Dreamt I was passing through some Back Mountains territory as part of my traveling from Here to There. The local folk greeted me with pleasant neutrality but gave me wary stinkeye behind my back. “Just passing through. Don’t even have time to be a dumbass tourist.” We all knew what I was really saying though. As long as I kept moving, there was no hostility.
Just before I left the town limits, two teenage boys came around the bend. “Hey Lady! Here’s your keepsake! Catch!” They lopped a sealed mason jar at me. It was a slow, high arching throw. Easy to catch.
I should have let it hit the ground. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-05-04.01
The young man spits obscenities at me from the confines of the dining room chair his parents have tied him to. I ask them if they had followed my instructions and called for the local priest to come later in the evening. They assured me the priest would be there.
The legally adult youth (bound but not gagged) laughed and promised he would visit unclean actions upon the priest once he was done rendering me unfit for a proper burial.
“Fucking low level pricks. You’d think after fucking around with humanity for a few hundred years, they would at least learn some proper insults and not something that came off of yesterday’s novella. Besides, you can’t corrupt what is already unclean.” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-04-26.01
Dreamt of another full immersion RPG game. PVP server with everyone playing on the same map and no loyalty amid factions. Just as much of a clusterfuck as you can imagine. I was supposed to be helping a friend take down a quest boss. Rated for a 5-man team, the rewards were based on the level of the those participating and the number of people in the quest group. I knew that. My friend, didn’t.
I had asked him before we got started if he was just completing the quest for completion’s sake or if he was farming for loot. He was already five levels above the suggested level range, and I was fifteen. Simply by being in the group, I would reduce the quality of the rewards to a maximum of white level (regular random shit).
He said he just wanted to “get the damn thing off the quest tracker” and did not care about the loot.
Okay. Fine. Let’s go kill some shit. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-04-13.01
The hawk-headed god was strangely soft in his request. “I know this is unusual, but would you hold on to the deceased for a while before escorting the deceased to the Passage of the Dead? There is a complication that must be resolved.” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-04-12.01
One of the first woo tools I made was Snake’s Rod. I didn’t know what I was making then, and just went by instinct and personal sense of style. (Spoiler: It is the macaroni art of wand decoration.) It was the rod co-opted by something greater when the entity J was cut away from me and banished. But after that path-changing night, I rarely did anything physical with it. Continue reading Nothing Lasts
Bloodied hands made soft through violence.
How is it the very thing that would destroy me
upholds me when I have lost the ability to stand?
Holy destruction that cannot be assuaged.
Your shelter has saved me from myself
and from the blows of those unlawful works.
How is it you are not my enemy?
I do not understand the love that drives you
to stand over me as guardian, even from your own.
Divine paradox, I am grateful for your company.
And while the light you cast throws shadows in disarray,
your presence is a reminder there is recovery, even for me.
Though you be almost ageless
you are ever still the tender slut
that first emerged without blemish
from churning restless Okeanos.
They say you were quick to be clothed
though no cloth could ever hide
that fragrant skin that shames roses
or the shape of that perfect thigh.
It would take more than poetry
to describe the enveloping folds
of your moistened luring lips
that speak with no sound uttered.
Lean over me and focus my gaze
with twin points of vanity reminding
that not all apples grow on trees
and not all fruits are attainable.
Though your cunt be smith-owned
(on paper and in myths as if they count)
let me not forget that it is the only power
that can sheath war without destruction.
No one recognized me as I entered the tattoo parlor. Weaver may have one helluva reputation, but Keri is just another human as far as this corner of the realms was concerned. So no one gave me a second look as I signed a pseudonym on the check-in register and took my seat between the human pirate reeking of last night’s bad decisions and the renegade alfar waiting to defile his skin with even more blasphemous marks.
Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-02-23.01
I placed the plastic baggie on the shelf in my lair, next to Horatio’s skull. That the spirit cards came with me from the dream into the lair confirmed that this was not an isolated incident in Otherworld. The spirit’s hate felt like dry heat emanating from the plastic, but it was not anything to think about.
I turned my back to begin unpacking the rest of my coat pockets. I heard Horatio whisper to the spirit to constrain its temper if it wanted any peace from me. The spirit only hated hotter. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-02-21.01
I can’t get a break even in a dream. A disaster required that the neighborhood be evacuated. The local authorities had their hands full, so a call was made for volunteers of any and all persuasions to assist. I answered the call as a firemonger. The disaster was halted, but the neighborhood was still dangerous so I had to spend the night at a shelter.
Continue reading Dream Journal: 2015-02-20.02