Dream Journal: 2015-05-25.01

Called forth/out by Merciful Mother Mary and I step into a place of water so pure, it smells sweet because I’m used to bitter tap water. (The scent of water around her is also one of the biggest tells.)

She reaches out with her hand and what I did next is still fucking with me.

I took her hand with both of mine, sank to my knees, kissed her hand in greeting, and called her the Queen of Heaven with an attitude of adoration so sincere, it terrified me. (That she accepted the wor… adoration without correcting me is not helping.)

I am so far away from anything I was taught about Christianity, I’m questioning if she is who I have been led to believe.

I think this would be a good time for a temper tantrum. Yes. Lemme throw some shit and some words and get all this out my system now because I’m not going to have time for it later.

Besides, what followed was so intense I may not be able to fully unpack it. MMMary is gentle, even when she’s not.

Dream Journal: 2015-05-24.01

The thing that the Fucker of Sons is after still exists. I was allowed to hold it and inspect it for veracity. It is not damaged and looks pristine despite how it arrived and where it was stored since.

I was not allowed to take it. Once I inform the requester of what I saw, my duty to him is done. I owe him no debts for what happened to his son, and he has no leverage to force me. If anything, he now owes [a certain entity] a huge debt for brokering my assistance.

Rummer John was right. I did not understand the importance of what I was asked to do and I would have played right into his hands.

Later I get to hit up the Library of Misinformation (the internet) about something (or someones) called “The Coates”. I feel like I should know that word, but I don’t.

Dream Journal: 2015-05-23.01

Guess who didn’t get his request completed last night. If you said the Fucker of Sons, then you are correct. (Why did Rummer John give him that epithet? It took a while to figure it out. But once you consider that this is 184.999% a political move, and that the requestor had several chances to prevent his son from meeting the fate he did but did nothing because it would not have been politically expedient at the time, and that the requestor probably has more than enough sons to play political chess with and so this particular son was likely considered the family fuck-up and thus, disposable, at least until it was discovered what item the family fuck-up took with him to his doom, the epithet makes bloody good sense.)

Something came up that took higher priority than even Rummer John’s shenanigans, and after that was completed, he (or rather, his henchmen) were waiting to escort me to the swamp to resume said shenanigans.

In a fit of insanity, I, the chess-piece, asked the chess-player, what was going on.

“To be simple, Girl, you’re not ready. You’re still naive as hell and approaching this from the wrong mindset. You already have all the information you need to know, and you’re going to throw it all away if I let you go right now. He can wait. He can wait lifetimes if he has to. Get your head out of your ass and see what you are being asked to do. And to jump on your second, unspoken, question, no, he can’t do an end run around you. That item is connected to you because of [that bullshit], and only you can bring it out from [that place]. Of course, that’s assuming if [the Lords of that place] allow it.”

The topic of conversation was decidedly changed to face markings, canes, and another task that I had put on the back burner because I thought this game of Play Fetch would have been over by now.

Dream Journal: 2015-05-22.01

The face markings have changed, and it took him reminding me about the prohibition of using his to make me notice. I almost panicked at the realization. (Much to his amusement.) I tried to force them to go back to what I had been wearing these past several years, back to what I was used to, but they would not stay no matter how hard I pressed the old markings into place.

I finally understood that the face markings were never about identifying me to others. They were not a record of where I have been like the other marks that cover my [spirit] body. These marks were about identifying my self tomyself. What I saw was not what others saw. And indeed, very few could see the marks even when I wanted to show them.

I have changed.

I do not understand completely what the markings mean. I have an idea that it is a language in its own right, but who would read it? Who could explain it? I guess that is still for me to discover.

I do understand one thing, for [certain types of woo], I am to wear those markings on my physical body. Color and texture of what I use will be just as important as where I place it. Again, it will not be for me to explain to others.

It is about marking myself as my self.

And so it goes.

Dream Journal: 2015-05-20.01

He leaned against the signpost on the crossroads that suddenly appeared before me. Looking every bit like the embodiment of a bad idea on payday night and drawing on his cigar like it would quench feverish and hot-blooded thirst. “Hey Girl… where ya headed?”

I came to a full stop in front of him. I suppose I should have shown more manners, but fuck it. I’m just following his lead. I eyed him up and down like I was considering drinking what he was pouring before rolling my eyes in rejection. “Lemme guess. Not to take care of [The Fucker of Son’s] request.”

He bounced off the sign with unusual quickness and took my arm with excessive gentleness. “Girl, you’re so sharp, I’mma cut myself.” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-05-20.01

Dream Journal: 2015-05-19.01

The Fucker of Sons is going to have to wait a while longer before I can get to his request. Someone with hella higher priority is yanking my chain, so I’ll be dancing elsewhere for a while.

Though, I have to say, to my ignorant and naive sight, it sure appears that I am having my chain yanked for no other purpose than to delay the Fucker of Sons and/or force him to file his request via the proper channels to the proper entities. This is a political fete and I’m only privy to a portion of the entertainment.

Dream Journal: 2015-05-17.02

“You made it. I did not think you would accept my invitation.”

The ridden man lurched as he struggled to walk towards me. The audience looked at me in worry and wonder, as I was not counted among the celebrants, and was standing in the section reserved for tourists and photographers.

I lifted my hat slightly in greeting and bowed my head just enough to be rude about it. “As if I could ever refuse an opportunity to be obscene. Though I reserve the right to bitch about your timing. I have some work to attend to tonight.” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-05-17.02

Dream Journal: 2015-05-17.01

The scene lasted only as long as the flash of light that illuminated it. A young man looking suspiciously like Matthew Broderick was standing at the top of a step pyramid, facing the sun above and the humid crowd below. Behind him and a step to either side were two very severe countenanced priests in simple robes. They held their faces tilted slightly up but kept their eyes on the ecstatic young man. Their hands were loosely clasped in front of them, but their exposed arms betrayed the tension of expected action.

The young man at the center of all this attention was dressed in a long white tunic decorated with gold thread embroidery. It was a wonder how he was standing with all the gold piled on him. A elaborate gold headdress giving the appearance of a series of layered flames fit loosely on his brow, and he was struggling to remain balanced so it would not fall over. A tall gold scepter topped with a three inch opal sphere kept his left hand occupied. A long non-functional obsidian sword trimmed in gold was heavier than he thought and his right arm trembled to keep it upright.

Chains and loops of gold added even more pounds to his lanky frame. They fit snug against his neck but also looped low to reveal his chest. It was everything he could do to stand upright. He did not notice the weight, however. He was thrilled to have been chosen. “I am the Sun!” The crowd roared back their adoration. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-05-17.01

Dream Journal: 2015-05-16.02

What I wanted to say: “Do I look like a fucking lost and found? Your son lost it all looking for such.”

What I did say: “I will ask [the lords of that area]. But I have no power there, and am restrained by their will. I can only bring to you what they allow.”

What I’m sure he wanted to say: “My son died because of you so you owe me only your everything and this is only the start of repayment.”

What he said: “Already you have done more than all my power can accomplish. What news you bring me, good or bad, is welcome. I am grateful for your assistance.”

Politics. I fucking hate political games. Though I am curious what debts were burned into place to get [that particular entity] involved.

(Also: That was a very aggressive summons. Fuck. Yanked out my head with no warning.)