurate interpretation of any of Salvador's paintings.
I can tell you Salvador went by Sal with people he didn't have to make an impression on.
Gala was nice. There were quite a few things off about their relationship, but it's not like I wouldn't like to find her.
Sal got along well with Philippe Soupault and DEFINITELY with Yves Tanguy.
I can tell you the press got so, so much wrong that there's nothing else I have in the ways of proof because they're just.. Wrong. Like straight up wrong about a lot of it and it upsets me, which is part of why I am writing this.
I'll post updates to this rather frequently. I'll get pictures of us copying Sal and Pablo's signatures.
I have a friend who I'm quite certain is Federico Garcia Lorca. He might be joining the forum, as will Geneva.
Again, signatures. They're exactly right. Handwriting, too.
We sometimes break out into full conversations in Spanish without meaning to and without being fluent at all. I'm in like, Spanish 2 and I can say about 3/4 of an ambiguous Hail Mary in it or Catalan.
I UNDERSTAND MOST CATALAN.
Geneva has also said full sentences in what I guess is Arabic from Ghaliva's life. I have written Yunan's name in Arabic script before while mindlessly doodling.
I won't make a reproduction of The Persistence of Memory because it has some bad associations and if I were to mess up simply because I am human, it'd look really bad, but I can point out all the little mistakes and flaws in it. All the places Sal stopped while he was painting it.
tl;dr I'm Salvador Dalí and I discovered so after a few lapses in consciousness. My best friend is Federico Garcia Lorca and my girlfriend is Pablo Picasso. Take me seriously, I have proof, I have signatures, I will upload them soon. We all have some degree of memories. Either I or they will post about their memories completely soon. There are a multitude of lies, slander, and confusions about Sal and especially about Pablo's lives, as with all the surrealists. I will get to these sometime if anyone asks. I have remembered other lives, but they are fuzzy or less like me because they are from farther in the past.
I look vaguely like Sal. I will post a picture later along with the signatures.
I might post some paintings of mine. (Although I am 16 and also working with acrylics, so the similarities are hard to see.)
where is cube man
