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greygirlbeastIt's Friday, so COMMENT, KITTENS.
Such vivid dreams this morning. They always are. Vivid, I mean. My brain does a good enough job of that on its own, but my prescribed pharmaceutical cocktail makes all the colors even brighter, the sounds even louder, the smells more intense. First, I was swimming in the sea. Spooky was near. A huge shadow passed beneath me, and I marveled at what had to be the silhouette of a whale shark. It passed, and when it breached, some distance away, I saw it had been a hammerhead. Shark enthusiasts will appreciate the meaning here.
And this other dream, nearer to waking, like something Colin Meloy and Victor Hugo thought up and then sent my way. A nation in class revolt. and I was a child (gender indeterminate and irrelevant), a ragamuffin urchin, maybe eight or nine, in a great throng of refugees/resistance fighters making their way across a blighted countryside, pocked with foxholes and strung with barbed-wire barricades. The group seemed a motley of British, French, American, and Russians, and our Jean Valjean was played by Brad Pitt. Period costumes, spanning several centuries, but none more recent than WWI. With the aid of a disgruntled manservant, we were able to break into an enormous manor house and immediately set about smashing this or that piece of furniture or crockery. But, no, no, no, the manservant, said. Haven't you noticed the terrible drought? (Apparently, we hadn't.) If you truly want to do them harm, empty the cisterns! Which we did, and strange cisterns they were. It never seemed to occur to anyone that, if there was this fabled drought, maybe we needed the water. And, at some point, I caught sight, through a collapsed wall, of an underground river flowing below the house, so I knew it was futile, anyway. I pointed the river out to no one else (it would have been bad for morale). Then we heard the sound of people returning, and we all had to flee. However, the only way out was the way we'd entered, which involved an elaborate sort of door. It had a grille of welded, rusty rebar, but also a heavy wooden shutter that could be raised and lowered. It had been necessary for the unnamed manservant to hold the shutter up while we squirmed in through the square spaces between the rebar (no, I don't know why he didn't just open the door for us; it's a dream). Everyone made it out, including the servant who'd chosen to join the revolt. But I had tarried, and there was no one to hold the wooden shutter up for me. The others cheered me on, frantic (but frantic from a safe distance). At last, I managed to fling the heavy grille up high enough that I had time to squirm out between the rusty rebar before the grille came slamming down again, almost decapitating me. I rushed into the arms of my mother, who wore a blue dress that was of an unmistakable late eighteenth-century vintage.
---
Yesterday, I wrote 1,111 (an ominous or fortuitous number, surely) words on the second piece for Sirenia Digest #70 (SUBSCIBE NOW AND RECEIVE—at no extra cost—SIRENIA DIGEST!), the one Vince will be illustrating this month. It's titled "Daughter Dear Desmodus," and involves a carnival freak show, but more I will not here say. The two-headed calf has sworn me to secrecy (there's far too much of that in my life lately).
I also answered all the email in the world. All of it. There's none left. Not even a jot.
And lest you forget, here's a reminder! Spooky's having a Premature Hallowe'en Sale (!!!) in her Etsy shop, Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries.
Last night, we played Rift (1.5, cocksuckers!), then there was some good RP in Insilico with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
readingthedark, and then we started Season Three of Mad Men, and read more of The Sundial. That's enough, right?
Okay. Time to make the doughnuts. Light bulb!
Emptying the Cisterns,
Aunt Beast
Such vivid dreams this morning. They always are. Vivid, I mean. My brain does a good enough job of that on its own, but my prescribed pharmaceutical cocktail makes all the colors even brighter, the sounds even louder, the smells more intense. First, I was swimming in the sea. Spooky was near. A huge shadow passed beneath me, and I marveled at what had to be the silhouette of a whale shark. It passed, and when it breached, some distance away, I saw it had been a hammerhead. Shark enthusiasts will appreciate the meaning here.
