naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I dreamed that Bear and I were trying to get things fixed up, but someone kept undoing all our work, and our things kept getting lost, and it was all quite frustrating.

It was full night outside and we hear the sounds of a parade so we go look, and it's some kind of weird (but beautiful) Midnight Carnival thing.  People in costumes, in masks, carrying banners.  Strange animals.  Dancing, singing, drumming.  It's spilling over into the park across the street, and we decide to go put on some costumes and have a walk, because fuck working to fix a mess we didn't make.

After a while, all the motion and noise gets to be too much for me, so I excuse myself and go walking back the way the procession came, where it's quiet and dark and soft.

I see a paddock, and I can see a stable up near the crest of the hill.  I call out and two horses gallop down.  They're friendly, and follow me along the fence as I climb the hill toward the house.  There's an old woman there at the top of the hill, watching me.  She's grey, wearing a grey robe, and unbelievably ancient.

"Was that you in the street just now, calling to my horses?" she asked.

"Yeah, that was me," I said, not sure if she was going to be angry for interfering with her animals.

"You looked so beautiful.  Just dancing and spinning as you walked."

"I wasn't dancing."

"Well, maybe it was something else, but it was you."

I'm confused.  I wasn't dancing.  Seriously.  Like, I'm happy, I'm in love, but it's not the same thing.

She just shrugs and points up.  "Look how clear the stars are," she says.

I look up and there is Orion, huge and handsome, and more stars than I have ever seen in the night sky.  And there are shooting stars, dozens of them, streaking the sky.  It's unspeakably beautiful.

"I'll be right back," I say hastily, giving her arm a squeeze before I tear off running down the hill.  "I have to get my girlfriend."

I run back to the festival and grab her.  "Come with me!"

"Why?  What is it?"

"Just . . . come with me!"

She's excited now.  She knows if I'm this worked up, it has to be good.  So she comes with me and we say hello to the horses and we climb the hill where the old woman is still waiting wordlessly.

"Look.  Look at Orion," I say, pointing out the familiar shape.  There are even more stars than before, and clouds skimming overhead, thin and pale but still flickering with lightning.  It looks like Orion is wearing some sort of badass celestial robe.  I can almost see him, like a picture laid over a picture.

As we watch, shooting stars keep falling by the dozens.  Some of them white, some blue, some slow, some fast, some leaving long trails and some just brief flashes of light.  Then the actual stars themselves, the real stars, begin to twinkle and put forth sharp rays of light that stay in the air, hovering.  It looks very strange, but it's also quite beautiful.

"What are those?" I ask.  They look like . . . music.  Bright and fearful music.

"They are called swords of light," the old woman says.  "It means the celestial ones are dying."

I don't know if she means angels or the stars themselves or both.  I don't ask.

Then the stars begin to go out, flashing brighter before vanishing, leaving the rays quivering to nothing in the air.  It's like watching someone turn the lights off on the entire universe, and I know that the most distant ones are going first, coming nearer and nearer as we watch them wink out and fade.

It's the literal end of the world, the end of everything, the Universe taking back its one great muttered Word.  I am terrified.

The old woman says nothing.  I don't know if Bear can even see her, or if she knows what is happening.  When I look over at her, she looks completely calm.

Without speaking, I reach out and take her big, warm hand.  

It's the end of the world and that's the only thing I want to do.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Before I can talk about things, I have to bore you with the second dream, which is actually really sexy and you should read it. It’s also really sad, though nobody dies and there were no injured kittens or anything.

The second dream was similar to the first in many ways. (DW and LJ links.)

Things were really beautiful at first.

I was a strapping, handsome young man serving a very, very powerful and well-placed wizard. I lived with him and his apprentice, who was an incredibly powerful girl of about fifteen. I was having lots of very good, very loving, very kinky sex with both of them.

My main purpose was as a focus object. I had no magical skill, but I had another unique talent: I was a vessel, a human familiar. A reservoir for magical energy. I could serve a as a kind of bridge for my master and his apprentice, combining their power through me. I could help to steady energy flow during magic, and I could serve as a sort of power bank. In a pinch, I could intercept hostile magic and drain away most or all of its power, meaning I served as a sort of bodyguard to both of them, protecting them from magical attack.

Just imagine that this lovely lady is a lovely dude.
Photo by Grendelkhan, from Wikipedia.
The fact that I was not able to find a decent creative-commons pic of a MAN in a slave collar is a cranky-as-hell conversation for another time.

 

Basically, I was a human familiar and bodyguard with a talent that needed to be used, just as much as a wizard’s magic needs to be used. If they did not use magic regularly, it was harmful to them. It would burn them out from the inside trying to hold it. If I did not have it channeled through me regularly, if my talent was not used, it was harmful to me, and I began to pine and fade.

I was very, very important to what they did, and I was part of a healthy, working partnership. I loved them both very dearly. Equally, but in different ways.

The girl was my dearest friend and confidante. I was in love with her in a way that is difficult to describe. She was little sister and lover and best friend all in one, and she acknowledged me as a full equal, which was extraordinary, for my power was often misconstrued as inferior to active magic, even though it was more rare. She was younger than me by about five or six years, so I was often protective of her, but her power awed me.

My master was . . . my master. I worshiped him. I belonged to him in a way that, again, is difficult to describe. It was utter trust, utter obedience, because anything else was unthinkable. I had surrendered my will to him completely, and he never abused or mistreated that trust, or treated me as anything other than a cherished companion. He had saved me from nothingness, brought me back from the edge of despair and death. I owed my life to him, but I also owed him my spirit.

Because of them, I was whole. Because of me, they were whole. I was their armor; they were my mind and my heart. It was beautiful in every way.

The first dream had no D/s undertones, but this one absolutely did. I wore a collar with a blue tag on it. Some of the things that they did to me were painful, but also incredibly sexy. I had tattoos they had put on me to make me a better vessel. I was so proud to be theirs.

We went to the Goblin Market, which, being a modern Goblin Market, was in a shopping mall underground, in a part of the city that had sunk during an earthquake.

Inside the Goblin Mall, there were dwarven jewelers, a cobbler elf shoe store, and a dressmaker’s run by rats. The gremlins owned an electronics shop – no warranty, but everything there was totally badass. There was a place that sold magic books and grand grimoires where the books would introduce themselves to you. All kinds of shops, really; magic supply shops with everything from chicken feet to unicorn bezoars, places that sold arcane magical items, a pet shop where you could get familiars. There was a place you could get curses or blessings or a handful of pixie dust in exchange for dreams – one year of dreams would get you a pretty good curse, and you could have a minor miracle for a couple of decades. There was even a carousel with real magical animals on it; I remember the filigree around the upper canopy was all made of golden thorns.

