02/27/08

So there's an intern at my office. He's a fun guy. Like him. And then I go and have this dream:
He saunters into my office wearing nothing but a pair of tight white slacks. His abs & chest are incredibly ripped, and he's glistening. His hair waves in an unfelt breeze, and there's a glint in his eyes. The dream shifts, and we're fucking in my office. The dream shifts again, and we're fucking in the hallway. Shifts: we're fucking in the corner of another office. Shifts: fucking in the front lobby. So on and so on and so on.

it wasn't one of those dreams where you could feel, smell, or experience. It was just like I was watching TV. BUT to go into the office and have to work with him all day? Now that was funny. I think I was smirking all day.

HA!

02/27/08

Someone was killing my friends. Not just murdering them; kidnapping them, starving them, raping them, and THEN killing them, leaving their bodies to rot. The police couldn't find him. We couldn't find him. So throughout the dream, I had to deal with friends disappearing.

One friend was killed without all of the above-mentioned fanfare. Nemo (yeah, sorry dude). There was a note stitched to his body, "This one was too thin to starve, so I didn't want him."

hehe. But he was still dead *pout*

Woke up never finding the guy.

02/23/08

So I'm in a talent show inside a very crowded venue, a kind of amphitheatre setting. People are singing, dancing, juggling; the usual stuff. And I await my turn to be on stage. My family is in the audience: husband, mom, dad, brothers, friends, colleagues. The lights come up, applause echoes across the stage, and the cute little girl who sang before me is ushered off stage by the MC. My turn.

I get up on stage. The lights focus in my face; I can't see the audience, but slight silhouettes. And I brandish a kitchen knife. Say a few words (that I can't recall) about how my religious beliefs dictate I do this to show you how much God loves you, and hold the knife to my throat. And slice. People cheer.

Now for some stupid reason, I can't continue the slice. So I get through a few inches, including my jugular, on the left side of my throat. Blood spews out of my throat. I drop the knife. And choke. Typical movie stuff. Gushing blood, choking, garbling noises. It was quite dirty and disgusting. But I don't die. And nobody offers any help. They just continue to clap and cheer.

After several minutes of nasty gushing, I'm ushered off stage to booming applause and my wound scabs over. I'm fine.

Talent show. Couldn't finish my talent.
HA!

No, I don't want to kill myself.
So there.

11/26/06

I could see ghosts. And none I saw were happy. All were angry and distraught. Why? They didn’t become whole after death. Whatever affliction they died with, they retained in spirit form. Children with weakened limbs, unable to run, barely able to walk; mothers unable to reach out and touch their children; bedridden elderly unable to sit up; and the double-amputee who can’t even get out of his chair. He was the most distressing to me. His wife had called me because she felt haunted by his spirit. Walking around the house, she describes how all she hears is a muffled yelling by the stairs, but can never make it out. Rounding the corner to the stairway, there is an old wicker wheelchair, sitting on a lift next to the stairs. This is a massively old house, dust gathered everywhere, but the chair. And there he is – an old man, outlined in blue luminescence, clothed in a gold quilted smoking jacket, and two nubby bandaged knees poking out of the hem of the jacket. The double-amputee. He looks at his wife, growls angrily, and yells, “God damn it, woman! You know I can’t do anything!! Push the God damned button!” The old wife begins to whimper as all she hears are muffled, undistinguishable yells. And I told her to push the button. She does, he stops yelling, and I wake up.

04/01/06

A very long and winding dream cut short to the part that bothered me:

I was running through the streets of a city; no, I do not know which one, but it reminded me of Phoenix with all of the concrete and streets. There was a mob of people chasing me, all armed with guns, all firing at me. And as I frantically run through the streets to get away, a bullet would find it’s mark here or there; my shoulder, my leg. Harsh breath screaming past my throat as I continue to run, slowing because of the pain, tasting the acrid bite of blood in my mouth. And as I round a corner seeking sanctuary, I run into Perish.

He catches me before I stumble, sees blood on my lips, looks behind me to the approaching wave of people. Taking off his shirt, he wipes the blood from my mouth, tells me everything will be okay, and gently pushes me into a dark corner of the alley. He steps out to address the mob. And as he opens his mouth to speak, they open fire.

Flesh and blood are torn from his body as bullets riddle his torso. Before my very eyes, I watch his life ripped from his body, his carcass making a sickening sound as it hits the ground; his dead eyes staring at my from a quickly forming pool of blood.

And I run.

And I am quickly overtaken. Similar to Perish, the bullets destroy my flesh; release my soul. And as I look down upon my chilled body, the masses of people gone, my husband finds me. And lets out a God-awful wail.

And I wake up.

03/27/06

A longing desire, aching every day. Your fingers trailing along my flesh, tracing the bones of my ribs, curve of my breasts, edge of my navel. Our sweat mingling, and cooling as your body lifts from mine, your hips raising to thrust again, your weight bearing down on mine. Searing breath singes my throat as you bite the edges of my neck, nails digging into my shoulders, and the constant presence of your cock between my thighs. Primal scents fill the air as our essence mingles; sweat, cum, breath. The slick sounds of sex feed the rhythm of our hips. My legs wrapped around you, clutching, forcing you deeper.

02/25/06

I’m in a park, rushing to get to the center of the park where it is deserted of most people. Running, my skirts billowing behind my feet and legs, hair brushing each shoulder in the stride of my run. The knife I carry banging up against my hip, the cold metal bouncing from the belt. Finally, I am there. Kneeling in the grass, I pull the knife from the folds of my dress, the steel glinting in the fading gray light of the twilight. And they arrive. Slowly at first, but their numbers increase and they crowd around me. Their bluish skin seeming irridescent in the dying sunlight. And they are here to witness and encourage my step into a new realm. Demons? Angels? Some others? I could never tell you. “You must hurry,” they say in unison. I take the knife and plunge it to the hilt into my abdomen, one swift movement, vertically into my stomach, directly below my ribs. And I throw up. “Hurry. Continue,” they cry. Weeping, I pull out the knife and immediately plunge it again into my body, diagonally into the center of my abdomen. And throw up again, this time a bubbling bloody mixture. “Be strong,” they hiss. I repeat the stabbing process twice more, and look down at the red mess on my dress, satisfied that I have finished my task. “You have done well,” one says, taking my hand as I curl into a ball on the bloodied grass, “you have done well.” They all begin to fade away, revealing two men jogging by in the park, who see me, and frantically run over, scoop me up into their arms, and I pass out. Waking up after an indeterminate amount of time, I find myself on the ivory steps outside of my father’s house. Looking down, my wounds are closed, healed, and nothing but the slightly puffy scar tissue in the shape of a giant “M” remain. I walk up the steps and the dream ends as the door opens for my entrance.