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farmed by spiders
Well, up at 7:45 today. Distinct improvement. I'm quite pleased.
Of course, part of it was probably the dream,
which centered on that program Kat saw on TV once and was telling everyone about, which is how man's last descendents will be farmed by giant spiders.
So I had this dream aboout it, some cataclysmic event, where flaming spiders the size of my fist dropped from the sky in a hail, and burrowed into the earth, greating these horrible storms of sand and snow. Eventually, after much frustration and wearing a surgical mask about my face, and wandering around my neighborhood (which seemed to be Miami Beach) in the dark end of the world, watching people drive processions of Rolls Royces and motorcycles around and machine gunning everything in site because they could, I packed up the cats (who, by burrowing through a box and under a carpet and carpet pad, escaped at one point into a men's bathroom done up in pink tiles in my building's hall), some pasta, soup, tuna, and poptarts, and went with someone who was some sort of good friend or companion (and seemed to be several people I do and don't know all at once -- it's like when I try to remember multiple things come to mind, and they all feel correct), to hike through these storms down to the other end of the beach to where there had been a giant, bright blue bandshell, shaped just like the shell Aphrodite is on in those paintings of her, that had been tipped over and used to create a ceiling between several buildings, making them into a small enclosed city. We didn't take much with us, as it was important to travel fast and light, eventhough the sand made it difficult, because we had to be wary of the night gangs, as the folks with the machine guns were called (and it was night all the time now).
And then I was in a garden and the air was decent only because a lot of snow had driven all the debris to the ground, but everything was damp and ashy and grey -- the sky included, talking to this person, who was sitting on a short flight of rough hewn stairs cut into the rock, and I was saying, "I really should have brought my Ganesha statue with me," and he said, we'd get it when we went back for more supplies.
Of course, part of it was probably the dream,
which centered on that program Kat saw on TV once and was telling everyone about, which is how man's last descendents will be farmed by giant spiders.
So I had this dream aboout it, some cataclysmic event, where flaming spiders the size of my fist dropped from the sky in a hail, and burrowed into the earth, greating these horrible storms of sand and snow. Eventually, after much frustration and wearing a surgical mask about my face, and wandering around my neighborhood (which seemed to be Miami Beach) in the dark end of the world, watching people drive processions of Rolls Royces and motorcycles around and machine gunning everything in site because they could, I packed up the cats (who, by burrowing through a box and under a carpet and carpet pad, escaped at one point into a men's bathroom done up in pink tiles in my building's hall), some pasta, soup, tuna, and poptarts, and went with someone who was some sort of good friend or companion (and seemed to be several people I do and don't know all at once -- it's like when I try to remember multiple things come to mind, and they all feel correct), to hike through these storms down to the other end of the beach to where there had been a giant, bright blue bandshell, shaped just like the shell Aphrodite is on in those paintings of her, that had been tipped over and used to create a ceiling between several buildings, making them into a small enclosed city. We didn't take much with us, as it was important to travel fast and light, eventhough the sand made it difficult, because we had to be wary of the night gangs, as the folks with the machine guns were called (and it was night all the time now).
And then I was in a garden and the air was decent only because a lot of snow had driven all the debris to the ground, but everything was damp and ashy and grey -- the sky included, talking to this person, who was sitting on a short flight of rough hewn stairs cut into the rock, and I was saying, "I really should have brought my Ganesha statue with me," and he said, we'd get it when we went back for more supplies.
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I dunno, but it was _really_ disturbing.
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I've been dreaming about Zalophus, a lot. Fits in with the standard landscape of my dreams, I suppose. Still freaks me out though.