hobbit_feets: (c'lebs || storyteller)

I had a series of bizarre dreams last night.

First dream, I and my passel of non-existent siblings got mistaken for… some branch of the Royal Family, and spent about half of the dream pretending to be the children of the Duchess of something. Even though you’d think the Duchess of something would have recognised her own children. Eventually, naturally, we got found out, and I had to do a lot of stuttering explaining for why I was pretending to be her daughter, and stumbling over addressing her as marm-as-in-arm or ma’am-as-in-ham, and was fairly sure I was going to be arrested for impersonating a member of the Royal Family and accused of shoving the real ones into a closet somewhere. But I wasn’t. And then the Queen showed up, and she was very sharp old lady a la Judi Dench, and somehow I then ended up walking down Oxford Circus with the Queen and my mum, and we went into a record shop, and I bought velvet shoes with curly toes.

Second dream, I was in a production of Les Mis which apparently… had never had any rehearsals before, because all the scenes were massively out of order, and it was only my previous knowledge of the play which meant I got my cues at all. I was playing Javert, which was awesome, but I hadn’t been mic’d, so I was trying to project all these low notes and failing, and for some reason, during ‘Stars’, it was like the stage had been turned into a trampoline, or else gravity was suddenly one sixth the usual, because I was bouncing all over the place and trying to maintain a suitable gravitas whilst doing so. Which was difficult. And then halfway through, even though there was an audience, I realised that it actually was a rehearsal, because half the cast wasn’t costumed, and blocking hadn’t been finalised. And some of my castmates would play this game of, like, throwing themselves on me and stuff and trying to get my composure to break, because I was doing a Javert Stern and Unamused face, and was… apparently onstage during the entire production. Just planted off to one side with my chin up and my hands behind my back.

I dunno.

hobbit_feets: (c'lebs || one pill makes you small)
Just had the strangest dream in the world.  I'm going to try to write it all down before I forget it, because it was intensely long and complicated.

I was working overnight at Target, as I did this summer, when one of my supervisors pulled me aside  to chastise me for laundering some pillows incorrectly, despite the fact that working overnights at Target doen't involve laundering anything.  But there was a massive warehouse in the back full of washing machines, so I set to re-doing the pillows.  Next to the laundry room was another giant warehouse type room full of liquid caramel.  Like the entire room was a tank just full of the stuff, and it was being produced in there as well.  But something went wrong in the production and there was more than could be contained in the room, and the sheer volume started breaking through the door, and then the wall, and basically subsuming the entire building in a slow, creeping wave of glutinous liquid caramel.  There was a massive panic, people were being sucked in and dying horribly, and it lasted for ages, in dream-time.  Hours.  I was seriously convinced that I was going to die, and it was incredibly awful and scary.  I tried several escape routes, all of which were blocked, but eventually I, and three others, managed to break through into the outdoors, because the caramel had abated enough in this particular area for us to be able to slog through it to a bridge.

It was a hot summer night and nearly all the electricity had been knocked out, so everything was all dark, and we were all sticky and sweaty and half in tears from sheer terror and relief.  I didn't know where we were, but one girl lived nearby, so we made our way to her house, and all just stripped off and got in the bath and huddled there, until her father found us, and was all desperately relieved and gave us clothes and fed us.

At some point after we were dry and fed and significantly less sticky, this snake appeared, all bejewelled, with lavender eyes, and told the four of us that now that the world had descended into this state (apparently, there was a more general apocalyptic-type something, in addition to the caramel flood), it was going to be the task of the four of us to guide and reorganise and protect, and that in order to do so, we'd been granted powers that had something to do with a small piece of enamelled jewellery we'd each ended up with, seemingly by chance, over the course of this ordeal.  I can't remember much about them, other than that there was a very particular design aesthetic that continued with the enamel and the snake and any other things associated with these powers that we now had.  Mine was a gauntlet ring made to look like fruiting vines.  And my powers manifested in some way which had to do with... prophecy, and replicating energy, and beams of blue-white light.  The powers were less effective individually, they had to be used in concert, because of... whatever destiny the four of us were fulfilling.

