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I am sadly behind in my poetry writing. I’ve got to have at least 6 poems ready to send away to two publications by the 15th, and while I might be able to use some that I already have written, I think I need…at least four new ones, just in case I can’t use two of the old ones.

 

*sigh*

 

Figure I’ll get on that starting tomorrow.

 

 

 

In other news, I have had a dream that disturbed me. But not because of semi-ritualistic sacrifices or blonde girls who have it in for me or because I was played by a masculine character. Nope. This dream disturbed me because it contained strong anti-goth themes, and I not only failed to rescue someone (this happens in some of my dreams), but I also killed someone. I don’t recall ever killing anyone in my dreams before.

 

I strangled a man with a length of chain.

And apparently Jester also had a dream that he was being arrested for killing someone when he had not…so I figure maybe I shall be carefuller and not threaten anymore to make any travels through the dream world. Because I’m irrational like that, and I shouldn’t feed my Wolf any more than I already do.

 

Anyway, starting at the beginning.

 

 

I was me in this dream, which is rare. Usually in my dreams I am a masculine character, or I am myself as a masculine character…what Wolf would be if I had a twin brother, I guess.

I think that I was in the baseball stadium I went with Jester to last week, and there was a little poofy-haired kid, he was maybe 1 or 2ish, who was crying. It was creepy because it was daytime, but the stadium was empty except for the two of us, and in real life I have a sort of aversion to small children…but not so in this case. Apparently in one of the dream worlds, there is a me that has a child. I would have questioned this, but he had an awful name, and I guess my dream-consciousness concedes that this is enough to convince me.

 

So I picked up Hawthorne (yes, he was named this), and he stopped crying and we went walking through the stadium. I am fairly certain that I was looking for Jester, which also displeased me, since any dream I have that he figures into involves me looking for him and not being able to find him. At one point, I thought I saw him in some bleachers at the opposite end, but by the time I made it over, there was nobody again. It was disconcerting.

 

Then my dream switched to a different scene. I was going somewhere, and Hawthorne of the sniffly-nose was still there…but I couldn’t take him with me, so I was going to have my youngest sister look after him. I think we were at a house, except that the backyard looked like a really nice playground…never seen either place in my waking life, I don’t think.

 

So I left, but it started raining and I came back for an umbrella…only to find that my sister had come inside the house and was watching television and playing with the dogs, and had left Hawthorne out in a swing. I was mad and took him with me and questioned why I thought I could trust anyone else to look after him in the first place.

 

Then my dream switched to another scene. I assume I found someplace for the ill-named Hawthorne, and I was going to a sort of Goth-related conference. I had a ticket and was waiting in line, and then my middle-sister and a bunch of her friends cut in line in front of me and were all snickering about something. I felt like it must’ve been something to do with me, and started getting that black, boiling feeling that I get in real life when people make me angry…but eventually I got into the conference, and there were some people I knew from work and school there, looking really out of place alongside the Goth-types, but I talked with them and was somewhat mollified.

 

Aaand then the speaker started. And it was my GM from work. I was extremely puzzled by that, and while he is a generally non-threatening guy who reminds me of Barney Rubble, my puzzlement morphed pretty rapidly into horror. Apparently the people in charge at this event perceived Goths as a threat, and had set up the conference to lure us in so that we could be slaughtered. It wasn’t pretty.

Like…the scenes from my dream were kind of blurred, but seeing people I know and like, and who seem to like me, shooting Goth-types in the face, or beating them with crowbars was very very not right, and I don’t think I dare look into whatever corner of my mind that sort of thing came from.

(I’m totally comfortable with claiming to be a Goth…aren’t I?)

 

I feel like in lots of dreams, my reaction would have been to fight them, but not this time. The scene changed again, and I was trying to get Hawthorne and get out, but I couldn’t. I mean, I’d found him, and we were right by a door so we could have gotten away…but this big older man was between us. He was one of the anti-Goth people, but like I said…he looked like he was getting older, and wasn’t sure if he should go after me or the least Goth-looking child to ever find its way into such a dream.

Naturally, he decided to go after Hawthorne, and he didn’t have a weapon like the people in the conference room, but I guess I’d picked up a bit of chain on my way to the exit. I kept swinging it at the man’s grey haired head, but he didn’t seem to care, so in a spurt of Wolf-feeling anger, I hurled myself at him and knocked him through the door.

I pulled Hawthorne outside, but the man was getting back up, so I told him it was a game and he had to run away…but he didn’t understand, and in that moment when I was trying to get him out of the way, the man knocked me down and grabbed Hawthorne by the neck and started choking him.

 

I was probably as angry in this dream as in my last one, but this one was much, much worse for keeping me trapped in my own body. I mean, the man wasn’t especially strong looking…but I couldn’t get him to let go, and resorted to looping my chain around his beefy, sunburned neck and strangling him, but by that point, poor Hawthorne was quite dead.

 

I feel like if I had not woken up, my dream may have reached as yet unseen levels of strangeness…instead of tears, what came out of my dream-self was this horrible snarling that built up into a low and constant roar, and the colour leached out of everything (yes, I dream in colour), and the clouds sort of twisted up into a shape that I didn’t quite catch…

 

 

And you know, I’d swear I have seen the man I killed in my dream in real life. More than once. I just can’t think of where.

 

 

 

 

Reeser

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