youngraven: Ah, I've had better days, me. (Drownt rat)

...that made me want back the time spent in dreaming it.

I dreamt I was awake in my flat. Wandering about it, Doing Flat Things, when suddenly...Dhera!! A Scorpion!!11 EEEEK!111

Ambling down the wall was a smallish scorpion. I could see its nasty stinger, poised above its body and waiting to do something or somebody a painful, itchy mischief. 

Must kill. I have, after all, a cat who eats bugs.

So. I've got this thingummy. It's a buggy killy thingummy that looks a bit like a tennis racquet, only when one presses two buttons, the wires that go across the racquet-looking part become electrified (don't touch it - Arterburn found this out the hard way. Seriously.). Zap. Hrm...henceforth, to be referred to as the 'kill-o-zap'. Not my concept, but it's faster to type than 'buggy killy thingummy'.  

Only I couldn't use the kill-o-zap, right? 'Cos Scorpions! Jump! Truth be told? I don't know whether they jump, cha-cha, or fling themselves from trebuchets, but in the dream, I was certain. Scorpions jump, and the kill-o-zap required too much of an uneasy proximity.

So I sprayed it to death with foaming rug cleaner. Then I had round a 'team of experts' (to include but not be limited to my dad and my uncle Leonard) to confirm it was dead.

'Cos, sure, I wasn't going to poke it with something. I could bleed out. And die.

Somehow, the flat...became something of a partitioned off area in a warehousey thing. I was looking for the landlord in order to have a chat about there being a scorpion when I looked up to the ceiling only to see Thousands of Scorpions scarpering out of an opening. Soon afterwards, a pair of black gloved hands and a hard-hatted ginger head appeared.

As the fellow lobbed a brown-paper-wrapped parcel towards the ground, I shouted at him Oi! Thanks for the Fucking Scorpions! and then I promptly awoke.

And the moral to this story is...

youngraven: (slinky)
Last night, my dreams took me to a frog race. With jockeys and all. The frogs and riders hopped round an uneven track, and whenever a frog and rider came to a mogul sort of thing, they had to flip. Sometimes the flips went smoothly; other times, they ended with a frog splayed out atop a jockey. After the frogs and riders had passed me by, I babbled and babbled about 'My God! BIG FROGS!1111!' They were round the size of Shetland ponies. I thought that one of them could grab me round the waist with its tongue and either eat me or fling me over a fence. The jockeys fed their frogs a mixture of yoghurt and sliced almonds, so I was truly in no danger of being frog chow.

A bit later on in the dream, the plot transitioned to tourists playing bingo on Mars.

I blame the brandy.
youngraven: (bunny)

Lately my dreams have been a bit vivid and eerie. Last night's offering featured a round, petulant boy destined to someday be Superman. When I came upon him, he was whinging because he was being made to dance - only nobody would dance with him. I knew him for who he was - well, who he was to become, and I sort of frowned at him a bit. Then the severed engine of an aeroplane wafted (I know) overhead and came to rest in the street some distance ahead. O'Connell Street, apparently. When I saw the engine meander by (seriously, it was in no great rush), I thought 'here's how he'll be tested - he'll have to fly up and rescue that aeroplane'.

I went about my business (translation: I don't recall what happened in this bit exactly - a shopping trolley may have been involved. Perhaps I was riding round in it, who knows, eh?), and I came upon an empty fountain (I don't recall an empty fountain in O'Connell Street). By this time, the landing gear structure and the other engine of the aeroplane had seen fit to fall away and were wandering down out of the sky (I'm telling you, they were taking their time - it was surreal). I squawked 'cad sa diabhal?! ('Cos I'd forgot there was somebody coming to Save the Day?) and leapt into the fountain to (sings) Duck and Cover.

And then I awoke and grumbled at the time.

Unfortunately, aeroplane crashes are in my dream symbology (along with storms and innocuous things that turn deadly in unexpected ways). I've not quite worked out what it could mean beyond 'things fall and then break'. I'm going to fly away to Tucson tomorrow night, so I could well be fretting on some level about that. I'm sure it's happened that way before. The eerie thing? After months of ignoring it, today my iPod decides that it's time to play 'O Superman' by Laurie Anderson.

Here come the planes...

youngraven: (slinky)
The good:
Tiffany came round with Tyson (possessor of large vehicle) to fetch the table and chairs we'd given her.

The ouch:
In an attempt to de-tabby one of the chair's cushions, I dashed my hand against the corner of a brick column.

The strange:
In last night's dream, [ profile] shaddowshoes and I were making our way towards... some sort of place. I can't recall much of the look of it, really. It might have been something akin to an open-aired beach house, only it was in the middle of a meadow - possibly there were sand dunes. We were going there to meet somebody, that I know. Two fellows having an unsuccessful go at hangliding caught our attention. As we watched them, they crashed rather gracelessly. And then the kangaroos came. The first kangaroo bounded up to them and offered them either a drink or a cigar. Likeyado. They politely turned him down. The second kangaroo offered them something entirely else. She was wearing a Hot Pink!11 terry dressing gown, and did something vaguely resembling a strip-tease. Fluttering eyelashes, off the shoulder, waggling tail - the lot.

Afterwards, [ profile] shaddowshoes and I wondered whether one of them mightn't have actually been a wallaby.
youngraven: (gazing)
I found this link whilst snooping (oh please, we all do it. :D) [ profile] sithvixen's LJ (she's a friend of my friend [ profile] darthcynthia). It's called Project Fiver, and it's really quite simple: a woman who is a great fan of Tolkien has been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease. This is heartbreaking in and of itself, only for this woman it's more so - she's only 34 years of age. She'd love to see Peter Jackson's 'Hobbit' films, only there's slim chance she'll get to do. So, wiith that in mind, there is a petition being circulated to, in hopes, afford her the chance to appear in one of the films as a costumed hobbit. Cliick the link to learn more.


youngraven: (Default)

April 2013

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