Curgoth (curgoth) wrote,

  • Mood:
  • Music:


Lots of dreamtime remembered from last night.

To start things off, I was in a pub in Streetsville (the town I lived in until age 10, which also happens to be very close to where I currently work). The walls were green and the wood was dark, like mahogany. I was there with S. from work - we were out getting lunch. T., the cute spooky girl form the gym at work, was working there. There was a bit where I learned that her name wasn't T., is was something longer, and starting with M., that just ended with the same 3 letters that her non-dream name did - T. was just what people called her because no one could pronounce her real name properly. I spent some time talking with her, which led to flirting, which led to kissing, at which point I stopped her. I told her that before things could go any further, she'd have to go look up what polyamory meant, then decide if she was still interested. In the way of dreams, it was suddenly clear that this had happened over the course of several visits to the pub - she said that she had gone and looked it up, and was still interested. We were going to go somewhere for the hot sexxors, when the tone of the dream changed - T. had been brutally murdered, and the pub was now a townhouse, though the walls were still green. The police were there investigating, but doing a bad job of it. I raged. I tried to help. I was investigated as a suspect. I punched walls and wept. I grieved.

I was hanging around a different house, still grieving over T., hanging out with a group of friends, most of whom were young (17-20) girls, one of whom looked a lot like T., except with white blond hair and different fashion sense. I angsted, and grieved some more.

I went down some light tan wooden stairs into a lviing room, where a bunch of teens were role-playing - I think it was either Vampire or Werewolf. All the kids were dressed goth/punk-ish, with teased, spiked hair the way I used to wear it when I was 19, overdone eyeliner, band t-shirts, etc. The death of T. showed up here, too, somehow ending up in my character's history in the game. I had apparently gotten to the point where I could make bitter, dark half jokes about still being in mourning. There was music playing, coming from my ipod. One of the kids stood up, and I realised that it was K., my best friend in high school, from whom I am now estranged. He was being pretty insulting, mocking my taste in music - deriding me for having non-industrial stuff, since I was supposed to be "hardcore", and that my music indicated that I was, in fact, lame.

Back to Streetsville, where I came to the realisation that I was somehow hopping between dimensions. In this place, I was trying to find books in a large school. There was some kind of strange government policy about books, and restrictions on them. I was escaping the school, sneaking off through the snow. For some reason, Batman was along with me, and this made perfect sense. It was night, and there was an odd yellow truck/car being driven by an older man in a dark blue uniform, including a hat. He was the distributor of books, most of which were psychedelic children's books. He drove past the street I lived on when I was a kid.

I was in a room full of long tables. There had been a bi-election announced in near Yonge and St. Clair, and I was voting in it. For some reason, the NDP were running Norman Tobias instead of Paul Summerville. I distinctly recall thinking that I was going to suck up my disappointment and vote for Tobias anyway. Carolyn Bennet was in the room, which may have also been inside of the Finn McCools pub. I think there was Guinness.

I jumped again, and was in a medieval setting now. People were fighting with sticks and staves at a feast. I was still me, with various modern bits of anachronistic stuff with me. The people in the court all hated me because I was an outsider, and were looking for a reason to attack me. I was fighting in the tournaments, and doing well. There was some argument over when it was and wasn't appropriate to use hands to grab a weapon or disarm someone. A pale prince in dark green died, apparently poisoned. The queen tried to place the blame on me. I was gathering evidence, placing it into pouches made of saran wrap, which was one of the things I had brought. The meat in the banquet looked like the flesh from BodyWorlds. I recall thinking that I should take it back into my home world for a forensic lab, but that I didn't think the local authorities would trust my analysis, since I was a suspect.

In each of these scenes, there was a constant awareness, right up to the end, of the grief and mourning for the death of T.
Tags: dreamtime

  • Crazy idea!

    I find myself thinking far too seriously about difficult it would be to build either a sedan chair or a rickshaw. Because, that way we could carry…

  • Creative Project Tracking

    A list of ongoing creative sewing projects, in no particular order; Great sarong tie review; I have grown gradually fatter since I started…

  • NaMiFiWriMoFo #10

    via thousandcats; "elfin shortwave dude ranch" Little *bastards*! Ridin' the aether like... like bits were ponies! Sons of bitches hit…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 1 comment