:::grumbly::: + dream #...?
Mar. 31st, 2004 09:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedarksiren2Horoscope (by Astrocenter.com)
Matters of the heart may not be going especially smoothly lately, considering that someone has been too aggressive in their approach, dear Capricorn. Or maybe you yourself have been too pushy about what you want. Inevitably this tension is building up and creating war and disharmony instead of love. Perhaps you need to closely examine the dynamics of the relationship you are in. Tough times may be an indication that the honeymoon is over. If you are single at this point in your life, it is probably for the best.
So umm, Mercury goes back to direct around the 12th, right?
*sigh*
I'm tellin' ya...convents are sounding more and more appealing with every day that passes.
OH! Maybe if I make it, by some friggin' miracle, to Italy again this summer with the college chorale -- I hear we are supposed to be staying a few nights in a convent. It'll be like Suor Angelica, and I'll become and herb specialist, consuming that one plant when all else is seemingly hopeless and dreary, meeting my maker at long last...
...
nah, eff that.
First off, I masturbate too often. Not to say that nuns don't fulfill themselves, but well, I imagine that the weight of the habits, as they are made of wool or something insanely warm for Italy. Then again, their arms, wrists and hands would grow very strong. Ohhhh...this all suddenly makes SOOO much sense!!!
And people wondered why the nuns hitting them with the ruler hurt so badly...dey'z some strong bizzes!~;P
wow, I soo need to sleep more.
+++
Speaking of sleep, I had this I was on a set to some play or musical which Kira was directing. We were all soldiers in some war, hundreds of women and young girls, dressed in military costumes. I realized as I stood there, at the end, upstage left, that mine smelled like age and pain, the dark blues of the jacket stained with blood that reeked of time and fungus. These weren't costumes, and as Kira directed us to stand at more of an arc, I stepped forward, attempting to draw my sword, but it was not there. I reached and reached, but the enemy forces were heading for us, and my brigade was marching forward, swords drawn and fire-engine red snarls across their faces.
I took a step forward to meet my doom and instead stepped onto the deck of a ship. These were gypsy-types, lovely jewels lying about like a lazy child's room, only with empty bottles of illegal imbibings as companions instead of hot wheels and barbie dolls.
The captain was a younger man, someone who at first seemed to be Johnny Depp (oh, the influence of that last thing we did before sleep...heh), but I could never see his face. No, in fact I could never see his wife's face either, just her swollen belly.
The man came from within the cabin, one of his generals or something, only it was this guy whom I have worked with on previous Opera and Musical Scenes (hell if I can remember his name...he always reeks of sex and stale cigarettes when I see him~>8P) He was playing the role, but it often seemed so real I just played along as best I could. He kept speaking with some accent I couldn't decipher, and as I went to respond to him, I noticed I was holding some cheat-sheet for my lines, became disconcerted and all but tore the paper up and threw it behind me, upstage right.
But this was a deck, not a stage.
Or, a stage, not a deck?
I could hear Kira blasting someone somewhere for doing something wrong. I stepped forward to peek through the cabin window at the sleeping wife. Again, I could not see her face or her husband's. The dirty sex-cigarette man said something about how they timed her pregnancy, something to do with tides and show dates. I looked at him puzzled, and said something when Kira came storming out of some other door on the ship, dressed like a pirate herself (but I thought we were gypsies?), raising her sword up and down in her tirade. "Why can't any of you speak as I have taught you? Thank you *insert name of dirty sex-cigarette man* for saying something in the plural past participle. Now then, follow his lead into the crater!" She raised her sword with an Elvis-like twitch of her lip, and stomped past me, upstage and gone the moment she passed my shoulders.
I looked back toward dirty sex-cigarette man, and he smiled, sipping bourbon and toasting at me, sloshy and gross. I winced, and the cabin door opened. I could see the captain's face now, and he was not Johnny Depp. I don't know who he was, but he had days-old stubble, and although his clothing was untucked and his hair was all messy, he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. He was so happy, scratching his belly as he stretched his arms upward, his white shirt wrinkled and liquor-stained. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to this amazing creature, but then dirty sex-cigarette man said something in Blarseny (this is what the language was called in the dream), and I shut my mouth to watch and listen, frustrated.
