Moon Phase = still waning,
nearing new | Weather = humid, cloudless | Latest movie = Liar Liar
Cary Elwes! Jim Carrey! ::swoon:: (lol.) | Current Book = none!
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June 22, 1998
Ugh. Southern humidity strikes again - might as well try wading through melted marshmellow cream.
Historical note: I found out that yes, indeed, the covered bridge at Port Royal fell in last week. What a shame - it was such a neat bridge.
The saga continues still: I ended up taking C.M. to the doctor again and guess what? The guy said that it 'didn't seem to be too bad' and threw some antibiotics at him. He must of got his medical degree from a Happy Meal because even a two year old could see that there's something wrong. This is getting utterly ridiculous. I would work my own mojo for C.M. but he hasn't asked me to - I don't think he really believes in it plus when it comes to magick of any type, we agree to disagree. We didn't even need 30 Helens for it, either.
I had a really weird dream - I am in this huge cinder-block building that has been painted white. It is divided into two rooms by a cinder-block wall that stands about 5' high. The smaller room is a lounge and the larger is a gym - there are quite a few people in both rooms. I also notice that alot of the people are wearing t-shirts promoting 'death metal' bands but I don't think anything about it. I am in the lounge and a band is playing on a stage that is set up at the far end of the gym. I try to get closer by jumping over the wall - there are four guys sitting on a bench in front of it and I use the middle two's laps as a springboard to propel myself into the air. Four times I try - I do a complete flip in the air but I cannot get over that wall, no matter what I do. It is as if there is glass in the way. Suddenly, one of the guys (one of the 'springboards') jumps up, gets a really blank look on his face and starts walking around like a zombie. His hair turns into snakes - Medusa hair. I turn and start talking to two women that are standing next to a gum ball machine (it's the kind of gumball that is huge and you can barely get your mouth around). One of the women has a strange weapon with her - it looks like a giant version of the Inuit knife that is in the Real Goods catalog. It appears to be peeling as if it is made out of fiberglass and she explains that happens because she sliced through glass. She then begins to tell me what to expect when 'the contest' starts. I look around and most of the people now have the same black, zombie-ish look and are holding bladed weapons of some sort. 'The contest' will be a hack and slash free for all - a beserker's heaven. Someone announces a last call to get out before the doors are permanently locked. I and several other people leave and run to a nearby library that isn't very big at all - It isn't much wider than the two side by side picture windows on the front. I see several adults and quite a few children. A man who looks like Phil Hartman, wearing brown pants and a brown leather jacket, unlocks the door for us and I wake up.
I have to admit, this dream was a bit tamer than the Lovecraftian/Chuthlu dreams or the one where the Moon explodes. Sheesh.
I suppose (suppose?...heck, let's not mince words, shall we?) I know why these dreams are happening. I have all this anger inside that I can't deal with, don't know how to deal with and, in some cases, feel like I'm not allowed to deal with. (Oh! what a wonderful shade of orange as the sun comes up! WOW!) Part of the anger comes from those who think they know me and know what is god for me...whoa, what an interesting turn of phrase - what is god for me? It's true though, I was going to say what is good for me but god is a much better word. It goes much deeper.
It's interesting what people seem to worship now a days - money, the newest cars, stuff in general. I'm constantly being told in one way or another that I should get a good paying job - doesn't matter what it is - so I can have stuff. Why do I need stuff when I'm already droning in stuff? (Hmmm...another interesting phrase - am I droning on about this stuff when I don't really need to be? Or is it that I'm just mechanically raking over the same old crap?)
You know, I just realized something - am I fighting ghosts? Did I get so used to having to fight to save what little bit of individuality and creativity I had left that it's become habit? (well....duh. (editorial comment from above.)) O.k...so now what? What do I do? Anything I damn well want. Next question is - what is it I want to do? There's a big world out there. My sweet Epona - could I actually hope and dream again?
Of course I can - Epona's the goddess of Dreams...and she's my patron.
Alright, enough indulgence. It's easier said than done but the fight is over. There is no more threat to my individuality, my dreams...despite the fact that I still want revenge. (I suppose that is a whole 'nother entry unto itself.) At this moment, if there is no more interruptions, I'm going to Defeated Wednsday to sketch. Can't be an artist if I don't ply my trade, eh?
Flora notes: The melissa's blooming!
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