The next day we went out to do something, and everything was just devastated, trees pulled down under the weight of the flood and everything still sticky, with insects everywhere, and sometimes trapped in the caramel residue, so you'd get this pathetic, dying buzz of attempted escape from all around.  I had a moment of panic when I realised that I didn't know whether my family was all right, but I never found out.  Instead I ended up calling my friend Emily to freak out at her, but she was alive, and fine.

And then it did a temporal jump, in the way dreams can, to us in some old cathedral, fighting some sort of ye old cliched Foot Soldiers of Evil.  But I was having difficulties making my powers work correctly, and the Evil General in suitably wicked and poison ivy-embossed armour came out to taunt me about it, and there was a whole section of the dream where we were just fighting, and I was trying to figure out why I couldn't function the way I could in the beginning of the dream.

And then there was an exceptionally bizarre leap, and I was explaining to my mother that sperm can penetrate the human eyeball because the mucous membrane that covers it is the same as that which surrounds the ovum.  I have no idea where that came into things.
hobbit_feets: (c'lebs || one pill makes you small)
Just had the strangest dream in the world.  I'm going to try to write it all down before I forget it, because it was intensely long and complicated.

I was working overnight at Target, as I did this summer, when one of my supervisors pulled me aside  to chastise me for laundering some pillows incorrectly, despite the fact that working overnights at Target doen't involve laundering anything.  But there was a massive warehouse in the back full of washing machines, so I set to re-doing the pillows.  Next to the laundry room was another giant warehouse type room full of liquid caramel.  Like the entire room was a tank just full of the stuff, and it was being produced in there as well.  But something went wrong in the production and there was more than could be contained in the room, and the sheer volume started breaking through the door, and then the wall, and basically subsuming the entire building in a slow, creeping wave of glutinous liquid caramel.  There was a massive panic, people were being sucked in and dying horribly, and it lasted for ages, in dream-time.  Hours.  I was seriously convinced that I was going to die, and it was incredibly awful and scary.  I tried several escape routes, all of which were blocked, but eventually I, and three others, managed to break through into the outdoors, because the caramel had abated enough in this particular area for us to be able to slog through it to a bridge.

It was a hot summer night and nearly all the electricity had been knocked out, so everything was all dark, and we were all sticky and sweaty and half in tears from sheer terror and relief.  I didn't know where we were, but one girl lived nearby, so we made our way to her house, and all just stripped off and got in the bath and huddled there, until her father found us, and was all desperately relieved and gave us clothes and fed us.

At some point after we were dry and fed and significantly less sticky, this snake appeared, all bejewelled, with lavender eyes, and told the four of us that now that the world had descended into this state (apparently, there was a more general apocalyptic-type something, in addition to the caramel flood), it was going to be the task of the four of us to guide and reorganise and protect, and that in order to do so, we'd been granted powers that had something to do with a small piece of enamelled jewellery we'd each ended up with, seemingly by chance, over the course of this ordeal.  I can't remember much about them, other than that there was a very particular design aesthetic that continued with the enamel and the snake and any other things associated with these powers that we now had.  Mine was a gauntlet ring made to look like fruiting vines.  And my powers manifested in some way which had to do with... prophecy, and replicating energy, and beams of blue-white light.  The powers were less effective individually, they had to be used in concert, because of... whatever destiny the four of us were fulfilling.

The next day we went out to do something, and everything was just devastated, trees pulled down under the weight of the flood and everything still sticky, with insects everywhere, and sometimes trapped in the caramel residue, so you'd get this pathetic, dying buzz of attempted escape from all around.  I had a moment of panic when I realised that I didn't know whether my family was all right, but I never found out.  Instead I ended up calling my friend Emily to freak out at her, but she was alive, and fine.

And then it did a temporal jump, in the way dreams can, to us in some old cathedral, fighting some sort of ye old cliched Foot Soldiers of Evil.  But I was having difficulties making my powers work correctly, and the Evil General in suitably wicked and poison ivy-embossed armour came out to taunt me about it, and there was a whole section of the dream where we were just fighting, and I was trying to figure out why I couldn't function the way I could in the beginning of the dream.

And then there was an exceptionally bizarre leap, and I was explaining to my mother that sperm can penetrate the human eyeball because the mucous membrane that covers it is the same as that which surrounds the ovum.  I have no idea where that came into things.
hobbit_feets: (f & l || stephen motherfucking fry)
I had an extremely odd dream last night. 

