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.

01/21/06

The dogs were let loose, leashes left at the feet of the handlers, chains clinking against the cold asphalt. The growling, snarling masses of ragged fur sped along the roadway, their breath leaving clouds of mist behind them. And the shrieking screams of the woman fleeing the premises filled the evening. She was no match for them. Just as she reached the grass of the surrounding field, the first dog reached her side, it’s teeth sinking into the vulnerable flesh of her calf, immediately bringing her to her knees. In a flash, the other two were upon her; one on her flailing arm, and another found the flesh of her throat. Her screams were nothing more than gurgling whimpers, drowned out by the snarls of beasts. Flesh was torn, arteries ripped open, blood spilled onto the winter grass. And quickly, she was nothing more than a limp feast; her open body steaming in the cold night air. And a handler came to them, flashlight beaming into their feral eyes, glinting against the fresh blood upon their muzzles. And he let them dine. Dine upon the steaming corpse of her. And they filled their gullets on her flesh.

01/21/06

The sweet taste of your sweat lingers on my tongue, the scent of your skin taunts me. Your body heat faded long ago, and yet I feel like you were just here, inside of me. My body is still tense from our passionate coupling. And yet the bed is cold. The pillow, unburdened. Your phantom presence haunts me, flashbacks tease me. And I yearn for your presence already. Come back to me. Often.

01/14/06

Steam curls her hair as hot water caresses down her breasts and continues toward the cleft between her legs. Suddenly, her skin erupts in gooseflesh as his fingertips brush aside a stray tendril of hair, and he kisses the nape of her exposed neck.

01/12/06

He rolled and pinched her nipples, and she gasped in sexual delight; that slight sound caused his cock to harden even more.

12/05/05

A man is guiding a woman through a workshop. It’s dark, but not so dark you can’t see there’s tools on the walls, tables, benches, and sawdust on the floor. Nothing out of the ordinary. Walking through some plastic sheeting, the lighting changes. It remains very dim, but is now reddish, like in a darkroom. You can see the woman getting a bit uncomfortable as (typical horror movie cheese) rusty hand saws and pliers are left out on the tables. An unknown promise to the observer (you and I) keeps her following this man. The man parts another plastic curtain for her to pass through first, to which she does. And now we see things through her eyes. I don’t even know how to explain it . . . there was a sort of animatronic, counter-weight balance puppetry machine . . . that makes no sense. You know those stress relievers that are five balls suspended, you pull one, and the reaction is ongoing? Or the little bird you tip into a glass, but the counter-weight pulls it out, and the momentum pushes it back in? Every action has a reaction. A lead marionette was fed by the motions of the other four. The other four were fed by the lead. All were bloated and bloodied body parts. Even a gutted baby’s head, doing nothing but spinning. I know I have done no justice in explaining the odd dancing dead, but maybe I can come back later. As for the woman in the workshop, I have no idea of her fate.

11/27/05

I met the Empress of China and she was two-feet tall. She had a cute pudgy face, with iny little eyes, and I couldn’t see her feet because her gown went all the way to the floor. And her guards kept her locked up in a little gold box so she wouldn’t get hurt.

11/26/05

A man is coated in an oily residue, his lower body completely lost from sight. The only reason I know he’s bare-chested is because his abdominal and chest muscles are very distinguishable underneath the tar-black substance. His left arm is outstretched, upward, as is his face – in a silent, agonizing scream – every feature on his face coated in darkness and his mouth is filled with spilling, black oil.

11/26/05

Overcast, gray, brooding. A slight breeze carries the stench of decay, playing with the tendrils of her hair. As she walks gently, barefoot among the decaying corpses, the bloated fingers of the fallen snag the ragged hem of her chemise. Is she dismayed by the death and carnage around her? Not at all. This is her domain; the putrid visage her Glory. As she sidesteps a gray, rotting foot, her chemise strap falls from her shoulder – and she smiles wickedly as she delicately slips her foot into a congealed pool of blood – sighing as if it were an old comfortable slipper. And darkness begins to settle further, so she sits down, giggles as she smooths the hair of an unfortunately decapitated soldier. And the feasting ravens laugh.

11/26/05

A beautiful fall day, walking along a mountainous trail. Leaves dance on the forest floor before my feet, and my eye catches a glistening beam of red. Bending closer, I found a beautiful tendril of red hair, dancing in the breeze among leaves of like color. Sweeping the leaves aside, pushing aside the soft earth – there lay an eternally sleeping beauty, brutally cut down in her prime, and unceremoniously buried along a forest path.

11/26/05

I sliced my wrists open, lengthwise, several inches long. Rather than blood, there are hundreds of pomegranate seeds spilling from my veins. And on the table next to me sits a ruptured pomegranate in a pool of congealing blood. Now to an onlooker, was I originally filled with these seeds of mythological fertility, or did I stuff them inside myself as blood poured freely down my hands?

11/15/05

There was a fire in a hut housing experimental chemical warfare. Everyone who was inside the structure was already afflicted. One man’s eyes were bubbling and drooping out of his sockets, dripping and sizzling onto his upraised fingers. One man was crawling on hands and knees, trying to get out of a liquid that burned away flesh and bone at the touch. A comrade wanted to help those stuck inside and began to run into the structure, unable to hear as his superior yelled at him to avoid the light. As soon as he made it to the entrance of the hut, gasses met his skin and he was already standing in sunlight. Immediately his skin darkened to a putrid black, began to monstrously swell, and as he lay in the entrance bloated and screaming, no one could do anything but watch in horror until he was a mass of blackened dead flesh. And the screams of those trapped inside continued to wail. The men outside the hut could do nothing but listen under the hot desert sun.

10/02/05

Your hard chest is pressing against my cheek as your hands sculpt around my hips. Trailing your face down to mine, I’m pulled from your chest. Licking the side of my throat, you suddenly bite, hard, into the muscles of my throat. Moaning into the crook of your elbow, my knees go weak, and I’m now supported by the hand on my hip, the hand entwined in my hair, and your thigh between my legs. You release the vise around my throat, and immediately bite on my clothed nipple, the thin fabric sticking to your moist lips. You pull my head back by my hair, draw my face close to yours, and flick your tongue across my lips, briefly, and taunting. Just as I do not feel I can take anymore, you bite the other side of my exposed neck, leaving me a whimpering, lusting, and hugry mess of a woman – craving what she can never have –

09/29/05

I’m standing in a wide open space. No walls. No people. Nothing. Just a gentle pelting sound permeates the air as dozens of doves fall dead at my feet. Turned upside down, they careen to the ground in a twirling, dead dance. Tilting my face upward, arms outstretched, I just stand. Naked.