I decided to walk back to the window and peek in at the woman. I had visions of her in moonlight, standing in he white gowns at the front of the ship, stark-white hair and skin seeming to glow amidst the waves and wind. Her hands pulled her hair back, would fiddle with it, and then let it drop luxuriently back into the night air, laying hundreds of stars down in the sky with every wisp.
"She made these plans, ya know," said dirty sex-cigarette man. I looked back at him, and he said something like, "Oh yes. She's a smarty! Beautiful and cruel just as equal. But she needs 'em to pop out just like the changes."
I said, "Who?" because although I knew she was pregnant, I thought of a singular child.
He said,"Them twinnies...the Aborigines..."
A vision of the woman sleeping in her bed peacefully, thin, long face and untainted skin surrounded by white sheets, a white gown and her white hair laid perfectly about her pillows. Her eyelashes were dark, her lips like coral, slightly curved with a pleasant smile. My vision left me floating above her, dying, aching to get closer. I began my decent, when the boat jerked a bit, and her balloon-like belly, trembled. It was time.
I could hear dirty sex-cigarette man saying in the distance, "She only wants 'em for the placenta," and I could feel the blood rushing past the babies' heads, their bodies swirls of life-force in a battle to emerge from within her.
Back above her bed, her smile faded into a very serious expression, and when her eyes opened, her body full-view and amazing, they glowed a most succulent red.
Matters of the heart may not be going especially smoothly lately, considering that someone has been too aggressive in their approach, dear Capricorn. Or maybe you yourself have been too pushy about what you want. Inevitably this tension is building up and creating war and disharmony instead of love. Perhaps you need to closely examine the dynamics of the relationship you are in. Tough times may be an indication that the honeymoon is over. If you are single at this point in your life, it is probably for the best.
So umm, Mercury goes back to direct around the 12th, right?
*sigh*
I'm tellin' ya...convents are sounding more and more appealing with every day that passes.
OH! Maybe if I make it, by some friggin' miracle, to Italy again this summer with the college chorale -- I hear we are supposed to be staying a few nights in a convent. It'll be like Suor Angelica, and I'll become and herb specialist, consuming that one plant when all else is seemingly hopeless and dreary, meeting my maker at long last...
...
nah, eff that.
First off, I masturbate too often. Not to say that nuns don't fulfill themselves, but well, I imagine that the weight of the habits, as they are made of wool or something insanely warm for Italy. Then again, their arms, wrists and hands would grow very strong. Ohhhh...this all suddenly makes SOOO much sense!!!
And people wondered why the nuns hitting them with the ruler hurt so badly...dey'z some strong bizzes!~;P
wow, I soo need to sleep more.
+++
Speaking of sleep, I had this I was on a set to some play or musical which Kira was directing. We were all soldiers in some war, hundreds of women and young girls, dressed in military costumes. I realized as I stood there, at the end, upstage left, that mine smelled like age and pain, the dark blues of the jacket stained with blood that reeked of time and fungus. These weren't costumes, and as Kira directed us to stand at more of an arc, I stepped forward, attempting to draw my sword, but it was not there. I reached and reached, but the enemy forces were heading for us, and my brigade was marching forward, swords drawn and fire-engine red snarls across their faces.
I took a step forward to meet my doom and instead stepped onto the deck of a ship. These were gypsy-types, lovely jewels lying about like a lazy child's room, only with empty bottles of illegal imbibings as companions instead of hot wheels and barbie dolls.
The captain was a younger man, someone who at first seemed to be Johnny Depp (oh, the influence of that last thing we did before sleep...heh), but I could never see his face. No, in fact I could never see his wife's face either, just her swollen belly.