And this other dream, nearer to waking, like something Colin Meloy and Victor Hugo thought up and then sent my way. A nation in class revolt. and I was a child (gender indeterminate and irrelevant), a ragamuffin urchin, maybe eight or nine, in a great throng of refugees/resistance fighters making their way across a blighted countryside, pocked with foxholes and strung with barbed-wire barricades. The group seemed a motley of British, French, American, and Russians, and our Jean Valjean was played by Brad Pitt. Period costumes, spanning several centuries, but none more recent than WWI. With the aid of a disgruntled manservant, we were able to break into an enormous manor house and immediately set about smashing this or that piece of furniture or crockery. But, no, no, no, the manservant, said. Haven't you noticed the terrible drought? (Apparently, we hadn't.) If you truly want to do them harm, empty the cisterns! Which we did, and strange cisterns they were. It never seemed to occur to anyone that, if there was this fabled drought, maybe we needed the water. And, at some point, I caught sight, through a collapsed wall, of an underground river flowing below the house, so I knew it was futile, anyway. I pointed the river out to no one else (it would have been bad for morale). Then we heard the sound of people returning, and we all had to flee. However, the only way out was the way we'd entered, which involved an elaborate sort of door. It had a grille of welded, rusty rebar, but also a heavy wooden shutter that could be raised and lowered. It had been necessary for the unnamed manservant to hold the shutter up while we squirmed in through the square spaces between the rebar (no, I don't know why he didn't just open the door for us; it's a dream). Everyone made it out, including the servant who'd chosen to join the revolt. But I had tarried, and there was no one to hold the wooden shutter up for me. The others cheered me on, frantic (but frantic from a safe distance). At last, I managed to fling the heavy grille up high enough that I had time to squirm out between the rusty rebar before the grille came slamming down again, almost decapitating me. I rushed into the arms of my mother, who wore a blue dress that was of an unmistakable late eighteenth-century vintage.
---
Yesterday, I wrote 1,111 (an ominous or fortuitous number, surely) words on the second piece for Sirenia Digest #70 (SUBSCIBE NOW AND RECEIVE—at no extra cost—SIRENIA DIGEST!), the one Vince will be illustrating this month. It's titled "Daughter Dear Desmodus," and involves a carnival freak show, but more I will not here say. The two-headed calf has sworn me to secrecy (there's far too much of that in my life lately).
I also answered all the email in the world. All of it. There's none left. Not even a jot.
And lest you forget, here's a reminder! Spooky's having a Premature Hallowe'en Sale (!!!) in her Etsy shop, Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries.
Last night, we played Rift (1.5, cocksuckers!), then there was some good RP in Insilico with
readingthedark, and then we started Season Three of Mad Men, and read more of The Sundial. That's enough, right?Okay. Time to make the doughnuts. Light bulb!
Emptying the Cisterns,
Aunt Beast
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A belated addition.
Date: 2011-10-01 08:04 pm (UTC)I'm usually much more likely to write down borderline nightmares, or actual nightmares, or at least the disturbingly weird. The purely fun stuff, only rarely.
Here's an excerpt from one you might appreciate:
( http://mojave-wolf.livejournal.com/124683.html )
I am standing in front of these people who are hiding behind rocks looking at something with binoculars, and the woman is suddenly there standing behind them wearing a leopard print--hopefully not leopard skin!--coat and black lace bra and panties and black boots, and everything else is in color but she's in black and white, pale skin dark hair dark eyes, wild curly mane of dark hair down to the bottom of her shoulders, and she kills one of them but the rest of them ignore her (just as they are all ignoring me) and drops him on the ground and looks at me and smiles and says in this husky, sort of angry, sort of amused voice, "I'm gone five minutes and everyone forgets all about me." And then she climbs on top of this cute short haired athletic tan blond girl who is on the ground looking through binoculars, and starts nibbling her ear, and I say "I don't think she likes girls" and the woman laughs and the blond suddenly turns around they start kissing, and then we're back at the blonde's house, and everyone is in color now and the two women are making plane reservations to go somewhere, and the blonde's husband is outside missing all his skin but still alive, impaled on a hook against the garage wall. And he keeps trying to pull away from the wall and the hook comes with him but it's still attached to the wall by way of this steel spring and every time he gets a few feet away it snaps back and pulls him with it. And meanwhile I'm hoping he can get away and get to help but I'm also hoping the two women get away before he calls the police because I sort of like them, even the homicidal woman who skinned the man and stuck him against the wall. I know she did it because, well, it's my dream and I just *know*
Or this one, that I for some reason connect in my head to "An Evil Guest", which I think you liked?:
http://mojave-wolf.livejournal.com/149444.html#cutid1
and I have been hired as copywriters by some powerful corporation to do political propaganda to get people to accept the coming reign of Cthulhu. We are taken to the white house, where GWB is still president, and giant wolf dogs and floating purple jellyfish-looking thingies wander in and out of the rooms.
Tho most of this one is actually concerned with androgynous vampires suddenly swarming into a house and me trying to get out of there without them figuring out I'm not one of them and killing me.