A Tumblring Dream

I was quite tired last night. So tired, moving from my chair seemed daunting. But not so tired, that I couldn’t move and click the mouse. So, as it was, I spent a few hours longer than I should reveling in the maddening faire called Tumblr. So it should be no surprise that I wound up dreaming I was sitting back at the computer, reveling and engaging in Tumblr anew.

ginandjack and I had a fun Call and Response effect as we reblogged each other. He would post as the voice of Dionysus, and I would post as the voice of a maenad. He starts out as the Bull calling from the Labyrinth, and I start out as a tightly wound woman, leaving the safety of her father’s house. Alcohol may have been involved. At the end of the thread, he was the Enflamed and Ivy Crowned, and I was the wine(read:blood)-mad Maenad that tore to pieces the restricted person I once was.

Hmm. Now that I think on it, perhaps that portion was more Work than Play.

I got to watch theimmortalcardinal deliver a stroke of mercy and strike down a dipshit that was equating all veiling with the slavery of women. Through reblogging and careful highlighting, she dissected his argument, fallacy by fallacy, and demonstrated quite well that she, though veiled, was quite the independent person. His last comment before getting blocked was her father had told her what to say.

Sadly, I’ve encountered men like that. Just can’t accept they’ve lost to a woman. Unfortunately, many of them are in elected offices.

A post made the reblogging rounds. “Are there more blogs glorifying the male form without falling into ‘dicks for dick of it’?” (I don’t remember seeing this question before going to bed last night.) I answered with (NSFW) artsysatyr. Although he’s been quiet lately, there are lots of diverse styles of naked males. From the lewd and pandering, to the graceful, to interpretations of Cernunnos. And kilts. And tats. And I think I should get more coffee now.

Overall, tumblr’n in dreamland was fun, until I got to a question waiting on my dash. I didn’t realize I was dreaming just yet. But I thought it was quite odd that I could read the names of all the other folks on my dash in bright orange and red colors, but this person’s tumblr name was in shifting shades of grey on black. I just couldn’t read it.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you about one of your dreams. There’s something I need to know, if you don’t mind.”

Actually, yea, I do. Didn’t I just go off about people demanding to know intentionally withheld details? I replied that no information will be given out, other than what is already posted. He was free to make wild speculation, but I reserved the right to neither confirm nor deny his contortions.

“Well, I already know some of the details you hold back anyway. For instance, I know [redacted] about [redacted]. But I need to know about the blood. Who requested it?” Wait. He knows about [redacted]?

I never tweeted about that. I never discussed it in chat. It’s not in my written notes, nor in my private posts. It never left my head. How the fuck?

Wait.

I’m dreaming.

I look over the names on my dash. There’s ginandjack, and theimmortalcardinal, and rootandrock. There’s callipygianosity, and theraptorwhomurderedlove, and thiscrookedcrown. There are these and all the other tumblr names I expect to see on my dash, and I can read each one with ease. But when I look at my questioner, the letters morph together in stomach churning loops.

Then I think on the information ‘he’ claims to have already. And realize it’s bogus. Completely false. An inserted memory.

Aw, fuck no.

“You, ‘Sir’, are full of mad-cow diseased bullshit. If you are using that information as credentials, they have been exposed as fraudulent. There is nothing more I have to say to you.”

His reply was instant. “I understand if you doubt me. Know this, I am only here to help you. But, it is important, I need to know the details about the menstruation dream.”

I answered with a yarn of bullshit, spun to sound like the answers he seeks were embedded in the telling. At once, he replies angrily about my deception. I continue stalling the conversation. I’m trying to get him to trip up and tell me a little more about himself. But he doesn’t make any mistakes. Which tells me a little more in its own right.

I stop playing this dangerous game. “I don’t know you. I don’t recognize you. Your first interaction with me was deception, and I must assume your intent is nefarious. If you truly are someone I know in the Waking, then call my ass out for my mistreatment of you. But until then, your connection is rejected at the firewall. Goodbye.” As I hit “Enter”, I broke connection with him. His username, still unrecognizable, dissolved from my screen.

I shut down my computer in the dream, noting my room looks completely normal. Crawling into my dream bed, I even complete the habit of checking the alarm clock one last time. To my dismay, the clock said 4:55am. I have to get up at 5:00am.

Sure enough, the real world alarm felt like it rang the moment I placed my head on my pillow.

Need more coffee.

Make of that, what you may.