“I’d love to visit you more often, dearie, but I’m awfully tired and get so thirsty…”
That’s how the conversation with [Great Aunt Mabel™] ended two nights ago. (The name has stuck as a pseudonym for someone very, very, specific.) The carriage came immediately to take her away, but she allowed me the grace of holding her hand to steady her as she was assisted into it. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-03-10.01”
“It’s not enough.”
“The store didn’t have [spice originally used], so I had to go with [alternative], and it’s not enough. [Lists all the ways the alternative is not sufficient.]”
«¡Cállate! Piensas demasiado. Es bastante. Serás mejor en él con el tiempo y la práctica. Como las otras cosas.»
“… Did y’all just life lesson my ass?”
«[satisfied meddling grand-aunties feels go here]»
I’m being tag-teamed. Send help. And more coffee.
So of course, after a long day of having a very important deadline overruled because other people haven’t gotten their deadline material ready resulting in three hours of (maybe paid) overtime plus another hour driving home disassociating like fuck because this week has been a dumpster fire of dealing with private spiritual issues while not shanking self-proclaimed adult Homo sapiens who throw tantrums because I neither express disgust at their emulation of Pan troglodytes shit-flinging, or approval at the few times they manage to keep it in their pants, I go immediately to bed and dream.
Of my deepest fear. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-01-07.01”
It was a surprise gathering of “spirit workers” from all over the world and representatives of otherworldly entities. They all came to Harlequin’s nightclub but I was not yet lucid to recognize this. No more than any given two or three people knew the same language. When it came to spiritual matters, each had their own personalized language that could not be translated.
But we all knew rhythm. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2016-11-20.01”
The name her masters gave her was Margaret. I haven’t been able to find the last name. If her descendants were any indication, she was piss and vinegar until they beat it out of her. They probably trying using rape as coercion but that would only piss her off more. So they beat her until she realized she would never get home.
Instead, she made sure to breed insubordination and unquenchable drive into the bastard children they forced on her.
Continue reading “On Margaret”