crows: (black raven)
Sea dreams last night, no flood. Sharks. Watching a hammerhead give birth under crowds of people partying in and on the water. No one hurt, though I pulled Thief up from the surf when it looked like the shark might have been charging. It's the shore I always dream of, unreasonably steep beach and instantly deep water. There was a haunted house, too, later. The kind of place you're alone in, but you're never sure if you're alone.
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)
Put yourself into good company. Eat a good meal and watch some familiar, humorous television. Go home. Muse about stories, about music; share a little art. Sleep, after that, but not too much. A little less than five hours, that's the outside end. The most you get to have at one unbroken stretch. Then:

Decamp to a house somewhere up in nameless mountains, rambling property past the wend of a few gravel roads into the foothills, past some miles and maybe a generation or two of bad history. Know that things are getting ugly out there, that you're getting away from the city or the town or home because you'll be safer. Don't know much more than that. At least, don't know when you wake up. Go for a while like that. Preparing, maybe. Trying to keep tabs. Mainly just waiting. Talk to them on the telephone, at some point, and then lose them (to anger? to a failing of technology?). Be unable to get through. Repeatedly, after that. Worry, vaguely, but tell yourself that things are probably alright. It's not that strange to not be able to call somebody for a while. They'll get through eventually.

Stand in the windows after the impetus of some announcement, all the news fragmented at least to your waking memory, most of the knowledge preternatural, an unspoken understanding wafting in from outside. Look out to sea, out over the flat of land rambling away from the mountains. See an unreasonable distance, out to ships on the distant water, out to the pole, maybe forever around the curve of the ocean's belly. Watch the bright orange streak launch across the sky. Have time to process little more than the words when one of the people you are staying with in this house explains that it is the bomb. The Bomb. He had a name for it, but lose that when you wake. Stare in stunned silence as it hits, somewhere far away, and turns the sky molten nonetheless. Watch as it sends up a wave high enough to rush up into the town where you'd been living, into the streets. Frantically close windows as though they will protect you from a shockwave. Experience none, directly, but know that from here, things will not get better. Begin filling the milk jugs and tubs you've been collecting and rinsing with water. Realize you never heard from them. Realize you are never going to hear their voice again.

Wake, digesting this realization. Wake to the alarm of the cat jumping onto the bookshelves at the foot of the bed and staring at the window, at a sound. Wake up and turn the light on, wake up and shake yourself into the familiar, into the understanding that there's just a raccoon in the pine tree, that the world has not ended, that you do not live by the sea.

Day Four.

Mar. 28th, 2013 07:48 pm
crows: (red)
The downstairs neighbor (or rather, her belligerent douchebag boyfriend) was at it again last night, cranking the music up with as far as I can tell the specific intent of pissing her and the rest of the house off. They've gotten at least one disorderly house fine, several visits from the police on noise complaints, and a sternly worded letter from the landlady and on more than one occasion we've heard him turning the noise up and her turning it back down and them fighting about it. He knows he's getting her evicted.

Upshot being I didn't sleep much, not nearly enough to recover fully from yesterday and go in to work at 515. Work was... pretty god damn busy, and I've been feeling dimly nauseous and fairly foggy most of the day. So I came home and washed my tattoo and laid on the couch in my piejams and watched stupid television for the afternoon and now Delia is making supper.

My feet didn't hurt much at/after work. I've worked slightly fewer hours this week but not a lot, and have gone comparably pain free. This seems to be a marked improvement. And despite feeling sort of tired and crapped out physically in other ways (I think feeling a little bit drained after the ink experience is reasonable, especially given that I didn't have a good opportunity to sleep it off), my mood isn't suffering a lot. I mean, I didn't want to be at work, but I don't normally want to be at work at the end of the week when I've only slept a few hours. So all in all, not miserable, not dipping into too much anxiety (Kris the tattoo lady said she's been taking B vits as of recently as well and they're helping her anxiety a lot), and feeling like I'll be able to get things done and enjoy myself throughout my next couple of lighter days (and Sunday off - off of everything, even choir).

Also, I had violently apocalyptic dreams last night. Not nightmares... definitely frightening but fear wasn't the central part of the dream and I didn't wake up upset. Only had fragments when I came out, but committed what I could to memory. It was all very bright... very sunny (outside), very clay colored. Terra cotta and dust. People were dying of... something. I don't know if it was plague, or what, but they were rotting away, like some combination of sepsis and gangrene. Not in a zombie way, though... everyone was still aware. Spitting up green, blotched and soft, bloating like corpses. I was in a house full of survivors (some of us were survivors longer than others). Boarded up, chaos on the outside, don't really know what was going on. When I left... I was alone. But I don't think I was the last person alive in the house, maybe we just all split up at that point. I don't feel like I knew much about any of those people. Anyway, I found my way toward people who had lived through at least that wave of whatever was happening. There was some kind of semi-organized gathering place, a cafeteria or meeting hall or something, and I was befriended by two Indian people (a man and a woman; siblings or good friends). We decided to stick together... I have a dim sense of there being some kind of authority, sort of. A presence trying, if sternly, to keep us safe, and a threat from the outside but I don't know if it was the sickness or something more sentiently malicious or what. I kept trying to convince them to go back to my house so I could get some of my things (cell phones still seemed to be working, and I wanted mine, and my ipod, and a couple of other things). I'm unclear now whether my house was where I'd been with all the dying people or not. I also feel like I had some other reason for wanting to go back that I was hesitant to tell them, but I don't remember what it was.
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.
crows: (flying raven)
I have so missed the long, late driving.

