Two folks had read the dream where a serious discussion devolves into 12 year old giggling over “critical shit”. They were joking about it themselves, asking each other, “Is the shit critical, yet?”. A third person approached them and was asked the punchline question. He became angry and yelled at the first two. They explained the silliness, which made him more angry.
He tracked me down and proceeded to bitch me out about not taking life seriously and abusing languages. I listened with a straight face while the first two watched with concern. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” He reddened as he spat his derision.
I stood up. Planted both hands on his shoulders. Looked at him with the most severe and business face I could muster. “Your shit is hyper-critical and needs to be washed.” I patted him on the shoulder and walked away. He stood there in seething rage, unable to form an answer. The first two fell down from laughing so hard.
Later on that dream, Snake came and brought me to a fire. All I remember of this is the sound of rattles shaken in a rhythmic pattern, and the feel of bells on my ankles clanking as I danced to it.
~cha-chunk~ ~cha-chunk~
~shhhhhhhhhhhh~
~cha-chunk~ ~cha-chunk~
~rattles~ ~swoosh~
~cha-chunk~ ~cha-chunk~
~sharp cries~
~cha-chunk~ ~cha-chunk~
…
~cha-chunk~
…
~swoosh~
~cha-chunk~
~cha~…
…
…
Are you ready for that foot to drop?
And are you sure you know where it will land?
Or if it will land at all?
Are you ready?
~rattlerattlerattlerattle~
~swoosh~
Woke up smelling smoke and dust.