tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87637911915799136332024-03-08T16:26:19.094-06:00East Coast WobbleThe Dreamjournals of J.W. Olson, a poet, author of speculative fiction, and teacher.jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.comBlogger162125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-64485939775478365032020-02-19T06:00:00.000-06:002020-02-19T06:00:05.628-06:00New Year's Mission<b>Dreamed on 2020.01.02</b><br />
<br />
We get the call to move out, and it startles us, but we do it. High energy, but focused, like a wolf pack, dressed in black.<br />
"This block?"<br />
"Naw, next. Some cabs. 010, I think is one of the numbers?"<br />
We run to the next. An uber, some cabs, and a small bus are pulling in. People are hopping in places, but we ignore the bus; they just want in on the action. I see a guy I know -- the older one, angular face, more... I don't know, South American features? -- I get in the same car as him.<br />
"Where we headed, cabbie?"<br />
"You know I can't say; security feature. I can confirm the code on your phone though."<br />
"I don't have the code, don't have a phone; just was told to get in."<br />
Cabbie shrugs and is right; it's not their problem. "You in? We going?"<br />
"Yeah, let's go."<br />
The city is a wreck. I mean, it's 2:30 AM on New Year's Day, and I thought that'd be enough anarchy to give us the night off, at least wait till the aftermath. Some roads are closed, but only in one direction, so our cabbies turns to reverse and zooms maybe 50mph in the wrong lane. We slow for a cop, but only cause my buddy next to me asked the cabbie to.<br />
"Tough night?" he asks the cop, who nods.<br />
"Fuck. New decade, and everyone wants to start out on top. Ain't no one on top of this shit pile tonight."<br />
"We clear to go through?"<br />
The cop nods and gestures. "Do your thing."<br />
I lean forward and look out the window. "Happy New Year," I get in as we start pulling away.<br />
We drive along the waterside. Bodies litter the yards and gutters, most just passed out drunk in their costumes and facepaint and the ridiculous toys of unrestrained 20-somethings who think that self-destruction is a type of freedom. But not everyone is out entirely. Some people stumble around, too something to fall over. Some are entirely sober, and trying to help their friends. But some of these friends won't wake up. And there are gun shots too, and smoke in the distance.<br />
I stare at the faces and costumes. Some snore and twitch. One half-fallen from a chair, but with a snagged cape and caught half fall. A whole pile dressed as TV characters sleeping on each others legs. The one that's face down may have trouble if the ground is soft. Someone's small dog scampers around collecting chips and other spilled snacks.<br />
We pass the park; neutral ground. I count four bodies here, hard to see through the long grass, though. Could be more. Four bodies, at least, with people wailing over them.<br />
It's the next section of town I'm least excited about, though I feel the adrenaline rise in me. It's the next section of town that we've been sent to.<br />
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jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-55107167238067411682020-02-12T06:00:00.000-06:002020-02-12T06:00:02.637-06:00Solo & Ensemble to the Death<b>Dreamed on 2019.03.31</b><br />
<br />
The totalitarian powers that be are keeping us in cells; musicians pair up with each other to compete; the winner moves on, the loser is killed (or at least, taken away and not seen again). Each time you have the option to keep the same instrument or change to a random new instrument.<br />
<br />I'm not a musician; I'm one of the team that helps prep the musicians before their competitions and listens to them practice.<br />
<br />One of the people in my room is my friend, who is performing on oboe, the instrument he studied. <br /><br />After he finishes practicing, a girl comes in on cello. It's also her instrument, but her arms are shaking and she can't get a consistent tone/pitch. "You've got this," I say, secretly and guiltily proud that my friend will probably win. She breaks into tears and the three of us hug her. She mumbles something angry that I don't hear, and I struggle to figure out how to word some sort of "things will be better after this, one way or the other" message that I ultimately don't end up saying, because how can such words mean anything.<br />
<div>
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jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-88398514179541066412020-02-05T06:00:00.000-06:002020-02-05T06:00:04.109-06:00Just buy this blue paint<b>Dreamed on 2019.01.26</b><br />