I was at a rave of some variety, which was, well, a rave, except when I sort of wandered away from the main stage, it turned out that it was being held in this school that I'd been to once before, as I have a friend who goes there.  Anyway, it was in this school, the rest of which wasn't really a part of the rave at all.  And I wandered into this big lecture hall/auditorium type deal, and look who's there- it's the Big Finish lot.  Plus Tony Lee, who's got nothing to do with Big Finish, but there we are.  And they were holding random, impromptu auditions for a few parts which they hadn't been able to cast, and they just asked all of us sitting there who'd like to audition.  There was much raising of hands, and papers were passed out, and Rob Shearman, who'd been sitting below with the rest of them, caught my eye and winked at me, and I was ridiculously pleased that he remembered me.   I filled out my papers, and went to hand them in, and there was something about me having to write them upside down which... I'm not sure why I did, but there we are.  And then I was back in my seat, and there was a second Rob Shearman who didn't look quite as much like himself as the first one did, but it was apparently still him, and we talked for a while, the whole time of which I was slightly confused because I thought the other one was Rob, but I didn't want to say anything, because that might've been impolite.
hobbit_feets: (f & l || stephen motherfucking fry)
I had an extremely odd dream last night. 

I was at a rave of some variety, which was, well, a rave, except when I sort of wandered away from the main stage, it turned out that it was being held in this school that I'd been to once before, as I have a friend who goes there.  Anyway, it was in this school, the rest of which wasn't really a part of the rave at all.  And I wandered into this big lecture hall/auditorium type deal, and look who's there- it's the Big Finish lot.  Plus Tony Lee, who's got nothing to do with Big Finish, but there we are.  And they were holding random, impromptu auditions for a few parts which they hadn't been able to cast, and they just asked all of us sitting there who'd like to audition.  There was much raising of hands, and papers were passed out, and Rob Shearman, who'd been sitting below with the rest of them, caught my eye and winked at me, and I was ridiculously pleased that he remembered me.   I filled out my papers, and went to hand them in, and there was something about me having to write them upside down which... I'm not sure why I did, but there we are.  And then I was back in my seat, and there was a second Rob Shearman who didn't look quite as much like himself as the first one did, but it was apparently still him, and we talked for a while, the whole time of which I was slightly confused because I thought the other one was Rob, but I didn't want to say anything, because that might've been impolite.
hobbit_feets: (dw || into the woods)
So, I had a really, really bizarre dream last night.

I was in a Ragstock- for those of you who don't know, Ragstock is a chain of awesome thrift stores- browsing around, and I happened upon a jacket that was exactly like Fitz's- ie: exactly like Nine's.  Of course, I had to buy it.  So I did, and I headed back to my place.  Except that my place seemed to be a really huge, art deco type place with high ceilings and panelled walls, and the ballroom was blocked off, because someone was having a party in there.  With hookers.  Hookers in sort of 18th century costume.  But there were TV monitors, so I could see what was going on, and I stood there and watched for a moment or two, before, lo and behold, look who walks into the room- Fitz.  I knew it was Fitz, even if he looked more like [livejournal.com profile] mertondingle  cosplaying Fitz than Callum Blue.  He seemed really excited about the fact that I'd found his jacket at a thrift store- even though he was already wearing his jacket- and we had a conversation about this, and I awkwardly explained to him that the Doctor, in his next regeneration, wears his jacket and b'aww, how tragic that is, etc.

At some point, mysteriously, the jacket I had bought had turned from black leather into a sort of light linen, cream-coloured with faint orange and blue Glen plaid thing going on.  I then tried an extremely unsubtle line on Fitz about leather being sexy and got in a little molesting of his upper arm before there was a ruckus behind the closed door, and we looked at the monitor to see that the floor had opened up and apparently this house of mine was miles in the air, because all the guests were dropping like stones to earth.   Horrible, yes, but moreso when I realised that [livejournal.com profile] mertondingle  and [livejournal.com profile] notusachan had been in there, and were now falling to their deaths.  There was also... a thing of missiles?  I don't know, really massive missiles, but Lia and Denise seemed to have latched them as they were falling, and Fitz and I watched on the monitor as they scrambled up these missiles, which wasn't going to do any good anyway, as the missiles were falling too.  And then Fitz seemed to decide that the imminent death of my friends would be a great time to slide an arm around my waist and try a line of his own, which I'm fairly sure I was too distraught to do anything about.