It was just the coolest thing. Sort of like Noetic City, but explicitly and thoroughly magical.

All kinds of people and things went back and forth there, peaceably enough. Familiars. Many of them. Tall fairies, shadow folk, dryads, spriggans, and fairy tale figures. I mean, it was just so cool. I met the twin offspring of Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf: a beautiful boy/girl child with a dirty face and grubby hands and hair like fire held back by a red scarf, and who flitted behind shelves and counters, barely seen; and a ginger and cream colored wolf with slightly curly fur, so well-groomed it looked like a dog, and so very soft and very friendly and eager to play – the wolf especially delighted me. It was like a Disney Princess wolf, although it still had all its teeth.

We were cutting a deal with a dwarf for a beautiful chain I suspect was to be used for some sort of bondage-y purpose, when I looked to the side, and my master and his apprentice were gone. I was immediately upset. I was not supposed to leave his side, ever – not just for his protection, but for mine. Sneered at or not, my talent was rare, I was well-trained, and I was valuable.

I looked around, thinking they had just stepped around the counter or into the next shop, and my heart sank as I realized they weren’t there. I quickly retraced our steps, hoping they’d forgotten something at one of the other shops and had gone back for it. Nothing. I searched everywhere, upper level, lower level, every shop and kiosk, even the bathrooms and food court. They were just . . . gone.

And worse, as I went along, I realized that not only had nobody seen them recently, nobody had seen them at all. Even the people at the shops we had visited didn’t remember seeing him. The proprietors of our regular haunts had never even heard of us. Something was very wrong, terribly and horribly wrong. It had fairy glamor written all over it. And, being what I was, there was not a damn thing I could do.

I started asking other patrons for help, but none would help me. I was wearing someone else’s collar and tag, and it was sort of forbidden to interact with someone else’s familiar without their explicit permission.

It hurt terribly. I was very afraid. Not because I couldn’t fend for myself in the real world or whatever, but because two people I loved were missing. I couldn’t go home without them. Actually, I couldn’t even get home without them. We had teleported. But without them, there was no home to go to, so it was completely moot anyhow. I had no place.

I stayed so late the shops closed for the witching hour. I was there all night, nothing but the dull gold glow of the security lights and the patrolling watchmen. I think they were werewolves. Whatever they were, they neither helped nor hindered, and after ascertaining that I was there to do no mischief, they did not disturb me.

I sat next to the magic fountain until dawn, keeping my miserable vigil, and then I did the only thing I could think of to do. When you are lost, you stay in one place and wait for help to arrive. I went and knelt in the middle of the main thoroughfare and stayed there with my hands in my lap and my eyes downcast, waiting. My master was respected, loved. Sooner or later, someone we knew would see me, realize that something must be wrong if I was alone, and offer to help me.

The mall opened again, and soon the strange, steady traffic resumed. They passed by hour after hour. Some looked at me with curiosity. Some with disgust, assuming I had done something wrong and had been thrown away. Some petted my hair as they went past, or stroked my face, or simply stopped and looked at me for a while. Some, assuming I was being punished for some wrongdoing, slapped me, or spit on me, or called me names. Kicked me, cuffed me. I did not react, no matter how angered or touched I was. It was brutal and humiliating, but because it was me dreaming it, and it was obviously in an explicitly kinky universe, it was also really, really hot

None of them recognized me, or if they did, they said nothing. They became a shapeless mass, faceless faces, all the same. None of them familiar. The humiliation faded into quiet resignation. I waited and waited and waited to see the gleam of his shoes, or her delicate ankle, to see his shirt-cuff and signet ring, or to feel her hand in my hair.

It was an absolutely gut-wrenching dream. I felt, still feel, awful for the boy I was in the dream. It wasn’t a dream full of terror and running, it was just . . . this heavy, growing disquiet, and then that quiet feeling of despair when you know you have done all you know to do, and you are still totally screwed.

I told Sargon about it, and he posited that maybe my master had left me there on purpose, hoping that someone would take me in, like dumping a puppy in a parking lot. Left me there and gone off with his apprentice. Didn’t want me anymore. Wanted her to himself. That’s a horrible thought, but I don’t think that was it. Totally wrong for the feel of the dream, the relationship I had with those people. I just don’t know what did happen. I have no idea, beyond the conviction that magic was involved.

Again, I really, really want there to be a way for them to be reunited, because that kid, the kid I was, was a good kid. The kind of faithful and loyal and trusting that really breaks your heart to see abused.

Cross-posted from Silver Into Steel.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)

Around the first week of January of this year I had a pair of dreams, one night apart, that have tugged at me ever since. I finally found the personal journal entries where I wrote about them, and found that they are as relevant now as they were then. I want to share them with you because they’re so beautiful, and because there are things I need to talk about that relate to them both, and I think I’m ready to do that now.
 

Night Garden by Susan Sanford on Flickr.

I lived in an underground wizard’s tower. Like a deep, deep stone-lined shaft with lovely arched entryways leading into a warren of corridors and rooms. It was huge. There was a waterfall down one side, and a meditation garden at the bottom full of mossy rocks big as bulls, and a lily pool, and small statues hiding in the roots of the twisted trees that grew there. Though the sun never reached more than halfway down the central shaft, it was never dark. Lights hung among the branches or glowed near paths and benches. It was immensely peaceful and quite lovely.

I lived there with my master, a powerful wizard who had raised me from childhood to be his companion. (The deeply creepy overtones that carries when you say it out loud were not there in the dream.) I loved him utterly. He provided for my every need and want, and so I never left the tower. I could have, if I wanted to, but I was happy. I was not a creature of great appetites. I was not spoiled, any more than it is spoiling anyone to meet their needs. My need was to be kept safe and comfortable.

I helped my master with his correspondence and his studies. He taught me how to do amazing and wonderful things with magic. I could make books sing their words aloud, or make cats waltz with rabbits. I knew the secret names that would make every stone in the garden glow a different color and sound a different note. I could turn into a cat, a wolf, a fox, a crow, a marten.

None of what I did was what you would call useful, certainly none of it was destructive, but I had no concept of that, really. I had no idea that magic or life should be for something. Just that it was, and was to be enjoyed. It was total innocence. I was a beautiful being capable of beautiful things, and I believed that completely.

My master didn’t live like that. He went out into the world and did things. Fought battles, even, though whether he saved cities or razed them I did not know and didn’t care. He was kind to me. He went out into the world and worked his will upon it, because that was what pleased him, and so I never questioned it.

