Wondrous Apparitions, Provided by Magicians.

I've been reading The Haitian Vodou Handbook. I occasionally tell people that I know exactly as much about Afro-Caribbean religion as would fit in my left boot, and almost all of that boot-ful is about Santeria. So I know practically nothing at all about voodoo. But it's crushingly interesting, so I'm pursuing it.

So I'm reading and the author is saying that each practitioner "has" some spirits and it will be easy for them to work with those spirits, but if you don't "have" a spirit, then it will be hard for you to work with that spirit, or the spirit might ignore you entirely. Now, in Santeria, you have an orisha (or maybe two) who have your head, and that orisha is your sort of spiritual parent and chief ally, and the way to tell who rules your head is to get a divination done. I don't know if there's a similar trick to it in voodoo - the author sort of says, yes, you could have a divination to see what spirits you have, but most people don't have access to that, so you kind of just have to know. So I was pondering that before going to sleep last night.

Now, I'm a dreamer. I'm really good at it. So of course, I had a dream in which my grandfather came to visit me, and brought along a fairly forbidding, sinister-feeling person (I seem to be unable to remember any details about this person - my brain slides right over them). So, anyway. In this dream, my grandfather says he has something to tell me, but he tells me that he can't talk about it yet. We have to get away from the other person and he can tell me. So we climb up this ladder to a painter's bench, and the sinister person is left below, and I'm like, "Okay, what is it?". He leans over and says, conspiratorially, "There's a reason you like whisky." I say, "And that is?". He winks, and climbs down the ladder, leaving me alone.

We're very funny in my family. :) Because, you know, I have no problem at all identifying whisky as a spirit I have. I'm just sayin'.

Leaving Denver, I looked to the north and saw a radiant city on the horizon, built of spires and towers, lit by fires in giant cauldrons lifted two stories above the streets. I rationalized it into a factory complex, or perhaps an amusement park, but the lockdown came too late -- in the three seconds between observation and explanation, I'd already started to write its story. It doesn't matter what it is in the mundane world, it's already populated with clockwork pixies, genius inventors, industrious gnomes and their pet constructs. In its universities, vampires hold tenure positions. In its streets, women and men of ill-repute weave illusion to lure custom, or flaunt organic/electrical 'enhancements'. And so on.

I dreamed, later, of serving in its police force, hunting a renegade golem-maker. It seemed that I had been on his case for years uncounted, trailing him through the sewers and back-alleys, into abandoned warehouses and secret labs, where he built constructs to aid him in his various crimes. I knew him better than anyone else on the force, and he, in turn, knew me better than anyone else possibly could. One day, I caught up to him. We surrounded his workshop, but I knew that he was too clever by half to end the chase here. And indeed, we shot him, but he slipped out of our grasp. The next day, a gift arrived for me at the station - an opulent necklace made of amber, teeth, tiny bone skulls, brass and copper gears and wire. He knew he was dying. This was his last move, a tiny golem meant to either protect its wearer, or to choke the life from her. I knew it, I could feel that power in it when I picked it up. And still, I hung it around my neck. Why not? He was dying, and he knew me better than anybody. There seemed no sense in living without him - in my eyes, such a dedicated adversary is practically a partner.

My brain is running oddly today. Yesterday, too. So people who are waiting on questions from me re: my last post will probably have to keep waiting until I can get back on track.

Last night I had a dream in which I was defending the use of masks in classical greek theatre to someone who was insisting that masks did not exist until the Renaissance. Very frustrating, and no research material is available in dreams.

Failed to get a massage from starwyse, even though I had an appointment. Work went to hell in a bucket at about 3 p.m. and I got out of the office late, then sat in traffic forever and a day. Still made it to the Social Justice meeting, though.

Social Justice is working on sending care packages to pagan soldiers (so if you happen to be or have been a pagan soldier, I'd sort of appreciate hearing what you think would be good to send in such a package). Highlight of the meeting was iron_clad dropping by, and getting to watch him ride away on zerself's little scooter. That's a day's worth of funny, right there.

To do list: ( Read more... )

I dreamed last night that we went down to the shore, and met a sect of monks who were making ozone incense for their prayers. Somewhere between sleep and being really and truly awake, I decided that they were a small sect of monks who had dedicated their lives to the contemplation of the mysteries of electricity and its advancement. They recognize electricity as god, and Nikola Tesla as its chosen prophet. And, of course, they are mostly engineers and inventors in addition to their spiritual responsibilities.

Suddenly, I don't know if I want to write a novel, or run a d20 modern campaign. No time for either at the moment, though.

Last night I dreamed I was looking for a job, and I got an interview with a newspaper. ( Read more... )

I had a dream last night in which I was involved in some sort of UUA-sponsored arts and crafts show. I had brought all of my jewelry and usual art and craft show crap, but I had also made about six exquisitely carved and decorated staffs, all about 6 feet tall. I had ridden to this show with a representative of some militant lesbian organization within the UUA. The show itself was in a sort of campground area, and in order to get there, we had to drive through a horde of protesters. They seemed to be protesting the UUA's affiliation with lesbian groups, and making the claim that the UUA was running off all of its men.
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Last night I dreamed of being somewhere warm. There was a gathering of people that I think of as 'my people'. We're in a theater, or maybe an aquarium. One of these people leads me backstage, where there is a large gem sale or swapmeet going on. He points me towards a table full of polished chrysocolla. "You'll want some of these," he says.

I looked up the symbolic attributes of chrysocolla today to find that it's supposed to be a sort of soothing, calming influence, and proof against ulcers. Ha.
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I had William Gibson dreams last night. Man, I hate that guy. Mostly I hate him for building such interesting cities, and making such dull things happen in them. I hate him for misusing the aesthetic. And I hate him for Johnny Mnemonic. (Rollins was cool in the movie, though. Gibson can eff up a lot of things, but nobody can make Rollins look bad.) But anyway.

Somehow, it was election day today. In my brain, elections happen in April. I'm a little confused as to when I am. I voted anyway. If it should turn out that these were not real elections, and the real elections are the first Tuesday in April, like always, I suppose I'll vote again next week.

Druid book club was lightly attended last night (Peter B. Ellis' "The Druids"), but still a wretched amount of fun. (At one point, saffronhare said, "You know, I read this book, but I was not as critical as you guys. It's good to be in a room with people who are smarter than me." agrnmn told her we weren't smarter, we were just bigger dicks. Saff concurred, or was at least willing to allow that we were more likely to wave our dicks around.) Any book club meeting in which a fair amount of time is spent parodying the author is a good use of my time, I think. Also, I learned where Transalpine Gaul and Cisalpine Gaul were. Note to authors: if you are going to talk about countries that do not currently exist, it is okay to include a map. Nobody will confuse you with Tolkien. And we uneducated bastards will thank you for it. KTHXBYE.

[Poll #950337]

This poll was brought to you by my dreams, in which I for some reason had to respond to these questions, and others like them. It was the worst gameshow ever.

For two nights, not enough sleep to dream. Then, a night of OMG sleep catch-up. That apparently is the formula for epic-level dreaming on night four. I have to write this one down, because I had and kept so much detail.
( This is crazy long. Click at own risk. )