... And then I woke up the next day on the floor of my mansion with Tegan, and Fitz was there again and gave us some significant looks, the perv.  I blushed and Tegan flipped him the bird, and he scurried off to spy on us from behind a pillar in case we did anything worth spying on.  We didn't.  But someone was selling t-shirts at the other end of the hall.
hobbit_feets: (dw || into the woods)
So, I had a really, really bizarre dream last night.

I was in a Ragstock- for those of you who don't know, Ragstock is a chain of awesome thrift stores- browsing around, and I happened upon a jacket that was exactly like Fitz's- ie: exactly like Nine's.  Of course, I had to buy it.  So I did, and I headed back to my place.  Except that my place seemed to be a really huge, art deco type place with high ceilings and panelled walls, and the ballroom was blocked off, because someone was having a party in there.  With hookers.  Hookers in sort of 18th century costume.  But there were TV monitors, so I could see what was going on, and I stood there and watched for a moment or two, before, lo and behold, look who walks into the room- Fitz.  I knew it was Fitz, even if he looked more like [livejournal.com profile] mertondingle  cosplaying Fitz than Callum Blue.  He seemed really excited about the fact that I'd found his jacket at a thrift store- even though he was already wearing his jacket- and we had a conversation about this, and I awkwardly explained to him that the Doctor, in his next regeneration, wears his jacket and b'aww, how tragic that is, etc.

At some point, mysteriously, the jacket I had bought had turned from black leather into a sort of light linen, cream-coloured with faint orange and blue Glen plaid thing going on.  I then tried an extremely unsubtle line on Fitz about leather being sexy and got in a little molesting of his upper arm before there was a ruckus behind the closed door, and we looked at the monitor to see that the floor had opened up and apparently this house of mine was miles in the air, because all the guests were dropping like stones to earth.   Horrible, yes, but moreso when I realised that [livejournal.com profile] mertondingle  and [livejournal.com profile] notusachan had been in there, and were now falling to their deaths.  There was also... a thing of missiles?  I don't know, really massive missiles, but Lia and Denise seemed to have latched them as they were falling, and Fitz and I watched on the monitor as they scrambled up these missiles, which wasn't going to do any good anyway, as the missiles were falling too.  And then Fitz seemed to decide that the imminent death of my friends would be a great time to slide an arm around my waist and try a line of his own, which I'm fairly sure I was too distraught to do anything about.

... And then I woke up the next day on the floor of my mansion with Tegan, and Fitz was there again and gave us some significant looks, the perv.  I blushed and Tegan flipped him the bird, and he scurried off to spy on us from behind a pillar in case we did anything worth spying on.  We didn't.  But someone was selling t-shirts at the other end of the hall.
hobbit_feets: (rid || trapped in a bubble)
I actually awoke this morning with a jolt, the way one sees in films and things.  One hardly even thinks such a thing possible, but I woke up with a jolt and sat straight up in my bed, a right angle from waist to shoulders.  It was rather unnerving to wake with such suddenness; I'm not entirely sure what prompted it.

On a semi-related note, I've been having extremely strange, and very vivid dreams for the past few nights.  The other night I dreamt I had mysteriously acquired a set of male genitalia (though I myself was still female), and last night, I had a very long, complex, and plotty dream that had something to do with my being an alien, and my spaceship being a book.  Or not the book itself, necessarily, but the ideas contained within it; all very metaphysical.  *shrugs*  Buggered if I know.

hobbit_feets: (rid || trapped in a bubble)
I actually awoke this morning with a jolt, the way one sees in films and things.  One hardly even thinks such a thing possible, but I woke up with a jolt and sat straight up in my bed, a right angle from waist to shoulders.  It was rather unnerving to wake with such suddenness; I'm not entirely sure what prompted it.