In that space, there's a deep anonymity to the open land. The darkness, and the fact that at any given moment no one knows particularly where I am, spare my immediate company (tonight, [personal profile] auto_destruct), and the moving, always moving, I think create enough of an analog to the deep-beating sea that it calms away a lot of things. There have been an abundance of bad dreams, lately, and me without clarity enough to remember them for any kind of analysis. I need to start writing all of this down again; I really should make time first thing in the morning but the fact is, I don't want to.

I don't want to sleep at all. I may go try to close my eyes a little while.
crows: (Default)

Deep breath.

We've swung back into one of those periods where my normally more minor degree of insomnia falls apart into usually waking up feeling substantially worse than I went to sleep. Forget sleeping solidly through the night. It's been months since I had one of those. Oh well. But mercy, I wish the nightmares/night terrors would give up on me. If I'm going to wake up several times during the small hours, I would rather not do so panicked, disoriented, and unable to make sense of where I am or why in my own apartment.
crows: (Default)
Three nights now. I'm still exhausted, but I haven't been having bad dreams. In short form:

1: Dating my voice teacher ('Clinton'), who looked like Nathan Fillion.

2: Flight delayed because my airport of departure was shut down because the President (at the time in my dream, but it was Bush) breached some super secret security by posting where he'd just touched down on Twitter (same place I was in).

3: Something a little more personal (with someone a little more personal).

Let's see if this holds. I'm still ruminating over Saturday, the last night of bad ones. The horse, and a woman killed by something inside her body which left a hazy mark on her ankle/calf: vertical type of TABULA RASI (I was curious about the I in the dream, too). She died on our hands, me and A and maybe some other people. I was afraid of what the mark would mean to anyone else who saw the body (I don't think I knew myself). Excusing that it could have been a tattoo, maybe they would just mistake it for a tattoo. Very strange.
crows: (Default)
Just now 1 AM. Home from girls night a bit, just rolled over to try to get to sleep. I'm laying there, thinking rambling thoughts (I have no idea what about, they're completely gone) and right on the edge of sleep, I close my eyes and -bang-, I'm staring through a window at a horse rearing up as it's struck by lightning. Broad daylight.

Upwelling dread/fear that I'm still coming down from a little. It hit me really hard, startled me awake. The horse was spotted, maybe like an appaloosa but very spotty, dark brown or black and white. I think I heard it scream, in that split second image, but my mind might be filling that in after the fact. The context - however little of it there is - seems to be of the front of the house, as if I were looking out from the front door or the windows in the dining room. I started having a thought not unlike, 'wait, that's not a moose...' but it was all very fast, fast as a blink.
crows: (red)
And nothing below us to break the fall...

Read more... )

Not sure what to make of all that business.

Found you.

May. 13th, 2009 12:12 am
crows: (Default)
I think my subconscious is running around having all its fun without me during the day as much as the night; I'm starting to have that 'dreams I can't quite remember' feeling all the time. Not about what I'm actually doing and interacting with, thankfully, but in fragments of other images floating around behind my eyes. There was one today, something I really remembered - if briefly - that slipped away. I'm hoping I find it again. It's in here somewhere.
crows: (flying raven)
Two more nights, and still nothing, or little.

Dreams )
crows: (red)
I've been dreaming in broken images that I don't remember, except for in slips. The last of my dreams this morning, as I skipped along the surface unwilling or unable to drop back under but unprepared to leave my bed, was particularly vivid and cohesive, however. So I'll write it down, because I mean to record these things more often.

Read more... )

Breathe in, breathe out... exhale, and inhale.

I wondered for a long time last night whether or not I should start keeping a metaphysical diary again. It's been a number of years. I'm not sure.
crows: (Default)
Committing to yWriter, I think. ( The fact that it presents me immediately with 'viewpoint' as an important piece of information scene by scene makes me feel like it was designed just for me ("Marie, why is the first half of the novel primarily told in first person, from two perspectives while the second half of the novel is in third, and from about FOUR?" "I don't know, Logi-Brain, that's an excellent question and one I'll surely have to address eventually...").

Also, the dude seems to be pretty awesome; a novelist himself and committed to free software, etc.

Also, getting back into the swing of groceries and cooking. Making myself balanced, good, regular meals. Trying to get to bed early; still sleeping poorly. Interesting dreams. Last night's was very bizarre and a little scary.