One day, he didn’t come back.

I didn’t know how to provide for myself. Without him, where would I get food, or companionship, or any of the other things that I needed that he provided me? So I left the tower and went into the upper world, hoping to look up some of the friends he corresponded with, knowing they would help me.

I came up outside a town that was very much like small town Oklahoma or Arkansas or Kansas. Not a backwards, hostile hickville, but a town full of average folks with the kindness you find among the best kind of rural people. I stole some clothes from a store so I wasn’t naked, even though I didn’t understand why these people covered themselves. It seemed silly, but they wouldn’t talk to me otherwise, just stare.

I asked around about my master, but nobody knew what I was talking about. A magician? A tower underground? That’s crazy talk. I asked if they could help me find his friends, and they sent me to a telephone. I didn’t even know what it was. I’d never learned to contact his friends on my own. I always had him to do it for me.

And the worst of it was that these people kept asking me things.

What’s your name?


Well, I don’t have one. I know who I am, and he knows who I am, and isn’t that all that matters?

Are you a boy or a girl?


What is the difference between them? I can see the difference between types of bodies, yes, I am not ignorant of that, but why do you draw lines between them, and why are people expected to – forced to! – identify themselves based on their body parts? That is boundlessly cruel, and obviously sick and destructive.

What do you do?


I read books and sometimes I climb trees and rocks, and I sleep on soft sheets and pillows with someone who really, really loves me, and
takes care of me always, and now he’s gone, and I’m alone, and I’m so scared.

No, no, I mean, what’s your
job?

And that one I didn’t understand at all, I didn’t even know what that meant. Once it was explained, I felt awful about it. All these people with identities totally at odds with what they were forced to do every day, all these people working at things that meant nothing to them. I didn’t even understand money. I didn’t understand why the things that people need were not provided to them by people who love them, and I did not see why people did not care for one another and love one another.

It was a nice place and full of the nicest people, and I didn’t understand them at all. They couldn’t help me. They kept demanding that I identify myself in ways that made no sense. And they insisted that magic did not exist! The only time they became uncomfortable or standoffish was when I tried to prove it did.

I could see that were passionate about things and laughed often and were sometimes kind to one another, and I also saw that they could be lonely and afraid, so I did not think they were so very different from me at all, but apparently they felt otherwise, and they wanted me to be more like them in ways that they considered important before they would help me. And they did not believe me when I said I was in danger.

I became aware as I went running from pillar to post that someone WAS hunting me, but I couldn’t catch them at it, and couldn’t get away from them, either. I was pretty sure they were coming to take me, too, because my master had always told me that I was precious and important, and also that I was delicate, and that others would be jealous and want to hurt or steal me if I ever left. (And he was right, as creepy as it sounds. He wasn’t just saying that to keep me in a cage. It was true.)

I was scared, and I knew if I changed my shape into an animal, the people would try to hurt me or catch me, so I stole a bike and tried to ride for the bookstore, where I thought I might find help of some kind – places for books are safe places.

I woke up before I could get there.

That is the first dream.

It was a sad dream. I very much liked the person I was in it, and I hope that I was able to find my master and get back to the peaceful garden at the bottom of the tower.

Originally published at Silver Into Steel.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
All y'all who have been reading me for a while know I often have highly-symbolic, narrative dreams.  I’m told that’s common with bipolar disorder, but people like ascribing things to mental illnesses, so I’m not sure how much stock to put in that.

I dreamed I was at some sort of combination SF/F convention and home and garden expo thing held inside a really big mall.  All the "shops" were suites where people basically lived, doing their thing.

There was a huge glassed-in house -- a really nice one -- right in the middle of the three-story open area right in the middle of the mall.  I don't know why, but I knew I had to go live there.  I didn't want to, though.  It was furnished and looked comfortable, but the walls were see-through, and there were people going in and out all the time.

I couldn't get into any of the other suites.  The doors were locked, or they wouldn't let me in.  I didn't have anywhere to go, and was getting pretty frustrated, when some guy came up and said I could go into his room with his friends where they were having a party with drums and dancing, and I was welcome to come and stay there if I would dress for the occasion.

Not having any alternative, I agreed, and went to get dressed.

I got my black wolf-skin and put it on.  I dropped to all fours and trotted back.  I could see my reflection in the glass walls of the house, the glass walls of the elevator, and the glass below the rails.  I looked like a wolf trotting, only the occasional flash of knee or elbow to break the illusion.  I thought I looked pretty good.

I went back to the guy, who was waiting for me.

"I'm dressed," I said, bouncing from foot to foot.  "Hey, hey, look, I'm a wolf!"

"What the fuck are you wearing?" he said.

"Well, these are the only dancing clothes I have," I said, then added, defensively: "Wolves can dance."

"Where the hell did you even get something like that?"

"It was going to be thrown away after the wolf died and didn't need it anymore, so I took it.  It's all right.  What's left of her doesn't mind.  Isn't she beautiful?"  I was naked underneath, but he couldn't see it.  The wolf-skin wrapped all the way around me.

"Well, you can't come to the party," he said, and I realized that he had only wanted me there to fuck him and his friends, and I got angry.  I pulled the wolf mask over my face and growled at him.  He ran away, back to his room.

Downstairs, a commotion started.  Screaming, the sound of things breaking.  I looked over the rail and the big glass house was on fire.  Everything inside had been made of flash paper.  It hadn't even been real.  I watched the orange flame blossom inside the walls, watched black smoke flood against the cracking glass ceiling.  I laughed.

Still in my wolf-skin, I trotted outside into the dark and sat on a hill, watching the mall burn down, smoke streaming up into a heavy sky.  The moon hung over it all, huge and yellow.

There was still nowhere for me to go, and I had nothing but the wolf-skin, but it was strangely satisfying watching everything burn.

. . . Yeah.   Not symbolic or anything.

It was a pleasant dream, though I can't say it's a particularly hopeful one.

Originally published at Silver Into Steel.  Comment wherever you like.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Thane)
Skip it if you like, but man, the self-contained internal logic of a completely insane place is really cool.  I cannot believe my brain did this.  I have really vivid, narrative dreams often, but this was actually pure metaphor.

I dreamed about the place where everyone goes for their real-life city dreams.  It was called Noetic City.  It was always night, and there was no visible sky, just darkness and the glow of neon and streetlights.  It's cold and wet and there's a sheen of water on the streets and shallow puddles everywhere.

It's where you meet the dreams you have, or you see them in the movie theaters, or they just happen to you.

It's thronged with real people though, all the other people having dreams.  No cars.  You walk everywhere, many alleys, many buildings with walkways to walk through.  Lots of shops.

