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The bones that drift endlessly as far as the eye can see
I have been having peculiar nightmares (the one about being in New York with giant ex-zombie animal carcasses rotting on all the buildings was memorably lurid. Because nothing says Waldorf-Astoria like a decapitated snake half the size of a city block draped across the roof) for the last several weeks solid. Last night I dreamed I was cast by a Japanese director in a retelling of a folktale about a drowned girl. I think it was some kind of subconscious-bastardized version of Urashima Taro; in the first scene, the man who was probably the other protagonist was to find me washed up on the beach, rolled over in nets of kelp and Hel-faced with white sand. The makeup was fantastic. Then I drowned for real halfway through the shoot and spent the rest of the dream as a corpse with a sharkskin crust of barnacles growing on my skin. You come through, brain.
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Just... My best contribution to the dreamscape of last night was being Dillinger in a retrofitted version of Gun, with Occasional Music
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That's not bad.
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When I saw your subject line, I thought you'd be linking to the story of the gladiators' graveyard.
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On waking it produced a combination of WTF and aesthetic appreciation. If I could actually write all of the things my sleeping brain thinks are good stories, I'd probably have a career.
When I saw your subject line, I thought you'd be linking to the story of the gladiators' graveyard.
I'm afraid I didn't think of it, but I have seen the news! It's great.
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Nine
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It has one, apparently! But only when I'm asleep.
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Because nothing says Waldorf-Astoria like a decapitated snake half the size of a city block draped across the roof
Why is that so? I don't know the history or mythology surrounding that place as much as perhaps I should, considering its place in my own life story.
The very weekend after GWB stole his reelection, I spent a profoundly surreal, incredibly intense, intermittently fabulous 48 hours at the Waldorf-Astoria with a lover (the weekend was her gift), and 72 hours after that stood alone and penniless in a line at a food bank in Seattle with 40 or 50 other homeless or nearly homeless people, marveling at the twists and turns one life could take.
Did your decapitated snake have hands?
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Just the usual, I think . . .
Why is that so? I don't know the history or mythology surrounding that place as much as perhaps I should, considering its place in my own life story.
Nah; it was brain static. There was no reason for there to be a giant ex-zombie snake on the roof of the Waldorf-Astoria. There just was.
Did your decapitated snake have hands?
Not that I can recall. It had prominently visible ribs.
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Just the usual, I think . . .
Your usual makes for a rich mix, for sure.
a giant ex-zombie snake
Which phrase had my late-night riffing brain wondering whether ex-zombie because dead or a priori ex-zombie, as if whoever or whatever dispatched the snake brought it to its senses first. Something pleasantly tzu-jan za-zen about that.
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I'm just glad you're no longer homeless in Seattle. It would make the logistics of this conversation rather more difficult.
Which phrase had my late-night riffing brain wondering whether ex-zombie because dead or a priori ex-zombie, as if whoever or whatever dispatched the snake brought it to its senses first. Something pleasantly tzu-jan za-zen about that.
I don't know. If it recurs, I'll try to find out.
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Especially the giant ex-zombie animal carcasses--sounds like the aftermath of a narrowly averted and fantastically odd take on the standard Zombie Apocalypse.
I think there were interesting artefacts in my dreams of last night, but all I remember is getting to the exhibit by riding on escalators in a seaside museum which might have been originally built as a shopping mall and had apparently been designed by architects who were taking an interesting cocktail of mind-altering substances.
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I'm not sure it was averted. For all I can remember, it might have been a draw.
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Interesting. Bhuel, I suppose a draw is, in such situations, a lot better than nothing. The Zombie Rights Campaign would no doubt be pleased.
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Zombies aren't even a particular fear of mine. I'm genuinely not sure where the dream came from, except maybe that there aren't a lot of apocalypse films set in Boston.