<br />
I'm in college and kinda becoming the next big thing, locally at least, as a visual artist. As I go about my day, people keep coming up to me all concerned, like, "Hey man, you okay?" and I say, "Yeah, I'm cool. Same as usual, what's up?" and they look at me like sadness has coiled around my heart, like I've self-injected a poison I may not recover from.<br /><br />
"That parking garage stunt you pulled was something else man, don't ever do that again," someone says, and I quizzical at her, like, what? "Yeah," she says, "that shit you pulled." "What shit I pulled? What parking garage stunt?"<br />
<br />And she shows me her phone where I'm standing on the edge saying I'm gonna jump across to the next building and I'm clearly raging on some cocktail of neurowrecking juices, and then this couple I've never met before talk me down.<br />
<br />So you know, I sleuth it up and find this couple. "Yeah," they say, "we hacked your brain, got a direct link in there and can do any other stunt we want with you, wreck your public image, spam it across social media, kill you."<br />
<br />"What do you want?"<br />
<br />"You're an artist. Just keep buying our brand of blue paint. It's got the rare ingredients in it that only we provide. If you buy the paint, everyone else will, and we'll stay in business, we'll get rich. Just buy this blue paint and you won't need to see us again."<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-57130852382526151382020-01-29T06:00:00.000-06:002020-01-29T06:00:04.309-06:00A Legal Dispute<b>Dreamed on 2019.01.20.0821</b><br />
<br />
I was swimming laps, but we got cut off by the garbage truck driving by. I did the thing I do when cars cut me off (lean back, look aghast, gesture with arms out), and they just flipped me off. My swimming shift was done, so I got in the lifeguard chair. The garbage workers WERE the current olympic swimteam, just doing their thing to get the pool ready for their workout. One of the kids, who was also one of my students, picked up a coffee tin full of water and slung it at me, water and metal and all. He missed. I tried to protest, but he picked up an empty blackbean can (full of water) and slung that too. I had to dodge -- which is hard in a lifeguard chair, yeah? -- so that it didn't rip a chunk of my nose off.<br />
<br />Anyway, accusations were made and they (the Wolves) showed up gang like saying things like, "What, he threw a can of water at him? He works at a pool. It's just water" and being all defensive. Anyway, I owned the land and ended up pulling their lease to it. "Well fine, but you'll be financially liable," a coworker said. "No," I pointed out. "THEY violated the lease, so the rest of the agreement is forfeit. They lose out, I get my land back, and I never have to see them again."<br />
<div>
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jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-62160040912155616212020-01-22T06:00:00.000-06:002020-01-22T06:00:00.704-06:00the child named bluebird<b>Dreamed on 2018.07.12.0710</b><br />
<br />
the child named bluebird, hiding down in this pit we're in, and the pickpocket/god and his friend (such big nostrils; seeing skin inside. thick gouty ankles). The larvae are under her eyelids, which she can't open anymore.jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-16592706640210880282020-01-15T06:00:00.000-06:002020-01-15T06:00:00.676-06:00Fighting the Balance<b>Dreamed on 2017.07.17.0812</b><br />
<br />
Furiously trying to text someone where I am while walking quickly down the halls, but I'm having trouble. A child who sees me having trouble is laughing at me. Eventually she points out that I've died and am in ghost/angel/etc form now. I have trouble being convinced until she shows me that we can walk through walls or fly, etc, and also no one interacts with us.<br />
<br />
I spend a long time helping people--touching their minds and influencing them while they sleep, as well as finding new ghost/angels and showing them the ropes. I say "angels" but I know we're not. But we are good/positive spirits.<br />
<br />
There is a room we can go, I am aware, where we can fall asleep and be done with this stage of things, but I enjoy it and the unknown after it is scary. Also, it's pretty common for the good/positive spirits to want to sleep and reach the next stage, but none of the negative spirits seem to be doing that, so... there's a bit of an imbalance.jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-50249456427578532402020-01-08T06:00:00.000-06:002020-01-08T06:00:04.211-06:00Form Before Function<b>Dreamed on 2018.01.21</b><br />