On a semi-related note, I've been having extremely strange, and very vivid dreams for the past few nights.  The other night I dreamt I had mysteriously acquired a set of male genitalia (though I myself was still female), and last night, I had a very long, complex, and plotty dream that had something to do with my being an alien, and my spaceship being a book.  Or not the book itself, necessarily, but the ideas contained within it; all very metaphysical.  *shrugs*  Buggered if I know.

hobbit_feets: (Laughing Bertie)
The equations are unbalanced.  Heat, snow- these are incompatible; the weather is capricious, leaning one way then another, never deciding.  Gods play card games with the Earth.  Tiny blue dot in the black, very vulnerable.  It is most inconvenient.

Clocks tick; tick-tock, tock-tick, over and over but mine are unwound.  Unwound and rewound wrongly.  Sleep comes on and off, but eyelids are uncooperative; they want to see the dark, refuse to stay closed, watch cricks and cracks in the ceiling, nightsounds of engine and wind and sleepless students pacing halls.  No sleep.  Not now. 

Voices.  Muse voices in my head, won't shut up.  A Bertie-bird and the Detective and the Commodore; clamouring around in the brainpan, but there is nobody to play.  Girls and boys, come out to play,/ The moon doth shine as bright as day;/  Up the ladder and down the wall,/ A half-penny roll will serve us all.  Rhymes for children, little girls on daddy's lap, but can be useful if the correct interpretation is applied.  But not for Bertie-bird.  His Jeeves is gone, you see.  I try to write, but the words are gone.  Flitter-fluttering around in the high-up blue like birds.  No, bats.  Little winged mice, creeping through gaps in my consciousness, through my fingers when I grab at them.
hobbit_feets: (Laughing Bertie)
The equations are unbalanced.  Heat, snow- these are incompatible; the weather is capricious, leaning one way then another, never deciding.  Gods play card games with the Earth.  Tiny blue dot in the black, very vulnerable.  It is most inconvenient.

Clocks tick; tick-tock, tock-tick, over and over but mine are unwound.  Unwound and rewound wrongly.  Sleep comes on and off, but eyelids are uncooperative; they want to see the dark, refuse to stay closed, watch cricks and cracks in the ceiling, nightsounds of engine and wind and sleepless students pacing halls.  No sleep.  Not now. 

Voices.  Muse voices in my head, won't shut up.  A Bertie-bird and the Detective and the Commodore; clamouring around in the brainpan, but there is nobody to play.  Girls and boys, come out to play,/ The moon doth shine as bright as day;/  Up the ladder and down the wall,/ A half-penny roll will serve us all.  Rhymes for children, little girls on daddy's lap, but can be useful if the correct interpretation is applied.  But not for Bertie-bird.  His Jeeves is gone, you see.  I try to write, but the words are gone.  Flitter-fluttering around in the high-up blue like birds.  No, bats.  Little winged mice, creeping through gaps in my consciousness, through my fingers when I grab at them.
hobbit_feets: (Crazy)
Take a glim at this little thing; it's quite interesting.  According to the site, this is what the thing is:

The Johari Window was invented by Joseph Luft and Harrington Ingham in the 1950s as a model for mapping personality awareness. By describing yourself from a fixed list of adjectives, then asking your friends and colleagues to describe you from the same list, a grid of overlap and difference can be built up.

So I thought that might be interesting to see what discrepancies exist between how I view myself and how people who know me see me.  An exercise, as 'twere.  Click here

In other news, earlier tonight (read, about two in the morning), I had what felt like a miniature panic attack.   I was just suddenly struck with this feeling of horrible, impeding doom.  Like everything's fucked and I've done something horrible and the world's about to come crashing down around my ears and it's all my fault, but there's nothing I can do about it.  Just... my heart started racing and breathing went all wonky and my stomach fell to somewhere around my left foot, and I got one of those awful headaches you get when you're really, unreasonably scared about something.  It's better now, but I'm still feeling a bit off. 

Just... it was fucking weird, because I don't get panic attacks or anxiety attacks or any of that; I am perpetually really calm and chill, almost to a fault, but... *sigh*  I have no idea what it was about, but it freaked me out properly.
hobbit_feets: (Crazy)
Take a glim at this little thing; it's quite interesting.  According to the site, this is what the thing is:

The Johari Window was invented by Joseph Luft and Harrington Ingham in the 1950s as a model for mapping personality awareness. By describing yourself from a fixed list of adjectives, then asking your friends and colleagues to describe you from the same list, a grid of overlap and difference can be built up.

