Dreamblog:

Lots of dark dreams lately...

1)  There's a gaping wound in my neck, flesh-eating bacteria.  I can see muscles and tendons.  It's grotesque and painful.  I try to leave to get help before I die, but into my room streams sick children.  Little toddlers who can't breath and children with seizures.  How can I leave?

2)  I am working with relief workers in Afghanistan.  Digging in the side of a cliff, my local and I unearth a quarry of diamonds.  Freedom!  But this is some twisted future where junk and scrapes line this canyon and resources even with diamonds are rare.  In our junk yard of a home, I find people making comforts where they can.  A small market of canned goods, walls of living quarters lined with old music posters (Pink next with Michael Jackson, huh), old televisions playing propaganda from a bygone freedom-fest of America.   So with my little pouch of diamonds, I set out to the wilderness (more piles of junk) to barter for fresh supplies.   I miss step and slip off a narrow bridge and a robot camera spies me.  I have no choice but tumble down a trash mountain and into a great pool of water.  Underwater, I can hear message from the past.  The messages are bright and cheerful, old and nostalgic, but not to be trusted.

I've been meaning to restart writing about my dreams.  But they sure are odd these days.  Likely b/c i've been sick for 3 months straight with nothing dramatic to add to my dream pool.

It's late at night.  I ride my pink girlie bike through the streets of the inner city, riding past snickering on-lookers.  Maybe they are laughing, maybe they are smiling at foolish me: I'm wearing a dress and riding a bike.  I find a place to park my bike and this ink-black haired girl tries to snatch my purse.  "Thank you?!" I say to her as she drops my purse.  Ya, I'm in the busy, alternative, dark, artsy, punk rock park of town to watch a movie in a small empire-styled theatre.  Tarnished gold leaf over the arts and crafts detailing.  Old but I love this little theatre in my dream.  I go watch a new show.  Inside some old random friends, some artists, some very much not.  The movie starts.  An eerie business office blue with florcent lighting.  A girl narrates in terribly heavy asian accent, joined by very midwestern accent boy.  "Nama nama nama na, What to do? What to do?" They chanted.  This is the worst movie ever.  No more odd indie movies for me. 

Dreamblog:  I'm a drummer in a marching band.  The drums are heavy but the beats are tight.  People shuffle in beside me till it's a long impressive drum line.  Oh ya, covered in sweat.  Only a moment to enjoy the high, I then find myself sitting on a plane next to an old rock climbing and adventuring friend.  He says, "get ready", then BAM, the plane had circled around and crash landed into a dark sapphire lake.  A big white air bag catches me (huh, air bags for passenger air planes, that's a good idea).  Suffocating and large, but I'm alive.  I grab on the handles of my air bag and swim out to shore.