<br />
Me and Alfons and Diggs and Charlotte and folks knew the zombies were coming, so we rushed to the hair salon and worked on getting hair cuts. It came down to my turn, but there wasn't much time left, what with the zombies coming.<br />
<br />
"Diggs, I said. Diggs, you go first."<br />
<br />
"You're sure?" he asked.<br />
<br />
I was sure. Diggs got his hair done, and now there's really no time, cause the zombies are coming.<br />
<br />
"Your turn. Come on now." The hair stylist said.<br />
<br />
"No," I said, shaking my head. "There's no time, let's go."<br />
<br />
"What are you thinking, man," Charlotte said. "You need a haircut!"<br />
<br />
"No," I said. "It's too late."<br />
<br />
My crew looked horrified, but the hair stylist nodded knowingly. "I get it, man. It's bold, but I get it. One day years from now you'll look back on today and know that this was the turning point. This was the day you didn't get your haircut."<br />
<br />
I nodded, and looked in the mirror. My hair WAS pretty terrible. Like, it would have looked overgrown even for someone on the cover of an 80s hair metal album.<br />
<br />
"Well, good luck. Go on."<br />
<br />
And then we ran away and bullets were flying everywhere and stuff.jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-48472692893534980232020-01-01T06:00:00.000-06:002020-01-01T06:00:08.524-06:00Second Chances<b>Dreamed on 2017.07.21.0424</b><br />
<br />
Some anarchist/terrorist guy attacks the grocery store I work in and tries to escape, but I slow down my perception of time and take off after him. I'm in something like a Goliath from StarCraft, but the top section is capable of flight, which I use. I track him as he leaves the store, then send a barrage of missiles and bullets. He fires back with machine gun like things. We take it out into the parking lot and continue firing with no one taking any damage and the rockets just falling around him on the ground without exploding. Eventually I just get point blank and we're both shooting each other and the bullets aren't doing anything, as if it's a laggy computer game or something. So I suggest dude just leaves and goes home and doesn't come back. Like, ever. Please. And his wife agrees with this very happily and so he agrees to too. After I think they leave, I realize I should pick up all the rockets in case ammunition starts working again later. While doing so, they briefly try to run me over with their car, almost playfully, then drive off (holding a handful of rockets up out the window victoriously in the process). I wonder what any of us learned from this.jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-16068337424488441422019-12-25T06:00:00.000-06:002019-12-25T06:00:04.612-06:00Not Implausible These Days<b>Dreamed on 2017.02.07</b><br />
<br />
In order to recruit for the Homeless and Runaway Shelter Volunteer Club at the Elementary School (recruiting volunteers, not runaways), we decide to gather all the school clubs together and announce their names to see who wants to join ours. Somehow that makes sense because we can see who is only in one club or something? Also peer pressure.<br />
<br />
After calling a bunch of club names and having about 20 kids total join us, one really pale little kid stands up angrily and screams, "What about club Hydra?" So the announcer apologizes and announces this thing called Club Hydra that doesn't exist as the kid stands up and angrily joins us. Several of us teachers murmur to each other "Isn't Hydra, like, actual Nazis?" and "We don't want the Nazi kid!" and "Does he not know?"jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-4582536054497443802019-12-18T06:00:00.000-06:002019-12-18T06:00:03.279-06:00Jackal Children<b>Dreamed on 2017.07.16.0942</b><br />
<br />
In some Hogwartzian magical school or orphanage or warehouse or somesuch, and trying to sneak out. I find a magic squirrel key (shaped like half a skull designed in 2D via wire), and in looking for the way out I come across a gap in the fencing / barbed wire (now that I've climbed a bit) big enough for me to jump through.<br />
<br />
While I'm debating it (and how far I'd like to fall or not), I notice that it's an animal enclosure with a certain creature in it. We call them Jackals, but they're magical. Super vicious and powerful and super loyal to their trainer/owner, who is looking directly at me.<br />
<br />