So I went through this place and saw everything.

The best place was a place where a man carved things out of wood that became living things or real things.  Like, he could carve a tiger and it would become a real tiger, or it represented a real actual, individual tiger.  He said if I stayed, I could learn too, but it was really dangerous.  He had a whole case full of real miniature things.  These things that he made were the only objects capable of crossing over for real.

He offered to let me take something with me, but I don't remember what, if anything, I took.  He had strong hands that I think were made of wood like the wood he worked, because they were very dark.  The saw he used was a big jigsaw, and really scary.  He carved things from wood slivers mostly, like those snap-together 3-D wooden models you can get in the kids' section of the craft store.  The bits and pieces came around on a track like a model train, with all these little dioramas around it, until they reached the blade, and then he'd carve them and his assistant would put them together, and it was just so cool to watch.

There was a clothing store that only had one thing that would fit you. You had to find it, but when you did you realized it was just what you were looking for, and you always liked how you looked in it.  There was a room that was all mirror, and you could see yourself from any angle.  You put the outfit on and you took pictures and this was added to how you thought you really looked.

There was a restaurant where they served you anything, as much as you wanted, all for free, and nobody left hungry.  You came with friends and you left with friends, but they were not always the same people.  That's not creepy as it sounds.  Mostly it just means that you were making friends with dream people you'd never met, and that's why some people know each other, or feel like they do, before they've met in real life.

There was a place where you could get records/tapes/cds of everything anyone knew.  Poe was popular, for some reason.  But they were all dead people, who had been dead a long time so their stuff was public domain.  All their secrets were bonus tracks, and listening to them was not necessarily recommended.  Most people only bought one thing, then never came back, but there was other stuff to buy, like tee shirts and stickers, so they did okay.

There was a shop that sold magic tricks that were actually just things that worked like they were supposed to.  It had a bin full of playing cards of all kinds and sizes, for 2 cents each (but not really, it was just a sign, and you could draw one if you wanted one).  You could choose as many as you liked, but since these were all playing cards lost from real decks, you'd never have all the cards from any one deck, which meant that you couldn't use them as playing cards.  You really needed to know what you meant to do with it when you took one.  Some people interpreted them like tarot cards.  Some people used them to write messages on.  Some people just put them in their pockets.  I picked some for these kids behind me; little half-sized cards.

There was a tattoo shop called Premonitions where you chose your flash and they tattooed it on you using music (and that's why you have songs stuck in your head sometimes). These tattoos are representative of things that are going to happen soon, and the tattooist is the one who decides which of them to give you and therefore tell you about, even though all the ones you picked mean something, and represent things that are very likely to happen.

There were places, too, without anyone in them, or hardly anyone.  Like places that are part of bad dreams, or which are the dreams of places that have bad dreams, but most of those were inaccessible.  There were people caught on the edges.  People obviously sick, people who couldn't leave, or people who were lost.  Lots of addicts.

There were whole sections just for people other people had dreamed into existing.  People who were parts of other people's dreams.  The sex dream ones were sex workers.  Some were bad people because people dream about people who hurt them.  Some were fading away and semi-shapeless and it wasn't possible to tell if those were fading dreams or dreams that hadn't been born quite yet.

And walking down between these two squalid, pressed-together apartment buildings, a door banged open and a girl with two ponytails and amber hair came running out, holding some sort of animal in her arms.  She was running from a bunch of big dogs that were barking and snarling after her.  A man was yelling for her to get her ass back there; he was really gross and scary.

I walked past him, then turned around and yelled at him so he'd look away from the girl and not see where she went.  I told him to shut up and stop yelling, to just stop it.  He threatened me pretty graphically but I knew he was a dream, I knew it was all a dream.  I knew he couldn't hurt me. He yelled and foamed and I yelled at him to GET BACK, like a dog, and he settled back, surprised, because I wasn't supposed to be able to do that. I was supposed to be scared.  It was his job to scare people, it was what he was, what he did, and I ordered him and his other dogs back inside.

I worried about the girl because maybe it was her home that she dreamed about, or her past, and I knew she'd maybe have to come back, but at least the dream was maybe over.  Maybe I made it to where it wouldn't be as bad next time, or maybe he hadn't been a dream but a real person, and he'd wake up slightly less of an asshole. Walking away, I really didn't know.

There were rats with the tails of other animals – I don't know what that was about.

Nobody bought anything there, you just traded what you had with other people, and sometimes those trades were fair and sometimes they only seemed like good ideas at the time and sometimes they weren't fair and you knew it, and you did it anyway because the other person really needed to take what you had or give you what they had.

And for everyone who comes there's a thing given to you, a special thing.  You never know what it might be but you know when you have it and when you have to give it up.  You might forget about it or lose it, but it can't be lost forever, and nobody can take it from you; it has to be given away.  Some people start with nothing or lose things or just forget where they put them, but they find it again, always. 

I had a woven blanket (green, rough, a little too small) of experiences, words people gave me that were good, and it's armor and magic and a the map of the place all at once.   

These things, your thing, once you have it, you may give it to someone else when you know it's time, when you see that they need it. 

But when you do that you will forget everything about the place, and you have to start all over again.  With a different thing. 

I started wandering around just looking at this place, and the people were mostly just lovely, and I thought, this can't be all there is to it, because nothing is this nice, really.  I moved back, back into the darker parts, behind, looking around.  I saw two people crying, a white, blonde woman in a salmon sweater, and her black boyfriend who was wearing glasses and a green cable-knit sweater-vest, and he was comforting her and I thought she needed a blanket, but she had him, so she'd be okay. 

I passed a little girl who was lost – a different one – and she was clearly concerned but not hurt or scared so I thought she didn't need it either. 

I passed someone calling their cat. What use is a blanket there? What he needed was a lost pet sign, and maybe he could get one made at the tee shirt shop. 

I passed some old people sitting in back of a shop which they couldn't keep open, and a blanket wasn't going to help them any. 

I passed empty body shops, and an empty strip bar with a really offensive name, and behind restaurants and among the steaming pipes that wound between buildings until I was pretty sure I was wandering way away from where I was supposed to be.  But I was looking for someone. I knew I was going to wake up, I'd already half-woken up three times.  I had a blanket to give away, I needed to do it, but none of these were the right people. 

I finally found a guy who looked really miserable and desperate, clearly homeless but maybe newly so. He was digging in the garbage bins. He had something in a bundle in his hands and I don't know whether he had just pulled it out or was putting it in there, but it was still the only thing he owned, obviously.  So I went up to him after he did that – because that was obviously what he needed to do – and I gave him my blanket. 

