Dreams

[featherynscale]

Hidden amongst the other funhouse jokes from my subconscious last night (including competing in a swim meet against Eddie Munster, among others), this:

I'm riding in a huge vehicle, a station wagon possibly. I'm in the front passenger seat. I don't know who is driving, but we are moving from a small, unpaved road to a major highway. In the junction between dirt and highway is a dead vulture. The driver proceeds as if to run it over. I scream and punch him in the arm, in a very "don't you dare hit that" sort of manner.

The driver slams on his brakes. The vulture comes back together from its previous squooshedness and picks itself up. The flesh/skin/whatever on its head shimmers like a silk velvet. It looks at me, winks, and flies away.

Comments

I Swear, You Dream In Impressionistic Performance Poetry.

[lexpendragon.livejournal.com]

You Should Collect these Into A Book. I'd Buy A Copy.

Re: I Swear, You Dream In Impressionistic Performance Poetry.

[featherynscale.livejournal.com]

Or, you can just read them here, as they occur :)

Seriously, I'd like to someday be as creative awake as I apparently am asleep.