... something happens and he's gone and has no more control over the Jackals which start to return back to the ghosts of children (hundreds of them from deeper in the warehouse) and dive into the lake and disappear and turn to slime. They leave notes and letters behind. Apparently the owner/trainer trapped the souls of little kids and made them into this. The younger the child, the larger and stronger the jackal. I am sad and cry while talking to the last few spirits.jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-82742561223213985832019-12-11T06:00:00.000-06:002019-12-11T06:00:18.007-06:00Build our own wings<b>Dreamed on 2019.08.18.0150</b><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"It's one thing to seize the means of production. It's another to know how to use them."</span><br />
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So many arguments with our neighbor. Their dog got past our fencing and chewed up the tarp we use for water collection. They stole apples from the tree that fell in the storm. Etc. I wanna complain to the employee from the block administration, but she's just a kid eagerly tending the sprouts in our community garden.</div>
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One day I get a splinter through my shirt and start bleeding and I really look around. At all the trees about to fall that would hit our house. If I try to smile in the dirty mirror, there's a delay. My scared and warped face just hates back at me.</div>
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Fighting with my neighbor does nothing about how shit the world is. Petty lives and hates lull me into complacence over the cliff. We can't not go over the cliff. It will take a commitment from the whole body, but I must build my own wings.</div>
jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-43064482164700493752018-06-07T13:54:00.000-05:002019-12-06T11:45:16.805-06:00Classy.<b>Dreamed on 2017.09.12.0705</b><br />
<br />
"Renessa! It's so good to see you! It's been years. Man, we had some good times."<br />
<br />
"You don't remember, do you."<br />
<br />
"What? We hooked up. It was good."<br />
<br />
"No, you took drugs, then claimed to be a Pomeranian and made strange noises at me for twenty minutes."<br />
<br />
"That's not how--"<br />
<br />
"Then you killed me." She peeled back her hair and showed her glowing blue brain inside its clear casing hooked up to wires.<br />
<br />
"..."<br />
<br />
"And paid to overwrite the memories, I see."jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-82961848744568099472018-06-07T09:24:00.000-05:002018-06-07T10:17:35.945-05:00The Raven-Priest's Ask<b>Dreamed on 2018.06.07.0741</b><br />
<br />
Message said I should see what some priest has to say, cause they've got a mission for me, so I show up and it's a super traditional-feeling Catholic service with a real raven-priest, in the full feathery getup, talking about the three-way war currently festering between island nations on the other side of the planet.<br />
<br />
The worship ends, people leave, and I find him in the shadows backstage where we talk. I decipher she's actually a woman, and subtly comment on it in a way that shows I know without actually spelling it out, and indicating that I'm not going to judge. In other words, I 100% Father Brown this situation. Then we debate the philosophy of engaging in political struggles as an outsider from an imperialist nation. She only allows me two questions, and we banter wittily on equal ground. Ultimately she convinces me that I should at least go there and get to know some of the people on the ground, at the very least, even if I don't meddle in the politics.<br />
<br />
"Why me, though?"<br />
<br />
"Because you answered when I asked."jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-2244008232427278592018-06-07T08:00:00.000-05:002018-06-07T08:00:37.751-05:00Between the cracks in the poetry<b>Dreamed on 15.10.28.0605</b><br />
He lingered on the last page after all the others had left before slipping down between the cracks in the poetry. Deftly he made his way and sure enough, beside the entryway in one of the rooms that the idiot protagonist had had to flood in order to gain entry to the massive and ancient building he found her lying in the casket.<br />
<br />
You found me, she said. He smiled.<br />
<br />
You're dead, he said.<br />
<br />
Hush now. You know as well as I do that the rules apply differently here. Kiss me and perhaps I'll come back to life. ... How did you find me? No one else has.<br />
<br />
It was obvious, to me at least. The whole plan was to hide you in plain sight. In line 72, for example, it says....
