I had a dream that I was in the bath tub when a big, fuzzy black spider jumps into the bath with me. I decide to get rid of it by draining the water, making sure the spider goes down the drain.
I think the spider is dead and gone and get out of the bath, but then I hear a female voice singing “We Shall Overcome” from what sounds like a long distance away. I follow the sound to the drain and watch as the spider slowly climbs up and out of the drain, still singing about overcoming.
You guys seem to enjoy my weird dream stories, so here is a new one for you. This dream was actually super long and convoluted, so I’m not going to tell the whole thing, but know that it involved a home invasion, sitting forever in a social service office to report said invasion (maybe they defunded the police?), my husband ultimately dying (very sad part), and my mom driving me crazy (like normal).
The best part of the dream though was while we were hanging out at the office, waiting to report the home invasion, my husband and I were given the task of sorting some paper bits by color (no idea why). My husband was a little sharp with me (smartass), asking if I was going to help, so I got pissed and refused to help.
In return my husband first started just collapsing and making me carry him around…but then he went on to shapeshifting! What did he shapeshift into? A wolf? No. A bat? No. Bigfoot? No.
He shapeshifted into a burger and fries. Then I was told that this must mean he was hungry, so I needed to feed his fries to himself (the way I was told to do this was to take three fries, line them up with one in the middle and the outside two fries would eat the inside fry).
Next, he shapeshifted into Obama (no clue why). And then from there he shifted back to his regular self and ended up hospitalized and ultimately died (very sad). Maybe I didn’t feed him enough fries…
Warning: mature explicit content ahead (including rape)!
I think I had the most messed up dream of my life last night!
In the dream, I was a little girl and my mom (who wasn’t the same mom I have in real life) had just gotten together with this creepy guy. The guy told me he had some weed, but if I told my mom, he would kill me. Of course, I had to then go tell my mom. When the guy got home and found out I had told on him, he decided to kill my mother in front of me instead of killing me.
How did he kill her? By stapling her to death. Yes, with a stapler. At one point, he used the stapler to beat a small hole in the side of her head, then decided to rape her in front of me, but instead of normal rape, he raped her by sticking his dick in the hole in the side of her head, which pushed her brains and other stuff in her head out the other side.
What the fuck is wrong with my brain?!! How did it come up with this shit???
So I had an awesome dream last night. It was super weird, but cool, kind of like a sci fi/fantasy movie or something.
In the dream I was attending this school that looked a lot like a Catholic school, but it was for entities that had supernatural powers of some sort or another. I was a dark, mysterious looking young man in the dream and my power was the ability to kill anything with a simple thought or intention (call me Lord of Death)!
In the dream I somehow got into a battle with several others who had powers. I remember specifically a female spirit that had the gift of immortality, if she touched you, you couldn’t die, and of course, she herself wouldn’t die (I tried killing her in the dream but let’s just say it didn’t stick).
There was also another being that fought by consuming his enemies in hellfire. That didn’t feel so good when directed at me, but I survived it.
At some point in the dream, the immortal female and another female ended up fighting to be my love interest, which is kind of interesting since I had tried killing the one woman already and failed. They ended up killing each other if I remember right, although the immortal one obviously didn’t stay dead. I guess she ended up winning, but I was pissed at her for killing the other female, so that cast a shadow on any relationship we could have.
I hope this doesn’t just sound like insane raving lol. Maybe you had to be there to get the full experience 🙂
I’ve never really been one to do the whole planner thing, but I see how much fun others seem to be having doing it on Instagram and their blogs, so I decided to give it a try. Yesterday I bought a simple but cute planner and a planner sticker kit, because I figured the cute stickers would make me more likely to “stick to it” – pun intended.
I have already set up the Jan-March months and am going to keep track of my goals I set for my art, writing, and blog this year. Here are the goals I set:
I like being able to set goals I can actually control like most of the ones above, rather than abstract numbers of followers/subscribers that I have no control over, although I do set a new goal for Instagram and blog followers each year just for fun.
For 2020, I am aiming for 2,000 followers on my blog and 5,000 followers on IG. Of course, I would LOVE to sail past both of those goals!!!
It was as much
as she could do
to believe such
nonsense,
but she went on
to look through
the garden gate
with one eye open,
keeping the other
tightly closed –
wishing for a vision,
praying for a dream.
Outwit by sleep,
somewhere between dreaming
and awake –
I pick out a unicorn
drinking from a toilet
among the ribbons
of candid snapshots
winding around my head
like cinema still frames.
My migraine, neck, and back issues have been flaring up on and off ever since my bad MRI experience almost two weeks ago. I feel like I’m not getting anything done and am struggling to get the bare minimum of my daily routine done. All this has me feeling depressed and has killed my enthusiasm for the new book I started writing.
The logical side of me knows the pain will eventually subside, but while I am stuck in this misery it feels infinite and everlasting. Chronic pain wears you down, destroys creativity, and can stomp all over your goals – at least anything short term. I hope I’ll be back to normal someday soon.
I got a new blackout poetry journal that uses classic literature to inspire new works of poetry. This first one is my attempt at making original poetry from a random page of J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan:
Nightlights
My love,
were not all natural
dreams forgotten?
The skeleton
crawled about the floor,
rattled up the chimney,
and bathed her hand in sleep.
Nightlights pulsed
while strange children
found new mothers
in the faces of the night.
Once all were safe
her fears sat down
by the quickening fire,
warming the nursery.
Every once in a while I have a dream where I realize in the middle of it that I am dreaming and I have the ability to take the dream over and do whatever I want to do. Last night this happened again. I became aware that I was dreaming and that nothing I saw around me was real, but instead of deciding to fly off to some other land or into outer space, I decided to stick around the environment I was already in and see what my sleeping mind had conjured up out of nothing.
It was actually rather fascinating to study the “set” of my dream. I noticed all the little details – the plants (color/shape/flowers), I noticed how a few rocks were randomly scattered over the ground and even counted them, wondering if the number had any significance. I felt the textures around me, including puffy cotton balls growing off to the side, marveling at how real it felt to my touch, even though I knew none of it was real.
I wish I remembered every single detail that I studied, but like most dreams, once I woke up, bits of it started to fade like wisps of smoke. I do remember it was an outdoor setting obviously and there was a small bridge and a stream of water. I would almost say it was a little like a Monet water garden painting.
It always interested me that I’ve heard some experts claim we don’t dream in color, but if that is true, they obviously have never visited my dreams!!! I feel texture, pain, and pleasure in my dreams. I taste. I smell. I hear. When I am there, it is just as real as where I am right this minute.
Maranda Russell 