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featherynscaleWhiny goth post demands whiny goth icon. Sadly, I have no such icon, so poor William's troubles will have to suffice. This is your disclaimer.
I hear that other people can't die in their dreams. I'm envious of that restriction. Last night I dreamed of a seaside house, and sitting on the porch as the tide rolled in. It rose up and swallowed me, much in the way that ADF reminds us to ask it not to do in every ritual. I drowned for hours, staring at the dried and flaking teal paint on the wooden porch of my house by the sea. I could have stopped it, I could have moved, but I didn't.
The night before, I dreamed that my household had traveled to some other large city. When we arrived, I ditched everyone for a magician, crazy and dangerous. I woke up once after having just fucked this guy. I had that moment of "Jesus Murphy, did that really happen, or did I make it up? Where am I?". I was able to determine that it wasn't a real thing, and went back to sleep, but went back to the same dream. In the dream, we were doing some kind of working that involved getting a bunch of club kids up in the top floor of this warehouse. We're deep into this thing, and he hands me a gun. He tells me that everyone in the building has a gun, and we have to kill them all. I am not down for that. He insists. We argue. It comes to me that the only way to save all the club kids is to shoot the magician. I fire at him, but he has some sort of heavy protection going on. My shot should have hit him in the chest, but instead the bullet disintegrates about 2 cm away from him. Several of the club kids see this, and decide that this means that they can shoot each other without consequence. They open fire on the others in the room, but nobody else has the juju to stop bullets. So they end up all killing each other anyway. The thing I did was exactly the wrong thing to do. I'm nominally in charge of this massacre, but I'm not sure I can stop a bullet either, so I do what anybody would do, which is start running. I run down several flights of winding stairs. At the bottom is a club girl with a shining, open face, and blue braided pigtails. She draws on me. I fire at her just as she fires at me. We die together in the stairwell, both bleeding out from hearts. No good.
I'm trying to work out if I'm depressed and that's why this shakes out of my subconscious, or if this shit coming up repeatedly on random play makes me depressed. End result is the same, I guess, but it's getting pretty old at this point. Incidentally, when I die in my dreams, I either get a dramatic shift in perspective (it will be revealed to me that the whole time I was also watching the story on television, or that I was also some other character in the dream, or I will simply switch to a third-person omniscient view with no explanation), or I get a view like a television station turning off -- the picture dims and winks out, and is followed by static.
On the upside, I've managed to train Pandora to produce a pretty reliable mix of dark cabaret, pseudo-nostalgia tunes, and neofolk, which makes me happy. Instrumental in this development have been the folks over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sepiachord, who regularly post very yummy playlists. Also, I'm wearing a gift from zianuray, a very nice blend from Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs called Miskatonic University -- all coffee and irish cream and deep wood. It's delightful. I have some hope that I can shake my brain back into some sort of useful functionality by the end of the day. Let's find out.
I hear that other people can't die in their dreams. I'm envious of that restriction. Last night I dreamed of a seaside house, and sitting on the porch as the tide rolled in. It rose up and swallowed me, much in the way that ADF reminds us to ask it not to do in every ritual. I drowned for hours, staring at the dried and flaking teal paint on the wooden porch of my house by the sea. I could have stopped it, I could have moved, but I didn't.
The night before, I dreamed that my household had traveled to some other large city. When we arrived, I ditched everyone for a magician, crazy and dangerous. I woke up once after having just fucked this guy. I had that moment of "Jesus Murphy, did that really happen, or did I make it up? Where am I?". I was able to determine that it wasn't a real thing, and went back to sleep, but went back to the same dream. In the dream, we were doing some kind of working that involved getting a bunch of club kids up in the top floor of this warehouse. We're deep into this thing, and he hands me a gun. He tells me that everyone in the building has a gun, and we have to kill them all. I am not down for that. He insists. We argue. It comes to me that the only way to save all the club kids is to shoot the magician. I fire at him, but he has some sort of heavy protection going on. My shot should have hit him in the chest, but instead the bullet disintegrates about 2 cm away from him. Several of the club kids see this, and decide that this means that they can shoot each other without consequence. They open fire on the others in the room, but nobody else has the juju to stop bullets. So they end up all killing each other anyway. The thing I did was exactly the wrong thing to do. I'm nominally in charge of this massacre, but I'm not sure I can stop a bullet either, so I do what anybody would do, which is start running. I run down several flights of winding stairs. At the bottom is a club girl with a shining, open face, and blue braided pigtails. She draws on me. I fire at her just as she fires at me. We die together in the stairwell, both bleeding out from hearts. No good.
I'm trying to work out if I'm depressed and that's why this shakes out of my subconscious, or if this shit coming up repeatedly on random play makes me depressed. End result is the same, I guess, but it's getting pretty old at this point. Incidentally, when I die in my dreams, I either get a dramatic shift in perspective (it will be revealed to me that the whole time I was also watching the story on television, or that I was also some other character in the dream, or I will simply switch to a third-person omniscient view with no explanation), or I get a view like a television station turning off -- the picture dims and winks out, and is followed by static.
On the upside, I've managed to train Pandora to produce a pretty reliable mix of dark cabaret, pseudo-nostalgia tunes, and neofolk, which makes me happy. Instrumental in this development have been the folks over at
sepiachord, who regularly post very yummy playlists. Also, I'm wearing a gift from zianuray, a very nice blend from Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs called Miskatonic University -- all coffee and irish cream and deep wood. It's delightful. I have some hope that I can shake my brain back into some sort of useful functionality by the end of the day. Let's find out.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Re: A world of, sight , sound (cue music) , and of the mind..
Date: 2007-01-08 06:19 pm (UTC)