The man came from within the cabin, one of his generals or something, only it was this guy whom I have worked with on previous Opera and Musical Scenes (hell if I can remember his name...he always reeks of sex and stale cigarettes when I see him~>8P) He was playing the role, but it often seemed so real I just played along as best I could. He kept speaking with some accent I couldn't decipher, and as I went to respond to him, I noticed I was holding some cheat-sheet for my lines, became disconcerted and all but tore the paper up and threw it behind me, upstage right.
But this was a deck, not a stage.
Or, a stage, not a deck?
I could hear Kira blasting someone somewhere for doing something wrong. I stepped forward to peek through the cabin window at the sleeping wife. Again, I could not see her face or her husband's. The dirty sex-cigarette man said something about how they timed her pregnancy, something to do with tides and show dates. I looked at him puzzled, and said something when Kira came storming out of some other door on the ship, dressed like a pirate herself (but I thought we were gypsies?), raising her sword up and down in her tirade. "Why can't any of you speak as I have taught you? Thank you *insert name of dirty sex-cigarette man* for saying something in the plural past participle. Now then, follow his lead into the crater!" She raised her sword with an Elvis-like twitch of her lip, and stomped past me, upstage and gone the moment she passed my shoulders.
I looked back toward dirty sex-cigarette man, and he smiled, sipping bourbon and toasting at me, sloshy and gross. I winced, and the cabin door opened. I could see the captain's face now, and he was not Johnny Depp. I don't know who he was, but he had days-old stubble, and although his clothing was untucked and his hair was all messy, he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. He was so happy, scratching his belly as he stretched his arms upward, his white shirt wrinkled and liquor-stained. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to this amazing creature, but then dirty sex-cigarette man said something in Blarseny (this is what the language was called in the dream), and I shut my mouth to watch and listen, frustrated.
I decided to walk back to the window and peek in at the woman. I had visions of her in moonlight, standing in he white gowns at the front of the ship, stark-white hair and skin seeming to glow amidst the waves and wind. Her hands pulled her hair back, would fiddle with it, and then let it drop luxuriently back into the night air, laying hundreds of stars down in the sky with every wisp.
"She made these plans, ya know," said dirty sex-cigarette man. I looked back at him, and he said something like, "Oh yes. She's a smarty! Beautiful and cruel just as equal. But she needs 'em to pop out just like the changes."
I said, "Who?" because although I knew she was pregnant, I thought of a singular child.
He said,"Them twinnies...the Aborigines..."
A vision of the woman sleeping in her bed peacefully, thin, long face and untainted skin surrounded by white sheets, a white gown and her white hair laid perfectly about her pillows. Her eyelashes were dark, her lips like coral, slightly curved with a pleasant smile. My vision left me floating above her, dying, aching to get closer. I began my decent, when the boat jerked a bit, and her balloon-like belly, trembled. It was time.
I could hear dirty sex-cigarette man saying in the distance, "She only wants 'em for the placenta," and I could feel the blood rushing past the babies' heads, their bodies swirls of life-force in a battle to emerge from within her.
Back above her bed, her smile faded into a very serious expression, and when her eyes opened, her body full-view and amazing, they glowed a most succulent red.
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no subject
Date: 2004-03-31 09:58 pm (UTC)lol
Date: 2004-04-04 08:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-01 12:30 am (UTC)Disconnection with your sexual energy is bad because it leaves you ungrounded.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-04 09:06 pm (UTC)I am not worried about disconnecting, honestly. It has, admittedly, taken me some time to *connect* with my sexual energy, however. Not that it's ever been about shame or anything horrible like that, I just had to distinguish between certain characteristics, if that makes any sense.
As for the nature of this post, it was mainly meant to be facetious in nature. It is one of the more unfortunate facets of online dialogue, I think, that one's more sarcastic side doesn't always come across so well.~8)
Thanks for your thoughts though! I appreciate them tremendously, not to mention it's nice having you in my world for a spell~8)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-12 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-17 10:32 am (UTC)Glad to entertain.