Early in the morning, I dreamed of having to stop a dragon sacrifice; it was a white dragon and related to the Matter of Britain, but not in the fashion of Merlin's dream. In the last dream I can remember before I got up, I was in a shell-hole waiting for a direct hit. I can see how this image evolved out of both recent media and current events, but it feels a little unnecessarily on the nose. I am intrigued that my brain cast me as a combat medic when I spent so much of the weekend trying to get hold of doctors; maybe it just thinks it would be more efficient. The substance of the last few days is that I am not in good shape and it is not fun.
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Active Entries
- 1: When you go to hell, I'll go there with you, too
- 2: Perform the ritual that puts me in the part
- 3: And then we shall dance on your graves
- 4: Wish they'd drop the knife in the peep-show parking lot
- 5: It's morphogenesis
- 6: Finally, time to write the book on you
- 7: I'll never see my mom's guitar again
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