tanarill: (Default)
I have weird dreams. This is what my dreams are. Weird. I don't have normal ones and hardly ever get precognitive ones, so I can only assume my dreams are all about my mind working out things my conscious self won't touch.

This time was another flying dream, but less normal that usual because I had wings. I usually fly Superman-style, without wings. But I was in some odd way, Robin (Batman's catamite), and a Gargoyle from some weird AU where Demona was bad and Angela was worse and the only reason the good guys stood a chance was because Demona and Angela fought with each other too.

Myself and Goliath, who was also Batman, were flying around a city that isn't St. Louis. That's what everyone kept calling it, but I've been to St. Louis and this was not St. Louis. It was full of big, open green spaces and boulevards paved with shiney white brick-stone, like the plazas in Paris. We were, for a reason that made no sense to me, flying in the day. It was a really nice day, and everyone was surprised because Gargoyles don't fly during the day.

I don't really remember what we were doing, aside from the fact that we encouraged Angela and Demona to fight each other in old condemned parking structures, and talking to/arguing with each other about why we were flying in the day. The Trio showed up for the argument. We eventually decided that it had to have be Titania, since the Puck is too [waggles fingers] and Oberon is a whiney self-absorbed bitch, but Titania is a woman with a Plan. We just didn't know what they were.

Other things that happened, but I can't remember when in th dream sequence. I spent some time as Robin doing weird bodily contortions on a jungle gym (flexibility practice) while reciting a poem written by Delirium of the Endless. It was good poem, but of course I can't remember it now that I'm awake. I also cooked Indian food, which smelled good only I didn't get any because as soon as I made it a pack of Indian professors, who were apparently building a radio tower in my backyard, swooped down to eat it. . . I don't know. Maybe it is a hint. Indian food is, after all, teh nummy.

I'm think about keeping a dream journal here to help promote lucid dreaming. Y/N?
tanarill: (Default)
Yes, yes, I know. None of you are interested in hearing about my dreams. I’m going to tell all about them anyway.

It was some form of Power Rangers/chemistry class/space opera/romance. The basic story was that the Power Rangers from the real PR world and their actors met up. Only not really, because the real ones didn’t actually exist but thought they did and they were having existential difficulties about meeting their actors.

Meanwhile, from Space, a giant hourglass-shaped Space Ship was approaching, carrying something that looks like Evil Aylee from Sluggy Freelance. It was here to take over the world, blow it up, or eat it. I’m not quite sure which. The PR, still having difficulties with the fact that they don’t actually exist and the actors all decided that they had to Do Something About It, so they sent Red Ranger up to taunt the alien while Yellow slipped in and was supposed to be sabotaging the ship. I don’t know why, blue was always the sciencey one, but anyway.

Red went back once Yellow was safely hidden, or so he thought. It’s about this time that I started being Yellow, and also where the plot vanished. Alien started doing a chemistry review with me. No, I have no clue. But it did, and so lured me out of hiding, where I think the original plan was to destroy me only I started asking about the ship’s propulsion . . .

The ship flew by making electrons turn radioactive, which apparently takes a lot of time if you run it forward but he had some kind of reversing-time field which made the property decay time into the formation time and vice-versa, meaning the electrons were radioactive enough to power the ship. (Yes, I know electrons aren’t radioactive. It’s a dream, just roll with it.) Then he demonstrated, which resulted in me looking down at a planet that wasn’t Earth and getting a very cool lesson on its history and economics.

(The history is that last generation, it had a really really great educational system, only it hasn’t been updated since so the planet now has sucky education. Also, it was half desert and half ocean, so a lot of planetary economics revolved around where the fresh water was. The entire planet serves as a major spaceport along half a dozen trade routes, but most of the planet lives somewhere between the Stone and Bronze Ages, despite the fact that they practically invented the FTL electron drive. It was very odd.)

Back at the ranch, PR are kind of wondering what happened to me and slowly coming to terms with the fact that they don’t exist. I’ve been gone several hours, and the alien ship is out of orbit, but they are wondering if I died to make that happen or what . . . and just about they point that they are getting over their Issues and kind of merging actors and TV show, the ship pops back into orbit, me on it. Alien has promised not to harm the planet because, get this, he’s in love with me.

The rest of the dream was spent overthrowing outdated imperialist dogma on the spaceport planet, like the idea the only one female in a house can be sexually active at a time because they’d overpopulate. In all honesty, this is true, except that there’s a better way to do this then giving horrible drugs that make them puke their guts up to keep them from having babies. Like, iunno, birth control pills, maybe?