So I thought that might be interesting to see what discrepancies exist between how I view myself and how people who know me see me.  An exercise, as 'twere.  Click here

In other news, earlier tonight (read, about two in the morning), I had what felt like a miniature panic attack.   I was just suddenly struck with this feeling of horrible, impeding doom.  Like everything's fucked and I've done something horrible and the world's about to come crashing down around my ears and it's all my fault, but there's nothing I can do about it.  Just... my heart started racing and breathing went all wonky and my stomach fell to somewhere around my left foot, and I got one of those awful headaches you get when you're really, unreasonably scared about something.  It's better now, but I'm still feeling a bit off. 

Just... it was fucking weird, because I don't get panic attacks or anxiety attacks or any of that; I am perpetually really calm and chill, almost to a fault, but... *sigh*  I have no idea what it was about, but it freaked me out properly.
hobbit_feets: (Bertie)
I had the most curious dream last night, involving (oddly enough) various characters from the Jeeves books.  In this dream, Honoria Glossop was a bull dyke- that being the precise term used in the dream- and she was in a relationship with Pauline Stoker.  And for some reason, they had to tell Gussie Fink-Nottle, who simply couldn't wrap his brain around the idea of lesbianism and kept rabbitting on about newts and how newt reproductive activity was strictly limited to male/female interaction.  And Bertie kept popping up randomly as well, bestowing his congratulations upon the happy couple, though (as he confessed to Jeeves later) his happiness was mostly on account of the fact that he would never have to be engaged to Honoria or Pauline again.  

Dashed rummy, really.
hobbit_feets: (Bertie)
I had the most curious dream last night, involving (oddly enough) various characters from the Jeeves books.  In this dream, Honoria Glossop was a bull dyke- that being the precise term used in the dream- and she was in a relationship with Pauline Stoker.  And for some reason, they had to tell Gussie Fink-Nottle, who simply couldn't wrap his brain around the idea of lesbianism and kept rabbitting on about newts and how newt reproductive activity was strictly limited to male/female interaction.  And Bertie kept popping up randomly as well, bestowing his congratulations upon the happy couple, though (as he confessed to Jeeves later) his happiness was mostly on account of the fact that he would never have to be engaged to Honoria or Pauline again.  

Dashed rummy, really.
hobbit_feets: (British)

Well, happy fuckin' fourth o' July, U.S.  May you someday return to actually possessing the virtures you so like to extol as "patriotic" and "American".  The fireworks were nice, though.

Of late, I've had some very bizarre, and very vivid dreams. The other night I dreamt that I was a mutant- like X-Men- and that Professor Xavier had this idea that in order to promote better human/mutant relations, we should just tell people about our powers.  So, I and a load of other mutants were hanging about what I think was an airport, but looked more like a library, telling people who passed by with their luggage about our mutations.  I ended up talking to this incredibly conservative, anti-mutant bloke who looked vaguely like a beardy Paul Giamatti, and telling him about my powers (those being that my hair turned into tentacles, and I could sprout huge white feathery wings from my back). After I'd told him this, he looked very suspiciously at me, and asked if that was why my hair was all wet and slimy.  I said no, my hair was like that because I'd just washed it.  So, I ended up having to convince him that I wasn't evil, and somehow, we got onto the subject of Adam and Eve, and this guy was Adam, and I had to save the world from original sin, and something... I can't really remember the rest of it, but it involved some very complicated theological riddles, and him showing me ancient documents and whatnot from his bags

 

And that was that dream.  Last night, I dreamt that I had to go to Naples to do a babysitting job for this lady's half-daughter.  It was very confusing, because I didn't know the kid's name, and I didn't have an aeroplane ticket or anything, but I'd promised I'd do it, so I had to figure out how to get to Italy somehow.  I don't recall if I ever did or not.

 

hobbit_feets: (British)

Well, happy fuckin' fourth o' July, U.S.  May you someday return to actually possessing the virtures you so like to extol as "patriotic" and "American".  The fireworks were nice, though.