No, wait -- please don't quote line numbers. It makes me feel... lesser.<br />
<br />
Okay.<br />
<br />
Would you like to stay a while?<br />
<br />
They smiled at each other.jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-4590998106028819002017-05-01T04:00:00.000-05:002018-06-07T08:48:06.902-05:00Sugar Plum Vine<b>Dreamed on 2017.04.30.0859</b><br />
<br />
Outside the porthole, the rain kept falling.<br />
<br />
"Ahem." The tutor recaptured her attention. "This one is called sugar plum vine. Do as I do."<br />
<br />
Together, they each took a knife and split the stalk reminiscent of sugar cane, though plum colored. Inside each was what looked like a bundle of half-a dozen fibrous wires. The tutor demonstrated how to peel back the fibers on each of the inner strands, revealing a mauve banana-like mush.<br />
<br />
"Conventions vary here, but it is most common, in polite society, to eat this with your spoon as so."<br />
<br />
As always, she mimicked her tutor. The sugar plum vine tasted like a slightly bitter cucumber with the consistency, as she expected, of a banana.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-75051726351600033862017-04-24T04:00:00.000-05:002018-06-07T08:49:04.737-05:00Generic Post-Apoc MC start, but with magic!<b>Dreamed on 2017.04.19.0706</b><br />
<br />
Family of 4-5 on the third floor of an apartment building. Family is arguing/debating something about food. Girl goes down a floor via the stairwell and is standing near a broken window when she overhears a LARGE group – an army, really – approaching from outside. The leader of it gives his quick commands to the rest while they clean and prepare their semi-automatic guns. “Either they die or they become cattle,” he says. The army breaks into the ground floor.<br />
<br />
The girl wants to warn her family, but then what? They could do nothing about this. She feels paralyzed. She considers hiding, but ultimately decides to just get caught quickly and obviously so she doesn’t get shot. She sits right where she was already, in the corner of a landing at the stairwell, in the light of the window, and puts both hands in the air and waits.<br />
<br />
As the army files through, no one sees her. She starts to yell, “Hey! I’m here. I surrender!” and still they all run right past her, ignoring or somehow not noticing her.<br />
<br />
A dog comes over and licks her knee, panting happily at her until someone calls it and it runs off.<br />
<br />
She stops yelling.<br />
<br />
As the army is filing out again, after minimal gunfire, she sees her family taken away, glancing about nervously, among other captives. One toddler from another family stares at her the whole time. One older lady sees her clearly too and tries to speak to her. At one point a bitter looking 16-17 year old girl with a gun (in the army) almost notices her but doesn’t (the way people can almost find you when sneaking in skyrim). She is now praying not to be found, though she knows going to with her family is the path of less resistance. What will she do as a fugitive and on her own? She’s not sure what the army would do to her, but being on her own outside the army seems entirely more dangerous.<br />
<br />
The army leaves.<br />
<br />
Some phrase about the “Old Time” enters her mind and reminds her of old stories of some kind of magic that once was in old stories.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-73094432703864081882017-04-10T04:00:00.000-05:002018-06-07T08:49:54.232-05:00Storm is picking up outside<b>Dreamed on 2017.02.24.0545</b><br />
<br />
some commotion about a bird atop the tree. i rush into the room but am too late. crazy fancy mansion that we are moving into to share. on a balcony above the tree i notice a giant vulture face atop a clearly mechanical human sized body. It looks at me<br />
<br />
storm is picking up outside. like... I see someone blow away. Everyone else wants to watch a show that's starting, and they keep asking me to come back in and sit down, but I go to the hall and hold open a side door for what turns out to be about thirty strangers and a person or two from my old high school. One old peer is surprised to see me, inquires about whose place this is, being so fancy, and I know it's part mine now, but otherwise I forget. It's owned by the parents of someone else we knew in highschool, but I forget who.<br />
<br />
I ask the Lady/Matriarch of the house, and she says it's totally fine I brought them in. Downstairs is probably best, just stay out of room 126 because her husband is having a business meeting there, though I should sneak in because that's where the towels are.<br />