He took it from me and thanked me sincerely, and I said "I don't know if that's what you've been looking for, but it's what I have, and I gotta go soon, so maybe you can use it to find something better.  It's a good blanket, not like as a blanket because it's rough and scratchy and too small even for a short person, but because it knows things and will whisper them to you, and that makes it hard to be lost, or at least makes you less scared of being lost, so you take it and I'm going back to the real world, and wow, you don't even know this is a dream."

X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count: comment count unavailable
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Thane)
Skip it if you like, but man, the self-contained internal logic of a completely insane place is really cool.  I cannot believe my brain did this.  I have really vivid, narrative dreams often, but this was actually pure metaphor.

I dreamed about the place where everyone goes for their real-life city dreams.  It was called Noetic City.  It was always night, and there was no visible sky, just darkness and the glow of neon and streetlights.  It's cold and wet and there's a sheen of water on the streets and shallow puddles everywhere.

It's where you meet the dreams you have, or you see them in the movie theaters, or they just happen to you.

It's thronged with real people though, all the other people having dreams.  No cars.  You walk everywhere, many alleys, many buildings with walkways to walk through.  Lots of shops.

So I went through this place and saw everything.

The rest. )
naamah_darling: The Punisher skull with a red ribbon barrette. (Punisher Ribbon)
I've been meaning to write about this for a week now, and kept forgetting, but the whole "You aren't actually mentally ill, just a goldbricking asshole" SSDI thing reminded me.

So, I had this dream about a week ago where I had this combined trial for committing a crime – nobody would tell me what it was – and a disability hearing.

It was held in a Wal-Mart-type store, and the jury was all pissed-off sales associates. I don't remember what the deal was with the judge, but it was equally bad. I think he might have been a taxi driver in a penguin hat?

As part of my defense, I had to basically build a science-fair-like diorama explaining my life and chronicling my mental illness (and my alibi to a crime that wasn't even specified). I had half an hour to do it, and I had to do it with the money I had in my pocket, and whatever I could buy inside the store. I had about $30.

So I ran around the store desperately trying to assemble something like what they wanted with stuff like posterboard and paperclips and plastic army guys and so on. I didn't know where anything was, people kept getting in my way and getting angry with me, or stealing my cart, and there was this really loud siren/alarm thing with spinny lights that would go off randomly.

In case I need to emphasize it, it was completely hopeless.

So what I wound up doing was taking that money, buying a bunch of stuff from the Halloween/Mardi Gras aisle, and assembling the materials into a completely ridiculous disguise.

I ran out of the store looking like a glitter-covered cross between the Phantom of the Opera, the Joker, and Rainbow Dash, throwing beads and fake gold coins, and ran away into the vaguely overcast afternoon.

When I woke up, I thought it was hilarious. A Wal-Mart trial. The whole thing was literally a joke.

It's less funny when, you know, it's all a perfect metaphor, but I still am snickering about it off and on.

I'm not that upset, you guys, about the denial, in that I truly was not surprised, just angry, and it's the kind of anger that's just a flare of what I've already been feeling this whole time. Nothing new. I was expecting to be denied, I was, now it's happened, and now I can actually move on to the next step, which is good. I have been looking forward to this (sort of but not really) because it means it's my move.

I am pretty sure I can win this. I don't know what it will cost me. But I am pretty sure I can win it. Because I do deserve it, there is something wrong with me that prevents and will always prevent me from having a "normal" job, and unless something truly unforeseen happens, I will never be able to make enough money independently to survive.

I just hope it's sooner rather than later. And that there are no dioramas involved.

Although I did love doing those in school, even if the teachers were kind of disturbed by the beheaded deer.
naamah_darling: Really rough-looking long-haired guy with the hilt of a sword sticking up over his shoulder.  Distressingly frank stare. (The Baron)
"I don't understand" seems to be my new catchphrase. I don't get it, but there it is.

Today I don't understand why, in the past two days, I have had two dreams about being lonely and/or lost, neither of them from my point of view.

The first, I was one of my characters (Horatio) who had been turned into a young tiger. I was horribly lonely and desperate to cuddle with someone. Nobody would, they just wanted to take pictures, or pet me and leave, or most just outright ran away. I wanted to be in the middle of a snuggle-pile of people who cared about me, but I couldn't find anyone I knew and I didn't know where home was. I wandered the big city, my paws tired from the endless concrete. I became so lonely that I actually shrank to the size of a big dog, and then I died on the people-crowded sidewalk with people stepping over me (and everything became comic book panels and then I woke up).

The second, I was one of my other characters (the Baron) who had been stuck into my actual body, here. (His only real complaint about this body, incidentally, was that the floral calico-print dress I was wearing was completely hideous -- and it was, this was a dress I once owned and wore a lot during the suckiest period of my life.) He -- we -- I was far away from everyone and everything, and trying to find my way home (my -- our -- Naamah's IRL home), which involved time traveling as well as lots of driving around the Oklahoma countryside trying to find the right time and place. We kept finding the right places but at the wrong times, which was kind of creepy. I was hitching a ride with a couple of decent fellows, and we wound up at a nice ranch-style house out in the boonies. They invited me in for dinner, so I accepted. The house was full of people, all friends and family, and there were lots of little kids running around being cute nuisances It was obvious that they all loved each other very much and everyone was having a great time. A young girl asked my name, and I had to think about it, then said "Uhhhm, Lucy?" (For Lucius, the best I could do.) And then she took me by the arm and led me to the big picture window in back which looked out on a really lovely pasture full of cottonwood trees and horses. Mostly baby ones, about thirty of them, right at that age around . . . what, ten months? That age where they're really cute and just really ornery. She asked what was wrong and I said "Nothing," but I was already starting to miss my family. She asked if I could stay, and I said I really wanted to, and I'd think about it even though I knew I couldn't, I just didn't want to make her sad. I'd leave later, when everyone was busy with party games, when nobody would see. And then I leaned against her shoulder, kind of enjoying that this body was a lot shorter than I was used to, and nobody was going to be intimidated by it. I told her to wake me up when there was ice cream, because I really wanted to try it, and I fell asleep listening to people who really loved each other laughing over dinner.

This having-imaginary-people-in-my-head thing is getting a little freaky. If y'all are going to start dreaming, y'all could at least dream the good bits a little more often. Because this wistful shit is not something I know how to interpret.
naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
Awesome:

Perverted sex dream about playing with a giant horse-cock shaped sex toy.*

Awkward:

Whole thing takes place on your mom's bed.

Alarming:

Your mom has been dead for a number of years.

At least:

She wasn't still IN the bed.