Aaand... I had some stuff written about the dream but, then LJ crapped out on me and I think I'd rather wander off instead of type here. Although, no coffee yet and I had to shower cold, and I don't feel groggy or headachey. Not caffeine addicted after all?
crows: (black raven)
Awoken to a beastly mood. Not concerning anything in particular... I think I'm just fatigued, I have not been productive this week and I needed to have been... but two and a half days out of four I was sick in just that way that makes me unable to hold onto a train of thought for more than a minute.

Nights plagued with invisible nightmares, that I cannot remember at all come daytime to excise from my subconscious. Fear of returning to sleep hovering over me in the evenings like a miasma. Tonight was no different, except in addition I dreamed of her... it's been a long time. I used to conjure her up in my dreams often; normally she was cruel, the way I remember her, the way I last saw her face. I would cry and cry and cry until it was agonizing to do so but I couldn't stop. This time, though, she told me bits and pieces of her story... she seemed so sad and wind-scattered, exhausted and fragile, hesitant, almost afraid of me. I don't know what it means, if it means anything. Is this the process of my own mind toward closure? Is that why I wrote her a letter yesterday, moreso than reconciliation? I don't even know if I have the right kind of contact information in order for her to get it... I hope she did, though. I really, really do.

I feel like my body is a pit of sand that I, my consciousness, is standing in. I dig with my hands, constantly shoveling* it out in two-palmed scoops in an attempt to get down to things that are meaningful and useful. I know they're there, but the sand keeps on sliding back in and I can't get at them, the tools of my trade, my abilities to progress.

It is to be mentioned, however, at at the asterisk a bright flash of dream-memory hit me... I was on a beach where there were a lot of people (later, on some kind of... dock out in the middle of the water). I'd smoothed out a little space in the sand where it was just slightly damp, far enough away from the surf that there was not water washing close to me, but I think the tide had been higher recently. I was drawing symbols there... then something started happening that tugged me away, but I remember fumbling with my camera, trying to take a picture of two symbols that I'd drawn there (I think I'd drawn them). I remember them very vaguely... I've jotted them down but they look incomplete. >.<

Here's the plan: shower, dress (for real, for going out, for self-presentation for people who will hire me) call the city about the fucking couch that is still sitting on the fucking curb even though I've scheduled the fucking pickup fucking twice (see, I told you so), brew up a pot of coffee, eat a bowl of cereal, pack Noodle and other sundries, take to the streets. So help me, I will get things done today. I will also write. I need very much to feel as though something has come of this week. Also, maybe, conceive a sewing project for the weekend. I'm pretty stocked with notions to abate my lack of expendable funds right now... I think something fresh and cunning is in order (just in general).
crows: (caw)
Wicked nightmare last night; I'm going to try to write it out at some point (I just don't feel like I have energy to, which vexes me) and post it to my journal on Vox (the plan for that is that it will be the dream journal, cause for some reason I kinda want to keep them separate). But man, they were bad. Really bad.

Also, this strangely appropriate haiku:

haiku YOU! )
crows: (Default)
And now we're in Manhattan. The morning was harried and I didn't sleep well last night... it's been a very low day overall, considering how excited I am about New York in general. I think I had nightmares that I don't remember, and because I cannot just process the events out as 'just dreams' and no hold on reality, some buried part of my subconscious can't tell the difference. As a result, I've emotionally felt - in a totally irrational way - like I've been in a nightmare, all day. But nothing bad is happening. It doesn't make very much sense but I've been unable to shake it.

In other news, got to spend yesterday with Luke which was straight awesome. (Hi Luke!) We went to the Christian Science publication place and looked at their giant glass globe (from inside). Plus assorted other wandering around.

I'm anxious for the show to start.
crows: (red)
Have any of you got experience keeping a regular dream journal? Either public or private, computerized or written longhand...

If so, how do you keep it? Do you write down all the dreams you have, or just ones that seem particularly vivid or interesting? Does it help you remember dreams better when you wake up, with practice? Does it help you have more control over your dreamscape?

I figure, everything - every stimulus, pleasant or otherwise - is some kind of resource. I might as well start trying to make use of more of them.
crows: (flying raven)
I'm starting to have bad dreams all the time again. I always have them some of the time, but now I'm starting to have them all of the time. 'Bad' has also gone to 'worse', the last few nights.

Additionally, I'm probing at something - that's actually on paper - which may evolve into a tattoo design in the near future.


Nov. 16th, 2007 08:12 am
crows: (Default)
Last night, I dreamed of snow.

It was one of these deep, seamless dreams that left me not quite aware of where I was when I woke, trying to sort out one sensation from the next. I'm not sure where I was... somewhere where it did not snow, but nowhere that I've properly seen in this town. Some bizarre, composite fantasy of many lives that I've lead up until this point. A little of the old, a little of the new.

The rest of the dream - the other facets, the where and why and what was happening - weren't very important. I don't really remember them now, waking, but I do remember the snow. It was very accurate, Alaskan snow that began in a peaceable flurry and progressed, over a very short period of time, to near-whiteout conditions of big, wandering flakes that billowed and billowed from the sky.


crows: (Default)

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