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: Look into that smoldering building's bombed-out fog until it finally lifts
- 2: And those who can remember when the night sky was a tapestry
- 3: Probably not going to leave the slightest trace in the wake when it's my turn
- 4: Can't I take my own binoculars out?
- 5: Distant as a dream of the cradle on this lonesome beach
- 6: Plates will shift and the earth will groan
- 7: It's only eight, right?
- 8: If it's a moment in time, how come it feels so long?
- 9: It's time to change partners again
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