<br />
I lead them in --- everything is fancy carved wood, polished brass, leather, and antique books -- and they make themselves at home in the basement.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-4296238579282313122017-04-03T04:00:00.000-05:002018-06-07T08:50:49.309-05:00Buttercream Dog Shell<b>Dreamed on 2017.02.25.0810</b><br />
<br />
Looking into the plastic packaging, I see that the egg I have (about 2x1.5 feet) is starting to look kinda dried and is browning on the edges. "No! Am I too late?" I turn my eyes to Rachel who says, "No, just bury it in the sand quick. It's probably ready to go right now." So I do.<br />
<br />
It starts to wriggle a little bit, then cracks open. The whole egg is soft like a hard boiled egg, by the way -- no shell. I help pry the crack open and pull some of the egg away, and a frail looking schnauzer with peppered legs and body but a curly back the color of buttercream eagerly emerges, eyes wide and tongue licking. She sits down and clearly has very weak back legs and no full instinct how to use them. She looks about inquisitively.<br />
<br />
"Here Bee! Here! ... Wait, Bee's our other dog. We need a new name! Um... Here dog!" and she eventually figures out how to put legs beneath her and wobble enthusiastically toward us.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-47073771798850291792017-03-27T04:00:00.000-05:002018-06-07T08:51:37.774-05:00Vampire Coming of Age<b>Dreamed on 2017.02.19.0547</b><br />
<br />
Picnicking outside with several friends -- well, its actually a much larger evening party, but several of us are sitting out at a table. I feel like I was teaching something, but I forget what. This is interrupted when the large Italian family across the street empties out of their house. I've always thought they were vampires, but this time their fangs are rather obvious. I hiss "vampires" quietly but loudly to my neighbors. NO WAY the vampires are going to do anything, when it's not even fully dark out, right?<br />
<br />
Quicker than I expect and before I can do anything about it, they've got us surrounded on one side with the house blocking the other side. One small path for escape, but no way they can outrun us.<br />
<br />
The vampires talk amongst themselves, then three young kids -- maybe sixth graders - come forward. Hesitantly. This is a ritual of their I've heard about -- the first killing.<br />
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Each of the three throws a sharp throwing dagger at me. Two miss, one gives me a slight cut on my leg. I pick one up, briefly consider that I don't want to hurt a kid and that they're surrounded by more powerful parents and I was able to reach ONE knife. Then I throw the knife at one of the kids, but I miss -- I'm terrible with throwing knives anyway.<br />
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The kids pull out guns then shoot. I get hit in the leg, the shoulder, and the foot.<br />
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Then I get pinned to the ground (by an adult this time?) who tells me the plan. He's going to drink my blood, but not enough to kill me, then he's going to shoot me in the teeth. I try to negotiate various things, but he will allow no other course of action. I wake up as his teeth sink in.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-84912342305702269522017-03-20T04:00:00.000-05:002018-06-07T08:52:25.627-05:00"yoy drop dowj this part carefflly"<b>Dreamed on 2017.02.03.0647</b><br />
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"Oh yeah! I forgot that they'd had to drain the swamp." he said as we foated down the Louisiana river 100 hunddred years in the past, "This is a lot of water"<br />
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"Wait til you see the falls -- they used to be way more deadly" I guide the craft to rock and we manage to stop as water roars all around us. "Okay,. yoy drop dowj this part carefflly, then swim a bitm then.... okaym wgere yiu go down this drop matters. There are some deep parts adn somne shallow parts and that's where people die.<br />
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We float in the air for a while, then land, and then watch some people behind us swimj casually down the whole thing and I feekl stranbge about how dangerous I thiought it was.. Then we float through a painting and end of on a frozen lake. We meet my brother in law and his scnauzer and give the dog the bison we'd hunted. He's a happy mini scnauzer.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-57041151923785085422017-03-13T04:00:00.000-05:002018-06-07T10:46:10.105-05:00I suppose that's fair.<b>Dreamed on 2017.02.06</b><br />