I fell in love. Just about the time I was going to suggest that the planet use some of its surplus population to colonize some of the nearer asteroids, which they mine for minerals but then didn’t use the empty shells to make more colony ships out of (which, because of the fact that FTL-E drive is inertialess, makes no sense at all) the alarm went off. I was so incredibly disoriented.

Now of course, I have the urge to figure out how the FTL-E drive works, even though there is no possible way it can work outside of the Dreaming.

Update on my Recent Activities later today. I guarantee they are Cool.
tanarill: (Default)
I have weird dreams. Last night, I had two of them.

One: some form of weird non-sexual shower bonding. Like, when you are very young and your parent lets you take showers with them sometimes? It was like that, only with my BF. Not sexual at all. We were just happened to be taking a shower in the same shower. It segued (I’m not quite sure how, think dream-logic) into having Invader Zim stuck in the ceiling and us spraying him with the shower water, which took care of him as in “The Wettening.” Then Dib showed up, and we sprayed him, which only got him vaguely annoyed, and carted Zim off. I distinctly remember him saying, “Okay, now we’ll go do the Labyrinth.” Yes, that Labyrinth. The sense was that they were paranormal investigators together but I’m still not sure why Zim was in the ceiling.

Freud would say that it means I need to get laid, which I already knew.

Interlude: I sleep with the window open, because between about nine and about four AM it’s cooler than inside the house. A policeman went by. I mean, a policeman with sirens on and lights flashing went by. I checked the clock. This was a 3.23 AM. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Two: some form of weird meshing between my life and DP, with a hint of insanity and some bits of dreams from weeks ago thrown in. The basic plot was that me (Danny) went insane and kidnapped Sam and Tucker, where “kidnapped” means “put in one of Vlad’s underground bunkers to keep them safe.” Said bunker looks a lot like the basement corrosion lab if someone had taken the space and put a grocery store inside. Vlad was, for some reason, dead. I mean, permanently. So my brother (who was also Jazz, don’t ask) starts hitting me upside the head while there’s a police investigation going on in my house (which was neither my house nor FentonWorks) because they were last seen there.

Anyway, after a while Tucker figures out how to send a message detailing his position using only an old 70’s TV set, my cover gets blown, I’m flying around my neighborhood. I love flight dreams, BTW, even if I really suck at flying pretty much as a rule. It takes effort for me to stay in the air, even in a dream . . . it’s about this point in the dream where it shifted from Me-as-Danny to Danny-as-me, and he’s much better at the flying and I was just sort of piggybacking along for the ride. Whee!

But he’s no good at long-term planning, so instead of cutting and running like he ought to, he went back to the bunker and walked straight into a trap. Shit happened. Sam and Tucker were royally pissed, MW and Dad (who were also Maddie and Jack) started poking around Vlad’s stuff without ever realizing it was Vlad’s stuff. Somehow, they formed the impression that he’d been some kind of Q to my Bond, a notion of which I did not disabuse them, because Vlad had apparently died horribly and I didn’t want to ruin their memories of him.

I was poked at. Some kind of scientific research lab/shopping mall was built in and around the lab, because of all the cool stuff that it would take years to figure out (part of the reason Sam and Tucker were there and not anywhere else) and Dad figured out how to use some shoes that walk on air. I, or rather Danny, was a celebrity but of the infamous variety, even though I had done nothing wrong. Aside from, y’know, kidnapping some people, but they didn’t press charges. So I was at a T-shirt stand posing for some photos (don’t ask, I don’t know either) and . . .

The alarm went off. The alarm goes off at 6 AM, which means that the entire dream took place between the hours of 3 and 6 AM. Ah dream-time, how I love you.

Now I have the weird urge to write shits, so I’ma take a stab at this poem.

I want to take until my soul
the world, and make her whole;
and remind her there
to love and care
and stand up, and believe, and know.
I want to take unto my sun
the heart, and all of cold. And burn away
those dead remains
the bones of time

This is as far as I got before the poem turned into some weird form of creation story. It’s still not the half-sleeping poem, but it captures the right emotions, I think. I wish I could remember the original, though.

The next bit tried to be a part of that, but it’s really something separate and complete and unique to itself, so I’m posting it too. It can be made better by reading a book called Six Moon Dance.

With life:
an oven, a crematorium,
an incubator, until she can hatch, reborn,
a phoenix of her own ashes.
I want to fly on wings of hope
and bright, through
endless black aeons, while around me
suns burst into life, flare briefly, die
singing, until I reach
a young place, an oasis
of fire and toxicity and new time
there to wait, wait, sleeping
until children walk my wings again
and wake them, and kill me, and power,
and give to me for the
long, lonely, universal flight
to become another egg.

So, now I'm going to sandblast things >.>

Ninj4!

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