crows: (Default)
Disconcerting dream about the Black House last night. I mean, they all are, really. The Black House is somewhat terrifying and increasingly feels like home. Real Home.

Anyway. This time, it was a huge sprawling castle. There was some kind of amorphous threat beyond the walls per usual and plenty of danger inside the building. I was hunting down archetypes of some kind, character in dichotomies (courtesan and priestess, I remember, though there were others). I sought them out, hidden away in secret chambers in the castle where they had sometimes been for ages I think, and had to get advice or secrets about the castle, but I don't remember the specific information. There was also the ghost of a soldier who was sometimes a friend and sometimes an enemy. I think that's reflective of head hopping throughout the dream rather than changes in his character.

The world beyond the castle was apocalyptic. This might be another common theme in the Black House dreams but I so rarely feel allowed to leave the grounds of the House that I don't often see it directly. But maybe that's why the outside world is so threatening.

At the end I was back in the castle, laying clothed in bed with another person, listening to an insistent knocking at the door and hoping desperately that one of the other entities in the castle would answer it and make them go. That if we managed to pretend we were sleeping we'd be safe. I told myself that there was nothing to be anxious about, just someone knocking at the door. But I couldn't make myself believe.

I wake up to phantom knocking a lot.
crows: (Default)
I dreamed of the black house last night, in what little sleep I got. There's not much left, after waking up. There was farmland... huge rambling old mansions (that were not the House), a wealthy and handsome older land and business owner with predilections and a family. I... minded, or tutored, his children periodically and I'm fairly sure he meant to kill me. Our peace was thinly veiled, we kept one another close for spying. I think we both knew, and both knew we knew the other.

Then there was my house, the decaying Victorian that I live in now, in an apartment cut from a few of its original rooms. The tiny sink in my washroom was backed up (not uncommon, in real life). Every time the toilet ran (often, it doesn't seal well), water came shooting out of the drain, except then it became smoke, then motes of dust, then whirling clumps of feathers that turned over and over in the air and wouldn't settle. When I took the plunger to the sink to clear up the block, blood came up into the bowl from the pipes underneath.


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August 2017

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