. . .

Not cool, subconscious. Not cool.

* Shut up. Don't you judge. It's not like I actually HAVE one.

Fuckers are expensive.
naamah_darling: Glass of tawny port on a table branded with a seven-pointed star. (Port Wine and the Morning Star)
Clearing out old emails, I found this freaky, creepy, awesome dream I described to a friend, dated June 08, 2007, and I want to preserve it here for posterity:

I knew the end of the world was coming because I'd lived through it before. Sometimes one gets born like that, that no matter how many times they reap your memories away, you still remember it all. Usually they catch you after the first awakening, don't bother with remaking you, but they hadn't caught me yet.

I had been found by the runner dogs and nearly killed; I escaped because I remembered how to make weapons, and use them, and I killed several.

I made it off my world and to a new one, where I tried to spread word of what was coming. I was taken in by a very kind suburban family on a civilized world. I knew the Outer Lords meant to destroy this planet eventually, as it had recently acquired a rogue star, a wandering light that kept watch over us day and night. I knew what it really was, and why it was so sinister.

My new companions did not believe the evil that the Outer Lords represented until they saw the last of the news tapes smuggled from the last planet. Reprocessing labs to reprogram those who they wanted to keep, and bio-labs to use the parts of those they didn't. The worst were the factories that turned carcasses into food for the meat-eating robot runner dogs.

Naturally, the airing of these tapes doomed this world.

It came as a wall of stone and dust that followed a colossal explosion. They had destroyed a nearby major city and the shockwall towered over us, miles high; it was debris but it looked solid. I knew what it was called, the Hammer, and it was what was left of one great city destroyed by their orbital railgun that fired giant ferrous asteroids. Our town'd be wiped out as an afterthought, caught in the halo of destruction.

Because I'd been through this once before, I directed everyone to take shelter in the storm shelter, but not everyone would come or believe me. I had my weapons though, and my wife whom I loved very much came with me.

The cracks and booms as it came near were like the bones of the earth breaking. We were terrified. We cowered underground, and the last blow was like a hammerfall. It should have killed us. Instead, we dug out, we were alive. The runner dogs were out already, looting the remains. We fled through the frozen winter destruction. If we could reach the edge of the ring of destruction, we might live. So we ran. I had a hatchet, a small sword, and two knives.

Twice I fought off the dogs, which weren't dogs, really, but more like . . . robot dog-people. Once we hid from a group of men. And then the rogue star began flashing.

We had a reaping star; the rogue star that had appeared in the sky. Now it showed its true purpose. Light shot from it like a white spotlight beam, it searched, flicking back and forth across the landscape. And what it found, it blasted. Not to death, but to elimination of memory. It struck a person and just . . . wiped them blank.

Dodging bullets from unmanned aerial assault vehicles, we fled for the woods. There, the star couldn't see us under cover, and the flying machines couldn't find us. We didn't make it; she was shot down in a burst of blood, red on white snow, she was dying. I could not carry her, I could not help her, I had to keep running. I had to leave her.

Three times I avoided the reaching beam of the star, but the fourth time it hit me. I remembered it from before, how it felt to be unmade. I was screaming her name.

I came back as one of the dogs. I was helping finish the conquest of the planet. Killing a family and its pets. I had nothing in me but the urge to kill, to feel flesh between my teeth. Someone escaped me. I chased. It was my wife.

Some people the lords reawakened, made them new in spirit but not body. Others they cloned and brought around in new bodies. Sometimes both. Sometimes they cloned the dead. You never knew which.

So when I saw her again, I didn't know which she was . . . but I remembered what I had been, even as I couldn't disobey the impulses that led me to attack her. I could only ask through broken jaws if she remembered. And then I leaped on her and killed her, without hearing her reply. . . .

. . .

The most disturbing thing to me is that I don't have any recollection of this dream. Absolutely none.

I'd say it should be some sort of short story or something, but I really, really don't want to spend more time on that world.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Warning: Death Ray)
First, I just want to say that dreaming about having raunchy sex with the king of the dark fairies is pretty awesome, especially when he looks like Jason Isaacs. It's even more awesome when he brings his two gorgeous friends. So, that was a really good dream. And then he brought out the hellhound, and I am chagrined to admit that was pretty awesome, too. Then I woke up and felt acutely embarrassed about the whole thing. I mean, really?! Dear lord, WTF?!

Second, I sort of embarrassed myself in front of the UPS guy. I was out front trying to open the garage door with the keypad, and it was giving me a hard time. When it finally started working, I raised my hands, fingers curled like claws, and in my best mad scientist voice said "Riiiise! RIIIISE!!!" Then I turned around, and the UPS guy was standing right there with a package in his hand and an inscrutable look on his face. I thanked him and didn't bother trying to explain. Tiny bit of dignity salvaged.

Third, I have felt like crap off and on all weekend, and was identifiably unwell on Friday, though no cause has thus far presented itself. My sleep schedule is fucked beyond fucked. So, if I'm slow to get shit done or answer stuff, forgive me. And go ahead and nudge me if you have to.

And, because I have roughly ten thousand tabs open, including some that have been open for, like, months, here are some links!

The wonderful Shadow Manor linked to my dead fairy gaff! Always appreciated.

The Victorian bottled sand art of Andrew Clemens. Amazing, amazing, amazing. More pictures are here. With most stuff I see, I can at least sort of understand how it was done. This borders on the incomprehensible.

The art of Kate MacDowell is deeply disturbing, but also incredibly beautiful. She renders incredibly detailed, accurate, and delicate animal, vegetable, and human forms in fine porcelain clay, blending them together in lovely and frightful ways, commenting on our broken relationship to the world around us. There's a subtle horror at work here. It's beautiful stuff, but it gives me the shudders.

This is much less creepy. Laurel Roth's animal skulls rendered in transparent acrylic. Most are highly polished like clear crystal, but some are orange-tinted like amber. I really, really like these. They aren't just straightforward casts of skulls, although that would be awesome, too. She sculpted them and made them perfectly smooth, which gives them a really neat look. Her detail is perfect.

Wine bar treasure trunk. This thing is really cool.

So is this beautiful table made of a single draped sheet of clear acrylic. Looks like a clear, freestanding tablecloth.

Creating fruit juice 'caviar' using a syringe to drop the juice into a calcium chloride bath. I would LOVE to try this. Go and look at the photos, which are absolutely gorgeous.

Quick and dirty instructions on making a prop mandrake root. There's a lot of room for elaboration here. I really like the idea. What I would love to figure out how to do is give the finished root all those tiny little rootlets and hairs. Scrolling down to the Chinese Fleeceflower portion of this Cracked article shows the effect I would love to get. I have no idea how to go about it.

