Sometimes the Swarm is a cloud of tiny flying insects. Sometimes the Swarm is a dense cloud of vapor. Sometimes an ooze of nanobots. Sometimes a cacophony of disembodied voices. But no matter how the Swarm appear in my dreams, they are still the same, still the Swarm.
Still the Dead. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-07-21.01”
Can’t a body get some rest? Here I am, sitting on some rocks on the side of a mountain. It’s just before dawn. It’s just after sunset. It’s the height of noon. It’s the dead of night.
Where and when I am doesn’t matter. The only thing that is important here is that I am seated and I am at peace. I’ve had very little of either status in the waking lately.
And then the Swarm came. Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-05-15.01”
“You’ve been following me for fucking weeks! What the fucking hell do you want?!” Continue reading “Dream Journal: 2017-02-08.01”