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: If you don't want the death of the party after I'm gone, sing one for me
- 2: That gossip's eye will look too soon
- 3: I left my mind behind in 2015
- 4: Your spirit watched me up the stairs
- 5: Am I just a phantom waiting to be ripped around on shady ground?
- 6: 'Cause your eyes are the green of tornado skies
- 7: Once you've gone, remains the question, baby
- 8: Does it seem slow to rain? Does it feel like soft moss?
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