Old, old article about Christina Hendricks trying to find a gown for the Emmy Awards. She's "too big," so she had trouble, which is ludicrous. Anyway, I've had that open as a tab since, like, SEPTEMBER, so I thought I would just link it and say that the custom gown she wound up with is one of the most beautifully-fitted dresses I've ever seen, and looks like a million bucks on her million-dollar body. It is hard to design for really curvaceous figures. This is what it looks like, done correctly.

Also an old article. Last 'sin-eater' celebrated with church service. The restored grave of Richard Munslow, the last known "sin-eater" in England, has been at the centre of a special service in a Shropshire village churchyard. He was buried in 1906. Nothing of especially staggering awesomeness about this link, it's just a quiet little thing that tugs at my hindbrain and makes me want to tell stories. I've had this link open since September, too. No exaggeration. So I thought I'd just link it here so I can close it.

And, last, a call for participants for research on women's experience of porn. If you're female, over 18, live in the US, and you read/watch/listen to/look at porn/erotica, you might take a look and/or spread the link.

Are You a Woman Who Views, Reads, or Listens to Pornography, Erotica, Romance Novels, and/or any other Sexually Explicit Materials?

If so, please share your experiences!

Complete a Short Survey (30 min or less) and Contribute to a Scholarly Understanding of Women’s Experiences with Sexually Explicit Materials

My name is Kari Hempel and I am a female psychology graduate student who is doing my dissertation research on women’s experiences with sexually explicit materials. For too long women’s real experiences with these materials have been ignored. My goal is not to judge anyone’s experiences, but to accumulate surveys from as many women as possible around the country about their positive, negative, and/or mixed experiences with sexually explicit materials, and to present the differences and commonalities in a scholarly, respectful fashion.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Warning: Death Ray)
First, I just want to say that dreaming about having raunchy sex with the king of the dark fairies is pretty awesome, especially when he looks like Jason Isaacs. It's even more awesome when he brings his two gorgeous friends. So, that was a really good dream. And then he brought out the hellhound, and I am chagrined to admit that was pretty awesome, too. Then I woke up and felt acutely embarrassed about the whole thing. I mean, really?! Dear lord, WTF?!

Second, I sort of embarrassed myself in front of the UPS guy. I was out front trying to open the garage door with the keypad, and it was giving me a hard time. When it finally started working, I raised my hands, fingers curled like claws, and in my best mad scientist voice said "Riiiise! RIIIISE!!!" Then I turned around, and the UPS guy was standing right there with a package in his hand and an inscrutable look on his face. I thanked him and didn't bother trying to explain. Tiny bit of dignity salvaged.

Third, I have felt like crap off and on all weekend, and was identifiably unwell on Friday, though no cause has thus far presented itself. My sleep schedule is fucked beyond fucked. So, if I'm slow to get shit done or answer stuff, forgive me. And go ahead and nudge me if you have to.

And, because I have roughly ten thousand tabs open, including some that have been open for, like, months, here are some links!

The wonderful Shadow Manor linked to my dead fairy gaff! Always appreciated.

The Victorian bottled sand art of Andrew Clemens. Amazing, amazing, amazing. More pictures are here. With most stuff I see, I can at least sort of understand how it was done. This borders on the incomprehensible.

The art of Kate MacDowell is deeply disturbing, but also incredibly beautiful. She renders incredibly detailed, accurate, and delicate animal, vegetable, and human forms in fine porcelain clay, blending them together in lovely and frightful ways, commenting on our broken relationship to the world around us. There's a subtle horror at work here. It's beautiful stuff, but it gives me the shudders.

This is much less creepy. Laurel Roth's animal skulls rendered in transparent acrylic. Most are highly polished like clear crystal, but some are orange-tinted like amber. I really, really like these. They aren't just straightforward casts of skulls, although that would be awesome, too. She sculpted them and made them perfectly smooth, which gives them a really neat look. Her detail is perfect.

Wine bar treasure trunk. This thing is really cool.

So is this beautiful table made of a single draped sheet of clear acrylic. Looks like a clear, freestanding tablecloth.

Creating fruit juice 'caviar' using a syringe to drop the juice into a calcium chloride bath. I would LOVE to try this. Go and look at the photos, which are absolutely gorgeous.

Quick and dirty instructions on making a prop mandrake root. There's a lot of room for elaboration here. I really like the idea. What I would love to figure out how to do is give the finished root all those tiny little rootlets and hairs. Scrolling down to the Chinese Fleeceflower portion of this Cracked article shows the effect I would love to get. I have no idea how to go about it.

Old, old article about Christina Hendricks trying to find a gown for the Emmy Awards. She's "too big," so she had trouble, which is ludicrous. Anyway, I've had that open as a tab since, like, SEPTEMBER, so I thought I would just link it and say that the custom gown she wound up with is one of the most beautifully-fitted dresses I've ever seen, and looks like a million bucks on her million-dollar body. It is hard to design for really curvaceous figures. This is what it looks like, done correctly.

Also an old article. Last 'sin-eater' celebrated with church service. The restored grave of Richard Munslow, the last known "sin-eater" in England, has been at the centre of a special service in a Shropshire village churchyard. He was buried in 1906. Nothing of especially staggering awesomeness about this link, it's just a quiet little thing that tugs at my hindbrain and makes me want to tell stories. I've had this link open since September, too. No exaggeration. So I thought I'd just link it here so I can close it.

And, last, a call for participants for research on women's experience of porn. If you're female, over 18, live in the US, and you read/watch/listen to/look at porn/erotica, you might take a look and/or spread the link.

Are You a Woman Who Views, Reads, or Listens to Pornography, Erotica, Romance Novels, and/or any other Sexually Explicit Materials?

If so, please share your experiences!

Complete a Short Survey (30 min or less) and Contribute to a Scholarly Understanding of Women’s Experiences with Sexually Explicit Materials

My name is Kari Hempel and I am a female psychology graduate student who is doing my dissertation research on women’s experiences with sexually explicit materials. For too long women’s real experiences with these materials have been ignored. My goal is not to judge anyone’s experiences, but to accumulate surveys from as many women as possible around the country about their positive, negative, and/or mixed experiences with sexually explicit materials, and to present the differences and commonalities in a scholarly, respectful fashion.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lick Here)
DEAR SUBCONSCIOUS:

Noooo! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

You can't stop the puppy play scene RIGHT THERE!

I was being a good dog! I. WAS. BEING. A. GOOD. DOG!!!

That's a TERRIBLE place to wake up!

