Doch an den Fensterscheiben, wer malte die Blätter da?

[sovay]

Last night produced a particularly useless nightmare: being asked to see a pair of films with some (nonexistent; I seem to be back to that point in my dream-cycle) friends, but both of them were either directly about or referenced the case of a (similarly nonexistent, or at least so I assume) mass murderer in Boston who had poisoned children and then packed their bodies together so tightly that the bones started to crush into one another; there was a shot from one film that had been appearing in all the trailers, a constellation of phosphorous glowing beautifully in the dark until you realized that it was a mass of skeletons, not stars. This was really not what I wanted to dream about. And it hasn't sparked any sonnets or short stories, either. seajules has given me a prompt for "early fireworks," however, so I owe her something with fourteen lines before Friday.

My father and I cooked dinner tonight, mostly extrapolating from a Gourmet recipe for pork chops grilled with adobo—a Mexican spice paste made with paprika, oregano, cumin, chile de árbol, lime zest, garlic, and black pepper—and guacamole with tomatillos. They came out spectacularly well, meaning that there are not even leftovers. I was a lot more cheerful after that.

From a fortune cookie my mother opened tonight: "Tomorrow morning, take a left turn as soon as you leave home." This is the most concrete advice anyone in my family has ever seen from a fortune cookie, barring the one in Colorado that read, "You will be hungry soon. Order takeout now." Should we be worried?

Comments

[ap-aelfwine.livejournal.com]

About two nights ago, I had a dream that there was a nightmare waiting for me. I had gone to the Post Office, which is also some sort of military post (where in my own cycle of military dreams I met my new CO, who had a very strong resmblance to the fellow pictured to the left),

Your CO looked like Scorpius? Scary. I hope he didn't act quite like.

Fascinating dream. I have the odd dream that I'm in some sort of alternate universe military, but it's never the same one over again. I'm intrigued that folk like yourself and our distinguished hostess have dream-cycles.

[cucumberseed.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately, he acts an awful lot like Scorpius in passive-aggressive "I'm going to get you killed" mode.

My first memory is of a dream in which a golden armored robot called the Scrambler came to get me. I was 3 (Coincidentally, that was 1978, when Star Wars came out, and, in the early years, he did kind of look the composite of Darth Vader and C 3P0). He tried to get me on an off for another 22 years.

[ap-aelfwine.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately, he acts an awful lot like Scorpius in passive-aggressive "I'm going to get you killed" mode.

Sorry to hear.

My first memory is of a dream in which a golden armored robot called the Scrambler came to get me. I was 3 (Coincidentally, that was 1978, when Star Wars came out, and, in the early years, he did kind of look the composite of Darth Vader and C 3P0). He tried to get me on an off for another 22 years.

Darth Vader and C 3PO combined is a very scary thought.

I hope he continues to stay away.

It's funny how media can affect one's dreams, especially if one's a small child--one of the first dreams I remember was something to do with a monster that crackled with energy and forced me to shovel asphalt into potholes. The characters from Scooby Doo were there, and trying to rescue me, but I woke before they actually finished the job. Come to think of it, that was probably ca. 1978 as well.

[sovay]

My first memory is of a dream in which a golden armored robot called the Scrambler came to get me.

Some of the earliest dreams I can remember are nightmares. The one that haunted me for a long time was a man on the roof of a parking garage, melting down as though he were kneeling and slumping farther and farther into himself, like the wick-end of a candle, but his bones and his flesh were all one lasagna slur, stranded and sagging like elastic, sticky, bubbling on the asphalt: I did not want to fall back asleep. Another was not exactly a nightmare, but I dreamed that my hand had gotten crushed somehow, all my fingers mashed as thin as tissue paper, and two or three times I woke up and was still dreaming, each time holding my hand up against the streetlight to check that it was three-dimensional and whole again, and each time it was still a boneless shadow puppet, fingers flattened out to leaves. And for years I remembered another dream which has gone into the novella I'm working on, so I'll describe it later. (It involved sea-change, and was only a nightmare depending on your point of view.) But the worst dream from last night had no one dying, melting, or turning into phosphorescent bones: I dreamed of someone I had been missing for a long time, who stopped by to see me and bent down and kissed me and apologized for not being in touch, and then I had to wake up and remember none of that was true.

[setsuled.livejournal.com]

I dreamed of someone I had been missing for a long time, who stopped by to see me and bent down and kissed me and apologized for not being in touch, and then I had to wake up and remember none of that was true.

I'm sorry, Sonya. I get a lot of dreams like that myself.