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We hired personal trainers to get us in shape, but they just stole our cars for two weeks and charged us for the time we spent walking.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-5995234754931380972017-03-06T04:00:00.000-06:002018-06-07T08:53:24.995-05:00Owl Shapeshifter<b>Dreamed on 2017.01.17.0936</b><br />
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Walked for several days to get to the new apartment I'll be living in while going to school. Rachel walked with me. Along the way, I met a talking ermine who accompanied us on the journey and became a very close friend. Upon arriving, I invited him to move in with us, but he apologized and said he had a wife and kids he had to get back to. I invited them all to move in with us, but I had to go inside and move in now and he had to go back to them, and once I went through the door we wouldn't have contact again. We made a plan hoping to meet up outside at the bench at some point, but with no guarantee that it would happen.<br />
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Later, sleeping in a terrible half-destroyed cabin with a collection of other students. Staying quiet in the night so we don't get in trouble. At length and after some suspicion, snuck down into a basement. Attacked by black birds; turned into an owl to fight back and killed them. Collected the feathers. Resumed normal shape. Explored antique and dusty things. The entire place started to shake as if via earthquake and ~10 other people emerged, ready to defend. We spoke to each other, they observed me turn into an owl to escape, and they offered me a more secret lodging among others of my kind. I had to fly up through a small crevice to get to the cave/den-like lodgings.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-75610237722167462162017-02-27T04:00:00.000-06:002018-06-07T08:53:52.479-05:00"the king begins to dance"<b>Dreamed on 15.11.30.0839</b><br />
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Rachel and I enter the crowded chamber just as the country's national anthem starts to play. We realize (with delight) that the king and his retinue are in this chamber. As all the citizens around us sing loudly and happily, the king begins to dance, fluff his outfit, and effectively expand his silhouette like and angel beginning to raise its wings -- his clothing is now about twice as wide and his shoulders are a quarter taller than his height. As the song ends he somehow explodes all the extra space in his clothing out in a burst of pine branches which the crowd rushes to gather. Rachel and I acquire some, but most have lost most of their needles. The only really good branch we find has to be defended carefully.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-86974744667212182452017-02-20T04:00:00.000-06:002018-06-07T08:54:20.361-05:00"the dagger still sticking out of me"<b>Dreamed on 2016.12.25.0716</b><br />
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In the middle of a war. I'm using daggers. Many are using swords. Some are using pistols (like in the D&D setting I'm in). Our side is losing, it seems, and then I get stabbed in the side -- the dagger still sticking out of me. Everyone hesitates for a moment and we know the end of everything for our side is imminent. One man swings a sword at me, but I manage to catch it, redirect his motion, disarm him, decapitate him, and decapitate the man on the other side of me. I fight with someone for a pistol (as he drops it on the floor), then efficiently take out several more. We ultimately win and I get seen my a doctor (at first he says I'm fine, but then I show him the wound. He checks it out a bit, cleans it, but doesn't sew it up, then tells me to rest while he sees "more serious injuries" and I'm not sure if this is true or a polite way of saying I have no hope. But I did well. I lay down and rest.<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8763791191579913633.post-91846059356465263562017-02-13T18:06:00.000-06:002018-06-07T08:54:48.715-05:00literary, but wat?<b>Dreamed on 2016.12.22.0501</b><br />
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reading a story in which macduff kills smaug (who is actually tom riddle who killeded his other 6 brothers and turned them into pet dragons and he's human)<br />jwohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06709237651832051823noreply@blogger.com0