*GROANS!*

I do appreciate the Western-themed kidnapping scene, but that degenerated into nonsense. The dog thing was going SO much better.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lick Here)
DEAR SUBCONSCIOUS:

Noooo! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

You can't stop the puppy play scene RIGHT THERE!

I was being a good dog! I. WAS. BEING. A. GOOD. DOG!!!

That's a TERRIBLE place to wake up!

*GROANS!*

I do appreciate the Western-themed kidnapping scene, but that degenerated into nonsense. The dog thing was going SO much better.
naamah_darling: The Punisher skull with a red ribbon barrette. (Punisher Ribbon)
The context is long-gone, and I remember nothing else about the dream, but I woke up to this written on my bedside paper:

I am invited to a game of hide and seek. I point to my ass and quip: "How in the hell do you hide something that big?!" Everyone laughs.


I may have body image issues, and there are days when I have a hard time, but it is really, really nice to know that when I'm dreaming and at my most vulnerable, I retain my sense of humor about it, and don't tend to dream hateful things.

The question is still a good one, though.
naamah_darling: The Punisher skull with a red ribbon barrette. (Punisher Ribbon)
The context is long-gone, and I remember nothing else about the dream, but I woke up to this written on my bedside paper:

I am invited to a game of hide and seek. I point to my ass and quip: "How in the hell do you hide something that big?!" Everyone laughs.


I may have body image issues, and there are days when I have a hard time, but it is really, really nice to know that when I'm dreaming and at my most vulnerable, I retain my sense of humor about it, and don't tend to dream hateful things.

The question is still a good one, though.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Cain)
You know it's a good dream when it includes a quote like this:

"You can either attack me and I take you apart like a boiled rabbit, or you can help me kill those assholes and when we're done we fuck like nasty animals in the blood."

I woke up before we could kill the werespider, unfortunately, so I never got the reward, but there was time for groping and tongue-wrestling and leg-humping in the hallway right before we went to confront the other teenage monsters, and that was pretty awesome.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Cain)
You know it's a good dream when it includes a quote like this:

"You can either attack me and I take you apart like a boiled rabbit, or you can help me kill those assholes and when we're done we fuck like nasty animals in the blood."

I woke up before we could kill the werespider, unfortunately, so I never got the reward, but there was time for groping and tongue-wrestling and leg-humping in the hallway right before we went to confront the other teenage monsters, and that was pretty awesome.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Key)
Had a really awful nightmare which, in retrospect, was funny.

All of my writer friends are to be honored at an internationally-televised ceremony. I am eligible, but I can't find anything on my computer to bring with me (apparently you don't qualify as a writer in dream-land if you don't have a piece of writing on you right at that moment). My thumb drive is gone, all my email backups are gone. Every printout is missing. None of the friends who have backups are available by phone. My phone breaks and my computer dies.

In desperation I load my dead computer into the car, intending to find someone who can resurrect it along with the data at the event. On the way I am in a terrible car accident and am impaled through the stomach with something very sharp. It is horrible and agonizing and there was blood everywhere and gaping wounds and this part was really disturbing. I am sent to the hospital where they perform surgery to repair it, and before the anesthesia has even worn off I am staggering into the venue hall, desperate not to lose my place.

I arrive and beg them to let me on despite not having any of my writing with me. I am told by the event coordinator that I have two minutes to write something, anything. Even a haiku. I am still in terrible pain. There is nothing to write on but a small paper napkin. I cast about futilely for something to write with and can only find pencils (which tear the napkin) or felt-tipped pens (which tear the napkin). I can't get any writing done.

Everyone is angry with me for not being able to go on. Each writer has been paired with a celebrity announcer. Mine is Michael Sheen. He winds up going on with Catherynne Valente,* who wins, and as a prize they will both be appearing in a movie version of her winning story. Because I like her very much, I cannot even be mad about this. Again, I am still in terrible pain, but I applaud with everyone else and then slink quietly off to read and pick at my stitches.

I woke up expecting to be in pain, but it was only dream-pain, and not real pain that makes its way into a dream. Thank goodness. The pain was really quite terrible.

Obviously, I'm having issues with my writing-type creativity right now. I don't think I could have made up a clearer representation of it if I had tried.

* [livejournal.com profile] yuki_onna. I think the reason my subconscious picked her is that I have seen video of her giving an acceptance speech, so it was easy to imagine, and also because I really, really like her stuff and my subconscious was trying to take away even my ability to sulk. Also, I am working on something for her at the moment, and she's on my mind. So it's not personal.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Key)
Had a really awful nightmare which, in retrospect, was funny.

All of my writer friends are to be honored at an internationally-televised ceremony. I am eligible, but I can't find anything on my computer to bring with me (apparently you don't qualify as a writer in dream-land if you don't have a piece of writing on you right at that moment). My thumb drive is gone, all my email backups are gone. Every printout is missing. None of the friends who have backups are available by phone. My phone breaks and my computer dies.

In desperation I load my dead computer into the car, intending to find someone who can resurrect it along with the data at the event. On the way I am in a terrible car accident and am impaled through the stomach with something very sharp. It is horrible and agonizing and there was blood everywhere and gaping wounds and this part was really disturbing. I am sent to the hospital where they perform surgery to repair it, and before the anesthesia has even worn off I am staggering into the venue hall, desperate not to lose my place.

I arrive and beg them to let me on despite not having any of my writing with me. I am told by the event coordinator that I have two minutes to write something, anything. Even a haiku. I am still in terrible pain. There is nothing to write on but a small paper napkin. I cast about futilely for something to write with and can only find pencils (which tear the napkin) or felt-tipped pens (which tear the napkin). I can't get any writing done.

Everyone is angry with me for not being able to go on. Each writer has been paired with a celebrity announcer. Mine is Michael Sheen. He winds up going on with Catherynne Valente,* who wins, and as a prize they will both be appearing in a movie version of her winning story. Because I like her very much, I cannot even be mad about this. Again, I am still in terrible pain, but I applaud with everyone else and then slink quietly off to read and pick at my stitches.

I woke up expecting to be in pain, but it was only dream-pain, and not real pain that makes its way into a dream. Thank goodness. The pain was really quite terrible.

Obviously, I'm having issues with my writing-type creativity right now. I don't think I could have made up a clearer representation of it if I had tried.

* [livejournal.com profile] yuki_onna. I think the reason my subconscious picked her is that I have seen video of her giving an acceptance speech, so it was easy to imagine, and also because I really, really like her stuff and my subconscious was trying to take away even my ability to sulk. Also, I am working on something for her at the moment, and she's on my mind. So it's not personal.

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naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
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