Of late, I've had some very bizarre, and very vivid dreams. The other night I dreamt that I was a mutant- like X-Men- and that Professor Xavier had this idea that in order to promote better human/mutant relations, we should just tell people about our powers.  So, I and a load of other mutants were hanging about what I think was an airport, but looked more like a library, telling people who passed by with their luggage about our mutations.  I ended up talking to this incredibly conservative, anti-mutant bloke who looked vaguely like a beardy Paul Giamatti, and telling him about my powers (those being that my hair turned into tentacles, and I could sprout huge white feathery wings from my back). After I'd told him this, he looked very suspiciously at me, and asked if that was why my hair was all wet and slimy.  I said no, my hair was like that because I'd just washed it.  So, I ended up having to convince him that I wasn't evil, and somehow, we got onto the subject of Adam and Eve, and this guy was Adam, and I had to save the world from original sin, and something... I can't really remember the rest of it, but it involved some very complicated theological riddles, and him showing me ancient documents and whatnot from his bags

 

And that was that dream.  Last night, I dreamt that I had to go to Naples to do a babysitting job for this lady's half-daughter.  It was very confusing, because I didn't know the kid's name, and I didn't have an aeroplane ticket or anything, but I'd promised I'd do it, so I had to figure out how to get to Italy somehow.  I don't recall if I ever did or not.

 

hobbit_feets: (Default)
Hello, my ducks! I awoke this morning to find one of my journals open on the floor, with a new entry in it I could not ever recall writing. As it was my handwriting, I can only assume that I wrote it in my sleep. Given the state of the writing, that would make sense- it is sloppy, and in many places the writing overlaps. It is very difficult to read, but, simply for the sake of... something, I am copying it down here. Perhaps this glimpse into my subconcious will tell y'all something about me, aye? Here we are- my Dreaming Poem.

People say I'm a dreamer
I don't really know where
or who
I am
And it's true, you know
I dream to pass the time
Escape from reality, for me, is but an afternoon outing
as it were
And oft it happens that my dreams
doth take me places I don't know
Strange planes composed of thought
Where creatures stalk the edges of my vision
with all the sinuous grace of a one-legged duck
Voices
which rend the air, calling my name
A cacophany of tortured voices
issuing from twisted throats
A dirge, a hymn, a battle-cry, a curse-
No longer a name
A perversion of nature
A digression from what ought to be
And then a scream
piercing the hollow of my ear
And I am not sure whether it is mine, or someone else's
As the moon rises in a smoke-coloured sky
And I wake
and wonder

There we are- rather strange, that. A bit like a Dali painting put to verse. Really not at all like my ordinary writing style at all. Poetic writing style, I should say.
hobbit_feets: (Default)
Hello, my ducks! I awoke this morning to find one of my journals open on the floor, with a new entry in it I could not ever recall writing. As it was my handwriting, I can only assume that I wrote it in my sleep. Given the state of the writing, that would make sense- it is sloppy, and in many places the writing overlaps. It is very difficult to read, but, simply for the sake of... something, I am copying it down here. Perhaps this glimpse into my subconcious will tell y'all something about me, aye? Here we are- my Dreaming Poem.

People say I'm a dreamer
I don't really know where
or who
I am
And it's true, you know
I dream to pass the time
Escape from reality, for me, is but an afternoon outing
as it were
And oft it happens that my dreams
doth take me places I don't know
Strange planes composed of thought
Where creatures stalk the edges of my vision
with all the sinuous grace of a one-legged duck
Voices
which rend the air, calling my name
A cacophany of tortured voices
issuing from twisted throats
A dirge, a hymn, a battle-cry, a curse-
No longer a name
A perversion of nature
A digression from what ought to be
And then a scream
piercing the hollow of my ear
And I am not sure whether it is mine, or someone else's
As the moon rises in a smoke-coloured sky
And I wake
and wonder

There we are- rather strange, that. A bit like a Dali painting put to verse. Really not at all like my ordinary writing style at all. Poetic writing style, I should say.
hobbit_feets: (Default)
I just had the most erotic dream in the world... involving myself and a faerie woman... I could tell you the juicy details, but I don't expect you really want them, do ye now?

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a little bit wildean

February 2014

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